Free Strange Bedpersons by Jennifer Crusie Page A

she forgot Gina and her problems for a moment and just enjoyed the weight and warmth of his arm on her back and the pleasure of being with him again. Steady, she told herself, trying hard not to lean into him. Get through this weekend and get out, because this man is not for you. He has bad values and worse ambitions. Remember that.
    But all she said was, “We got lost in the ferns. They should hand out machetes at the door.”
    “Well, don’t disappear again,” Nick said. “We’re going in to dinner soon.” Then he leaned over and whispered in her ear, “There are two Decker board members here. Watch your step, don’t say anything controversial and smile at everybody.”
    “Who are the board members?” Tess whispered back.
    “Annalise Donaldson and Robert Tyler.” Nick nodded toward a portly gray-haired man on the other side of the room. “That’s Tyler. I haven’t seen Donaldson yet, but she’s here. Welch said so.”
    “Donaldson, Tyler,” Tess said. “She collects terra-cotta, he’s a big Bengals fan.”
    Nick raised an eyebrow. “And how do we know this?”
    “We did our research,” Tess said. “Lead me to ‘em. I’m ready.”
    “Dinner is served,” Henderson announced.
    Welch had evidently given up his lust for leather in the dining room, but the same giant walnut furniture prevailed and the same beige paper striped the walls. Tess speculated that maybe he’d gotten a deal from a walnut-and-wallpaper place, but before she could share her theory with Nick, Henderson showed them to their seats. Tess was next to Norbert Welch at the head of the table with Nick on her right and Park and Gina across the table from them, one seat down. An attractive blond woman came to take the chair between Welch and Park.
    “So this is the little woman,” Welch said to Nick as they reached the table, and Tess turned to look at him in disbelief. Nobody in her life had ever called her a little woman.
    For a great American author, he was a lot younger and a lot shorter than she’d expected, even after seeing his photo on the book jacket. He couldn’t be past his early fifties and his eyes were a couple of inches below hers, which meant he was five six at most. But his face lived up to legend. He looked like a macho literary lion: his thick mane of white hair was so long it covered his ears and then waved back from his battered, square-jawed face, a weathered prize-fighter kind of face that was etched with a permanent scowl. He was the only person in the room who didn’t look as if he’d been designed to go with the decor.
    Tess blinked when she realized that he was studying her as closely as she was studying him.
    “Good to see you again, sir,” Nick said as he reached across Tess to shake Welch’s hand. “I don’t believe you’ve met my fiancée, Tess Newhart.”
    “I don’t believe I have,” Welch rumbled. “So you’re the future Mrs. Jamieson.”
    Tess resisted the urge to explain that she’d be keeping her maiden name, since the point was moot, given that she wasn’t marrying Nick. She smiled instead and heard Nick give a very small sigh of relief next to her. “That’s me. Thank you for inviting us to your home. We’re enjoying ourselves tremendously. And I can’t wait to hear your new book. Henderson told us earlier that you’re reading from it tomorrow.” She started to ask him where he’d bought Henderson and if they took MasterCard, but Welch overrode her.
    “I bet you can’t wait,” Welch said. “The question is, have you read any of my other books? Or are you waiting for the movies?”
    “Oh, I’ve read them all,” Tess said. “I was assigned The Last Promise in college, and then read the other two on my own. Of course that was many years ago. How long has it been since Disenchanted Evenings? Fifteen years?”
    “Why don’t you sit down now, Tess?” Nick said to her grimly, pulling out her chair for her. “And remember where you are.”
    “Back off, Jamieson,”