Flirting With Forever Gwyn Cready (best book series to read txt) đ
- Author: Gwyn Cready
Book online «Flirting With Forever Gwyn Cready (best book series to read txt) đ». Author Gwyn Cready
Lust.
Lust.
Lust.
Lust.
Cam touched his waist, that hard, hard waist, and he pul ed her into a kiss.
Such a bad idea. Such a good bad idea.
Reluctantly she extricated her mouth. She felt like sheâd been sucking lust-flavored Pop Rocks.
âI was thinking you might want to take a short leave of absence.â
âA short leave?â
âOr a longer one.â He grinned. âMaybe come to London with me for a while.â
London. She loved London. âI couldnât.â
âAnytime. Now. After the gala. To celebrate your new directorship. They let you take a holiday sometimes, donât they?â
He could be very charming when he put his mind to it.
Just ask the explosions in her mouth. âI, uh âŠâ
âCam, IâOh God, sorry.â
It was Jeanne, and her voice snapped Camâs ego into action. She broke away and wiped her mouth, embarrassed. âWhatâs up?â
âAnastasia. On the stairs. In a puff of vampire-colored smoke.â
3
Peter knew why heâd taken the long way to Maiden Lane.
Maiden Lane was where heâd find the king, but the smal patch of green behind St. PaulâsâOld Pauly, as the residents of Covent Garden referred to itâwas where heâd find Ursula.
He crossed the piazza tentatively, ignoring the carriages that passed on either side of him. He made his way past the sanctuary he would never enter again and down the path that ran the length of the churchâs north wal . When he saw her, his throat began to tighten. He scanned the space, but it was late afternoon, and the only witnesses to his shame would be the wrens, foraging among the tree roots.
He dropped to a knee.
âI failed you, my love. âTis the worst thing a man can do, and I shal live with the pain always.â
If he wanted absolution, there was none. Only the dim reflection of light on this headstone and the one beyond it.
Peter hung his head and let the tears fal down his cheeks.
4
Cam flew down the improbably long treads of the Carnegieâs staircase with Jeanne on her heels.
âYou donât think sheâs there already?â Cam said. âThat paintingâs nearly mine, and I donât want her ruining it or, worse, somehow getting credit.â
âWhen youâre a successful author, wil we be done with al this?â
âOh, sure. âCause you know how many people buy art biographies. I could have them over for cocktails and stil manage to be the worst-dressed person in the room.â
âEspecial y with Wite-Out on your hose. So, do you think heâs going to say it again?â
âWhat?â
âYou know.â
Cam shot her a pointed look. âMr. Bal is from a very old, not to mention very rich, Gainesvil e family. Just because some of his words are, wel , a little hard to understand doesnât mean heâs not sharp as a tack.â
âI grew up in Mobile, Alabama. You got any trouble understanding me? Do I go around tel ing people Iâm a fornicator?â
âItâs not fornicator. Itâs Florida Gator.â
âOh, I know what it is. It stil makes me laugh to hear it.â
Cam ignored this. She hit the cavernous entry hal and looked left and right. Bal had arrived in Lamont Packardâs office five minutes ago and by now they could be anywhere.
They werenât in the little cafĂ© dominated by Warholâs fluorescent portrait of Andrew CarnegieââCare for some worker uprising with your Chicken Basil Farfal e?âânor lounging by the reflecting pool outside.
She turned. Lamont Packard, her boss and the soon-to-be ex-executive director, was emerging from the interior courtyard a step or two in front of Bal , who had Anastasia hot-glued to his arm.
Drat. She had to think fast.
âRemember the Picasso strategy?â
Jeanne gave her a questioning look. âYes, but Iâm not sure how your favorite âGet me outta this blind dateâ
strategy is going to work here.â
âWel , this time itâs a Rembrandt strategy, and you need to cal Tim Lockportâanonymously.â
After a beat, Jeanneâs face lit. âYouâre bril iantâand scary.â
âFamily survival tactic. Lie or die.â
Jeanne angled off toward a museum phone, and Cam headed toward her quarry.
They were an odd threesome, she thought,
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