Free Over the Line by Cindy Gerard Page A

Perkins?"
     
    Nothing.
     
    On a heavy breath, he poked his head inside.
     
    And damn near swallowed his tongue.
     
    She was still asleep all right... and the tabloids had missed a particular juicy tidbit. Sweet Baby Jane slept in the nude. And apparently, she was a restless sleeper.
     
    She'd kicked off the covers. Left nothing to the imagination. She lay on her back, all slim curves and small, fine breasts bare to the world, berry-pink nipples puckered tight. Her left leg was bent, knee elevated, her heel dug into the bedding.
     
    The right leg—sweet Christ—the right leg was positioned to give him a clear view that answered another popular tabloid question. Sweet Baby Jane was a natural blonde.
     
    And that wasn't all. He swallowed thickly, then glanced up to make certain she was asleep. Her eyes were closed, her hair splayed wildly on the pillow, one hand flung up over her head.
     
    The other hand—sweet, sweet, sweet Christ—the other lay low over her abdomen where a tattoo of a clef note tucked low toward that spot where her fingertips, wet and glistening, curved into that silky nest of pale blond curls.
     
    Lord Jesus God, give me strength.
     
    His brain finally engaged, and he backed out of the room. Shut the door behind him.
     
    Heart hammering, he leaned back against it. Wiped an unsteady hand over his face. Let out a serrated breath that had been stuck in his chest since he'd opened that damn door.
     
    It couldn't have been more than a second, maybe two, that he'd stood there. Hell, it had taken that long to bumble past the shock.
     
    Never should have opened that door.
     
    Never should have looked.
     
    He wasn't a voyeur. Wasn't a freaking Peeping Tom. And he could have lived forever without the image of all that sultry, sexy woman heat lying there, obviously drifting on the downside of a little self-gratification, indelibly burned into his brain.
     
    But he had opened it. And he had looked.
     
    And he would never forget what he had seen.
     
    He was in some deep shit here.
     
    Okay. Deep breath. Get a grip. It never happened.
     
    He spun around. Pounded hard on the door.
     
    "Miss Perkins!" he all but bellowed through the ornate wood. "Miss Perkins!" he repeated, rapping until he thought his knuckles would bleed.
     
    "What? What—who?"
     
    Weak with relief that he'd finally roused her, he toned things down a bit.
     
    "You wanted me to wake you up," he reminded her.
     
    "Mission accomplished," she sputtered. "For God's sake, did you have to break the door down?"
     
    Umm ... yeah.
     
    "Next time, I'll ring down for a wake-up call."
     
    "Hell, next time I'll request the wake-up call," Jase muttered, his face still flaming, his mind still filled with the erotic image of her wanton and naked on that bed.
     
    Yeah. He was in some seriously deep shit. Hell. He was the mayor of Shitville.
     
     
    Chapter 5
     
    She opened the door five minutes later. Jase chanced a glance up, relieved to see she was dressed. Well, sort of. She'd evidently showered, because her hair was damp and she smelled like every fresh, cleansing scent known to God. She'd wrapped up in a short jade-green silk kimono that did very little to camouflage all the fine lines and slim damp curves beneath it. Not to mention the slight sway of her breasts and the tight pucker of delicate little nipples that he now knew were the palest, prettiest pink.
     
    "Morning," she said, joining him at the breakfast table.
     
    "Morning," he mumbled back, and kept his nose in a file folder that outlined her schedule for the next few days.
     
    She didn't have much to say. That was fine by him. Chitchat, thank you, Jesus, didn't appear to be in the job description. And the truth was, he didn't think he could look at her again without flaming red.
     
    Didn't seem to be able to help himself, though. He glanced up at her over his coffee. Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup, her hair smoothed free of the rat's nest of a do she usually