Free Sin on the Run by Lucy Farago Page A

begun managing the club from home. She relied on couriers to bring her the financial stuff and as Rhonda’s injuries wouldn’t allow her to dance, she took care of the rest of the girls. Maggie had competent managers to run the floor, but the press and even tourists made it hard for her to go to the club without a media frenzy. It was the kind of attention the women in Maggie’s programs didn’t need or want. A couple had run from not only places, but people. Their faces in the papers weren’t welcome. Rhonda understood.
    Maggie had once told her they weren’t that different, she and Rhonda. On some level, Rhonda agreed, but where it counted they were. Maggie loved her maternal instincts and in fact thrived on them. Helping came so natural to her, she didn’t think, just did. Rhonda, on the other hand, hated helping and would give anything never to do it again. If she could cut out that part of her that dragged her sorry ass into helping others, she would.
    She was twenty-eight and had spent nearly all of those years taking care of someone else, putting what she wanted and needed aside. And if she had to do it over again, she would. She loved her father. He was what he was. But enough was enough. She glanced back at Blake. His eyes were closed, his lips drawn in a tight line. One more time, she told herself, and then no more. And the no more included Heart’s Desire.
    She didn’t want to give Maggie another reason to worry. “I’ll think about the job.”
    Everyone said their goodbyes. When the Dozier told them they were ready for takeoff, she took the seat beside Blake.
    â€œI’m really glad you’re here,” he said.
    â€œYes, you said that.” She smiled weakly at him and looked away. At least one of them was glad.
    â€œI couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. I want you to know,” he put his hand over hers, “I’m sorry that you got mixed up in all of this. I won’t say I regret what happened between the two of us, but if you hadn’t been in my room—”
    â€œYou’d be dead,” she pointed out, meeting his eyes. “I saved your ass.”
    â€œYes,” he said, his laugh unable to hide the pain he was in. “I guess I owe you.”
    â€œAnd I intend to collect, but not now. Now, you’re going to pop one of these babies.” She pulled out the pill bottle she’d tucked into her jeans. “Then we’ll figure out how to recline these suckers.” She patted her chair. “And you’re going to nap, all the way to New Orleans. Got it? Go ahead. Argue. I dare you.” She’d put enough menace in her voice for him to take her seriously. She may not like mothering, but she was good at it.
    â€œI don’t do pain pills. They make me foggy and foggy I’m no good to you.”
    â€œHate to break it to you, bud, but you’re no good to me anyway. Not like this. Bet you can’t even see straight. Someone put a hole in your chest twenty-four hours ago. You should be in bed. You want to help? Get some rest.” She brushed away the hair on his forehead, a trick Mrs. Grekov had taught her, a way to check for fever. Instead, the cool feel of his skin beneath her fingertips stirred memories better forgotten. She’d remembered the way she’d wrapped herself around him. And from the look on his face, from the way he was staring straight in her eyes, he was sharing her thoughts. This wasn’t good for either of them.
    â€œTake the pill and go to sleep.” She opened the bottle and glared at him, daring him not to take it. He stared at the white capsule in her hand, looking like someone who hadn’t gotten the memo on who was in charge. For now anyway. Rhonda called on her inner Black Opal. If nothing else, her stage persona at least knew how to take charge.
    â€œAre you waiting for water? Or would you like me to shove it up your ass?”