Bad Boys Southern Style. JoAnn RossЧитать онлайн книгу.
scandal, you mean.”
The sunlight returned to her eyes when she laughed. “Ah, yes, let’s hear it for kinky sex scandals…Anyway, after he decided to return home to hide out from the press until things blew over, a friend of both Gabe’s and mine pulled a few strings, forcing us to spend some time alone together. The sparks were still there, so…”
“You lit yourself a fire.”
“More like a conflagration. But yes. Either one of us could have backed away. In fact, I tried to. But Gabe had other ideas.”
“I don’t blame him. Hell, sugar, if I’d have seen you first, I would’ve given your movie star husband a run for his money.”
“That’s sweet.” She patted him on the knee. “But getting back to the point of this conversation, are you suggesting you believe Roxi may be your destiny?”
“That’s probably an overstatement. But I gotta tell you, Emma, it’s the damnedest thing. The minute I saw that e-mail of your wedding picture, I felt poleaxed.”
“Roxi has that effect on men.”
“It’s more than just her looks. Hell, this is L.A. You can’t throw a stick on a beach here without hitting a dozen women probably just as beautiful.”
“Who undoubtedly wouldn’t enjoy getting hit by flying sticks, but I understand what you’re getting at.”
“The point, and I do have one, is that the woman’s been flat out driving me out of my mind. She’s all I can think about. All I can dream about.”
“I know the feeling,” Emma said dryly. “Very well. But have you considered that it’s because you’ve been so caught up in this new project, and she does resemble Morganna?”
If that wedding picture was any indication, she was the crime-fighting witch in the flesh. He wondered if she owned a catsuit.
“Sure I have. And that’s probably all it is. But if I’m going to be able to keep my mind on work long enough to get this project in the can, I need to find out.”
Surely taking Roxi Dupree to bed would get her out of his system once and for all. And let him get on with his movie. And his life.
“I can understand that, as well. May I offer a word of advice?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve never been one to involve myself in other people’s personal lives, but since it also occurs to me that if it hadn’t been for Nate Callahan, Gabriel and I might not have had a second chance, I’m going to risk a bit of meddling.
“If, after you get to Savannah, you begin to suspect whatever you’re feeling is more than just understandable lust for a beautiful woman, don’t tell Roxi.”
“O-kay.” He knew his skepticism was written all over his face.
“I know what you’re thinking. That deep down inside, no matter what they might say to the contrary, most women are looking for commitment.”
“Far be it from me to make sweeping generalities. But just going by my own experience, that seems to be the case more often than not.”
Although he’d always told women right up front that he wasn’t the marrying kind, after a few months, or even weeks, most suddenly started talking about silverware patterns, and bridal magazines would magically show up on bedside tables.
“Roxi’s the exception. She’s always up for a good time, but if you let her think you’re getting serious, she’s going to run. I’ve seen it happen hundreds of times.”
“Hundreds?”
Emma nodded. “At least. But I’ll let her tell you about her rule of three herself. If things get that far.”
“I know about the rule of three,” he said. “It’s the Wiccan code about whatever you do comes back to you threefold.”
“That’s one version,” Emma agreed. “But Roxi’s got her own take on it.”
“Well now, sugar, I have to admit you have indeed piqued my interest. But if she’s into threesomes, I’m afraid she’s going to be disappointed.”
Emma laughed. “I can’t swear to know everything about her, but I’m pretty sure that you’re safe there.” She touched a fingertip to her lips. “But that’s all I’m saying.”
Emma was still smiling long after Sloan had left for the airport.
“I believe,” she told Gabriel later that afternoon, “that things in Savannah could get very interesting.”
They were lying in bed, bathed in the warm afterglow of passion after making love. It still amazed her that after all these months together, she still couldn’t get enough of him. And, amazingly, if his behavior in the past half hour was any indication, her husband, who undoubtedly could have any woman in the world he wanted, felt the same way.
“Mais, yeah.” He pressed his lips against her temple. Skimmed a wickedly clever hand down her side, from her shoulder to her thigh. “Sort of like nitroglycerin and a flamethrower are interesting.”
She laughed, enjoying the image even as heat bloomed beneath his caressing touch. “I suppose it’s only fair.” She twined her arms around his neck and lifted her face for his kiss. “Why should we have all the fun?”
Emma’s last thought, just before her husband took her back into the mists, was that her two favorite commitment-phobic people might have finally met their match.
Six
They’d agreed, during their brief phone call, to meet at the restaurant. Although he’d offered to pick her up, Roxi had thought that a foolish waste of time and effort, especially since he was already staying at the inn.
She’d heard the hum of jet engines during the call and wondered what it must feel like to actually be able to pick up one of those phones in-flight and pay the outrageous charges.
“Of course, when you’re rolling in dough, I guess there’s nothing you can’t buy,” she told her cat, La Betaille, who was lying on her bed, watching her get ready for the dinner date. “Undoubtedly even women.”
Ignoring her with a feline elegance that belied the fact that the eighteen-pound former stray was missing one ear and had a diagonal scar across her nose, La Betaille began fastidiously washing her huge black paws.
“I wonder if the casting couch still exists?” She reached into the small enameled box on the dressing table and took out a pair of earrings shaped like crescent moons. They might be rhinestones rather than the diamonds Sloan Hawthorne was undoubtedly accustomed to women wearing, but Roxi liked the way they sparkled.
She studied the results in the full-length mirror standing across the room. “Though I’ll bet a man like Sloan Hawthorne probably doesn’t have to hold out walk-on roles in his movies as a carrot to get women to go to bed with him.”
She’d spent the better part of the morning shopping for an outfit designed to knock off the Hollywood hotshot’s socks, and if she was lucky, various other pieces of clothing.
She turned sideways and ran her hands down the front of the dress. Her breasts, which had always suited her just fine, thank you, suddenly seemed, well…a bit insignificant.
Since when had she started comparing herself to any other woman?
“You’re an original, you,” she said, looking over her shoulder at her butt, which, if she did say so herself, looked damn fine in this dress. “Besides, it’ll be a new experience for him. Touching real, honest-to-god womanly flesh instead of silicone.”
Apparently unimpressed by that prospect, La Betaille merely yawned.
She’d just fastened a moonstone pendant around her neck when the limo Sloan had insisted