Free Take Me Tonight by Roxanne St. Claire Page A

want anyone to know?”
    “I like to keep a low profile.”
    After a few seconds, she asked, “Were you in the same line of work in New York?”
    “Similar.” He put a hand on her arm. “Let’s talk about you.”
    “Why? Are you embarrassed that you get paid for sex?”
    “Guess it depends on what I get paid.”
    “Ba-dum-bum.” She crossed her arms, slipping out of his touch. “You make jokes when you’re uncomfortable.”
    “I’m not uncomfortable. I’m just funny. And good-looking. And handy with a Crock-Pot. Keep me around.” He found her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “You won’t regret it.”
    She settled a little farther away, leaning against the door.
    “Hey.” He skimmed the silky fabric of her trousers, following the line of her taut runner’s legs. “Admit it, you like me. Regardless of my career choice.”
    “Career choice?” She shot one perfect eyebrow in the air. “That’s an interesting way of putting it.”
    “I’m a fulfiller of fantasies, baby doll. Believe me, there are worse things I could be.”
    “True,” she said, her voice rich with sarcasm. “Like a killer. A thief. A liar.”
    He’d been damn near all three in another life. “Or a reporter,” he said with a quick smile.
    “See? You make jokes when you’re uncomfortable.”
    “Who said I was joking?”
    She tapped his hand playfully and didn’t move away from him again. “You mean you put journalists in the same league with killers, thieves, and liars?”
    “Not all journalists. Not you.” He squeezed her thigh, congratulating himself on the smooth change of subject. “So how long have you been writing?”
    “I’ve freelanced since I graduated from B.C., almost six years ago. I always wanted to be an investigative reporter. My mother worked for the Washington Post and she was my role model.”
    He glanced at her. “Was? Is she retired now?”
    Under his fingertips, her thigh muscle tensed. “She’s dead.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry. And your dad? Brothers and sisters?”
    She blew out a sigh and turned to the window. “No siblings. My dad lives in Vermont. Alone.” She waited a beat, then added, “He has Alzheimer’s. Doesn’t really know what day it is, I’m afraid.”
    “That’s a shame.”
    “Yeah, it is. And what about your parents? Are they in New York?”
    He opted for the truth, since it didn’t seem to matter with this cover story. “My parents were killed in an accident in Tuscany when I was a kid.”
    “In Tuscany? Were they on vacation?”
    “No, they lived there.”
    “You lived in Italy? You grew up there?” At his nod, she added, “You don’t even have an accent. I mean, not an Italian one.”
    “My mother married an Italian businessman and moved there before I was born. I was sent back to the States when they died. I was young enough to lose the accent and barely remember the language.” His true reasons for turning his back on Italy were way too complicated for this conversation. For any conversation.
    “And who did you live with? When your parents died?”
    “Family in New York, but I went on my own pretty young.” Time for a subject change. “So, Sage, you have a boyfriend?”
    “No.”
    He winked at her. “Want one?”
    She laughed lightly. “No, thanks.”
    “Why? Because of my ‘career choice’?”
    Her smile faded. “If you’re asking seriously, I don’t think I’d be able to get past what you do.”
    Or what he used to do. “It’s all right, sugar. We’ll just have fun. No strings. No promises.”
    “No sex.”
    He punched his hand over his heart and grunted like she’d shot him.
    “But I’ll let you cook for me.”
    “Chicks. They only want one thing.” He shook his head, his teasing smile belying the victory he felt inside.
    He was still smiling when they parked at the Manzi Arena and headed to the business offices. As they walked down a long, narrow hallway toward the wing to the dance team’s management offices, Sage put her