Free Lucky In Love by Deborah Coonts

leaned on the piano. “I didn’t hear you.”
    “You were lost.” I handed him a glass of Bordeaux I had poured on my way through his kitchen. The second glass I kept for myself. “What’s that you’re working on?”
    “This.” He played me a riff. “What do you think?”
    “Sounds like the start of something good.” We clinked glasses in a silent toast.
    Teddie looked delicious. Short, spiky blond hair, huge blue eyes fringed by lashes Cover Girl would kill for, high cheekbones, and full lips. He could look sexy as hell dressed in Chanel. Tonight, in his Harvard sweatshirt with the collar cut out—a remnant from his mba days—and his threadbare jeans, he inspired thoughts that, well, didn’t require clothing... which was a real testament to his appeal, given my near-dead state.
    Pushing back from the piano, he rose and came around to greet me properly. The kiss flowed through me like a sweet rush of warm, molten chocolate, gooey and good. I let my hands explore the broad expanse of his chest, then drift lower, savoring.
    He moaned against my lips, then pulled away. Grabbing my hand, he tugged me over to the couch, where I curled into him, my head on his shoulder.
    “How is the music coming?” I was afraid to look at him. I knew I’d see his excitement. Right now I didn’t want to think about his music—his mistress, the one huge hurdle for us to overcome. Personally, I’d liked it better when he’d been Vegas’s foremost female impersonator, and I’d come home to see him prancing around channeling Cher in silver lamé and stilettos. Of course, he’d been brilliant at that as well. He could wear Oscar de la Renta like nobody else—something that used to worry Mona and turn me green with envy.
    “Dig Me O’Dell has been on my ass. As has your Miss One Note Wiley.” He took a sip of wine as he tangled the fingers of his other hand in my hair, which made it hard to concentrate. “They want ten original tracks by yesterday.”
    Dig Me O’Dell was a record producer of some serious fame. He’d contracted with Teddie, launching my love’s dream. One Note Wiley was Teddie’s agent. I’d made the original introductions—something I now felt pretty conflicted about. Launch a dream; torpedo a future. Teddie didn’t seem concerned. Which was fine—I had enough paranoia for both of us.
    “How many tracks do you have so far?” My hand shook a bit as I lifted my glass to my lips.
    “Seven. Three good ones, two mediocre, and two totally blow.”
    “How can blow be the opposite of suck but mean the same thing?” I asked, clearly avoiding something: Teddie, myself, the topic at hand, the one we never spoke about, all of the above.
    “You think about the weirdest stuff,” Teddie said, with a laugh. “The music will come, it always does.”
    “Hmmm.”
    “When you bolted from the bar, where did you go? Was it something serious?”
    “Serious enough, but I smoothed it over.”
    “You’re good at that.”
    “One of my many talents.” I uncurled myself, then stood. “Would you like me to show you some of my other skills?”
    He grinned up at me. “I thought you’d never ask.”
     
    * * *
     
    C affeine was the only antidote to morning—okay, early afternoon—the cruelest part of the day. What could be camouflaged under the cover of darkness now lay bare, exposed in the bright birth of a new day. As a creature of the night, I was not at my best before nightfall, and especially if not fully caffeinated.
    Pulling the pillow off my head, Teddie waved a steaming mug at me. “Vanilla nut, your favorite. With enough milk to take the bitter out.”
    I rolled over and groaned. My place or his? I couldn’t remember. Not a good sign. I pushed myself up then plumped the pillows behind me. My place. I didn’t even remember how I had gotten here, but I’d never admit it. Talk about sleepwalking. I smiled at him and cupped my hands around the mug, absorbing the warmth and inhaling the aroma. After a