Read Online Ahead in the Heat by Lorelie Brown - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lorelie Brown
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hoops to get things covered so she could come out tonight. After all, she’d have to slowly relearn how to actually occupy herself when she wasn’t surrounded by a half dozen teenagers. Maybe she’d have time for lunch with Tabitha and Rebecca, her best friends since their third year of college, when they’d randomly ended up as roommates based on a message posted on a coffee shop bulletin board. She
missed
Tabs and Becky. They were funny, and she could do with some funny in her life.
She could also do with some sex. It had been entirely too long since she’d had a man. The last time she’d been out on a date had been with Brad a year and a half ago. Brad, a music producer, had ridden a crotch rocket motorcycle and knew how to pick a delicious bottle of wine. Annie had been pretty impressed with him . . . but not impressed enough to return his calls.
Sean would have eaten a guy like Brad for breakfast. On toast. With marmalade.
There were no lights on in Sean’s house, but when they pulled in, the garage door opened to reveal bright white. Even Sean’s garage gleamed. The few yard tools he had, like a rake for the pebbled postage-stamp front yard, were perfectly aligned and hanging from Peg-Board like soldiers at attention. There was a red highboy Craftsman toolbox, with a workbench next to it. Overhead, there was anorganization shelf from which glass jars hung, arranged by size. Annie squinted. Were they filed by color and type too? Because everything on the left shone silver under the fluorescent lights, and things on the right were darker in hue.
Parked at the front of the garage was the sports car she’d quizzed Sean about, but they didn’t linger long enough for Annie to admire it. Sean bolted upstairs to the kitchen, giving her a fast brush-off before heading up another level to the second floor.
Annie shouldn’t have followed him. Casting aside her better impulses, she stepped through an open door upstairs to find his office. She ignored the trembling knot of nerves in her stomach, but she was very aware of a damp prickle taking up the center of her palms.
She knew better than this. She thought about him too much. She liked him too much.
She had to regain some distance.
Somehow.
The money he was offering was a lot, but losing it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. She could return to her original five-year plan. It was doable; that was why she
had
the plan.
She needed a way to understand this man.
Crossing her arms low over her stomach didn’t hold in the quibbly feeling that made her warm and oddly fuzzy. Though Sean established himself at a desk on the west side of the room, she stood in the middle and turned in a slow circle.
This room was . . . a war room. There was no other word for it. Battles could be mounted from the place. Sean’s U-shaped desk was covered with three PCmonitors across the left and a Mac on the right. The space between had a couple hard drives, and two small televisions were mounted on the wall to the right. As he sat, Sean flicked them on with a sweeping gesture on a smart remote. They came on muted, one tuned to the weather channel and the other to a financial network.
The entire stretch of the left wall was covered with maps. Her arms still laced over her stomach, Annie stepped closer. There were squiggles and data points all over them that she hadn’t the slightest clue how to read. Nautical charts. Her nose was six inches away from a map of the Azores, a little chain of islands in the Atlantic that were west of Portugal.
Annie had wanted to surf the Azores, but she never got there. Terry had promised there’d be a chance, if she kept up her end of the deal and did everything she could to retain her surfing sponsorship with Leslie Sunglasses, but it had never happened. Of course. Nothing Terry claimed had happened. She hadn’t been destroyed by him either, but she’d been the one to see to that.
Even though she’d been exactly the good little
missed
Tabs and Becky. They were funny, and she could do with some funny in her life.
She could also do with some sex. It had been entirely too long since she’d had a man. The last time she’d been out on a date had been with Brad a year and a half ago. Brad, a music producer, had ridden a crotch rocket motorcycle and knew how to pick a delicious bottle of wine. Annie had been pretty impressed with him . . . but not impressed enough to return his calls.
Sean would have eaten a guy like Brad for breakfast. On toast. With marmalade.
There were no lights on in Sean’s house, but when they pulled in, the garage door opened to reveal bright white. Even Sean’s garage gleamed. The few yard tools he had, like a rake for the pebbled postage-stamp front yard, were perfectly aligned and hanging from Peg-Board like soldiers at attention. There was a red highboy Craftsman toolbox, with a workbench next to it. Overhead, there was anorganization shelf from which glass jars hung, arranged by size. Annie squinted. Were they filed by color and type too? Because everything on the left shone silver under the fluorescent lights, and things on the right were darker in hue.
Parked at the front of the garage was the sports car she’d quizzed Sean about, but they didn’t linger long enough for Annie to admire it. Sean bolted upstairs to the kitchen, giving her a fast brush-off before heading up another level to the second floor.
Annie shouldn’t have followed him. Casting aside her better impulses, she stepped through an open door upstairs to find his office. She ignored the trembling knot of nerves in her stomach, but she was very aware of a damp prickle taking up the center of her palms.
She knew better than this. She thought about him too much. She liked him too much.
She had to regain some distance.
Somehow.
The money he was offering was a lot, but losing it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. She could return to her original five-year plan. It was doable; that was why she
had
the plan.
She needed a way to understand this man.
Crossing her arms low over her stomach didn’t hold in the quibbly feeling that made her warm and oddly fuzzy. Though Sean established himself at a desk on the west side of the room, she stood in the middle and turned in a slow circle.
This room was . . . a war room. There was no other word for it. Battles could be mounted from the place. Sean’s U-shaped desk was covered with three PCmonitors across the left and a Mac on the right. The space between had a couple hard drives, and two small televisions were mounted on the wall to the right. As he sat, Sean flicked them on with a sweeping gesture on a smart remote. They came on muted, one tuned to the weather channel and the other to a financial network.
The entire stretch of the left wall was covered with maps. Her arms still laced over her stomach, Annie stepped closer. There were squiggles and data points all over them that she hadn’t the slightest clue how to read. Nautical charts. Her nose was six inches away from a map of the Azores, a little chain of islands in the Atlantic that were west of Portugal.
Annie had wanted to surf the Azores, but she never got there. Terry had promised there’d be a chance, if she kept up her end of the deal and did everything she could to retain her surfing sponsorship with Leslie Sunglasses, but it had never happened. Of course. Nothing Terry claimed had happened. She hadn’t been destroyed by him either, but she’d been the one to see to that.
Even though she’d been exactly the good little
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