Free Be My Baby by Susan Andersen Page B

time, there were more things to look at than one person could absorb in a single trip, but she discreetly tried to take in as much as possible.
    She was so busy looking at exotic, erotic window displays and trying to catch glimpses of the activities reflected in the full-length mirrors just inside the open doorways of strip joints and sex clubs, that when Beau stopped suddenly, she bounced offhis back. His free hand whipped back to steady her, and his long fingers wrapped around the back of her thigh and burned straight through the thin material of her dress to the skin beneath. Then his hand jerked away, and he turned to face her, his features expressionless.
    “I’m hungry. You eaten anything today?”
    She blinked, refusing to acknowledge a lingering impression of heat at the top of her thigh. “I had a watercress sandwich with Celeste.”
    He made a rude noise. “I’m talkin’ about real food, Rosebud.”
    She couldn’t help it; her smile was strictly spontaneous as she remembered the less-than-bite-sized serving that was all she’d consumed. “I could eat…if you’re talking someplace air-conditioned.”
    “We ain’t talkin’ the Ritz, sugar, but I know a place with a fountain. Nice shady spot where we can get us a po’ boy, dressed.”
    An incredulous laugh escaped her. “I would have pegged you as more the rich-woman, naked, type.”
    She was immediately appalled, unable to believe she had said that. She’d trained herself years ago to keep her errant thoughts to herself, and had truly believed it to be second nature by now.
    So how on earth had she allowed that thought to leap from mind to tongue?
    Before she could gather breath to extricate herself with as much grace as possible, he’d whirled her around and sandwiched her between a display window of Mardi Gras masks and his own leanbody. She blinked at his shadowed jaw, so close to her lips.
    “You’re the only rich girl I know, Juliet Rose,” he said in a low, raspy voice, and reluctantly she raised her gaze to his heavy-lidded dark eyes. “You volunteerin’ to get naked with me?”
    He wasn’t actually touching her, just penning her in with a hand on either side of her shoulders. But his forearms were pressed flat against the window at her back, his breath was on her lips and his scent all around her, and he was deep into the space she always kept inviolate. She wedged her hands into the minuscule gap that separated them and, flattening her fingers against the hard wall of his chest, gave him a shove. He didn’t budge and the damp heat beneath her palms added to her agitation.
    Her only consolation was that she sounded commendably composed when she replied, “No, Beauregard, I am not.” Then, knowing it was unpardonably rude but simply not caring for once, she snapped, “You really ought to try reining in those hormones of yours. It’s a radical concept for you, I’m sure, but just as a change of pace.”
    He licked his lower lip. “Why, Miz Juliet, I do believe I’m insulted. A woman makes a sexually loaded statement, naturally a man wants to know if it’s an invitation. You’d understand what I’m talkin’ about if you were a guy.”
    “And if you had ovaries, you probably wouldn’t be such an idiot.” Oh, God, Juliet, shut up, shut up, shut up .
    “If I had any of your pretty pink equipment, sweet thing, I wouldn’t be asking if you wanted toget naked with me in the first place.” Then a crooked grin tugged up the corners of his mouth and he straight-armed himself away from the case. “So, you wanna grab a sandwich, or what?”
    She ducked under his arm and straightened her dress. “I suppose,” she said, and winced at the sulkiness in her tone.
    “I’ll take that as a yes.” And once again, he manacled her wrist in his lean fingers and started off down the block.
    They entered a brightly lighted establishment about the size of a closet, ripe with the rich scents of cooking, and not air-conditioned. Beau’s