Free A Secret Life by Barbara Dunlop Page A

get the cool, distant look out of Joan’s eyes.
    She darted him a glare. “You’re staying to defend yourself?”
    He moved to the wicker chair that was positioned on the opposite side of the stone fireplace. “I’m staying because I’m worried about you. I’m simply pointing out—for future reference—that the interview and the break-in were two separate events.”
    She started rocking. “Right. Who knows what kind of sicko a national television spot will bring out of the woodwork.”
    “Joan.”
    “Do you know what Alain just asked me?”
    “What?”
    “He asked me to endorse the music festival.”
    The change of topic was abrupt, but Anthony didn’t point that out. His mind started clicking through the promotional opportunities of the music festival. He should give Lesley Roland a call. She was one of the best publicists in the business.
    “Stop!”
    He glanced up. “What?”
    “You’re already scheming.” Joan stood up and took a couple of paces forward. “I’m not endorsing the music festival. I don’t want the music festival.”
    He stood with her. “Why not?”
    “It’ll ruin the town. Crowds will converge—”
    “It’s Cajun culture at the old opera house. We’re not talking heavy metal.”
    She folded her arms over her chest. “And it would be good for my career.”
    Anthony moved in front of her. “What’s wrong with something being good for your career? Publicity is not a four-letter word.”
    Her cheeks flushed, and her green eyes smoldered in the dim light. “Just once I’d like you to think about what would be good for my life instead of my career.”
    “They’re not mutually exclusive.”
    She waved a hand. “It’s all about the sales to you.”
    “That’s because I’m your agent.”
    “Yeah? Well…” She bit her bottom lip, and her eyes clouded as the sound of the cicadas rose. The temperature in the room spiked, even while the breeze wafted moisture-laced air from the bayou.
    He thought she swayed toward him.
    Was she feeling half of what he was feeling?
    He stared into the depths of her eyes.
    “You want me to be something else, Joan?” he dared.
    She blinked her lashes but didn’t say a word.
    A weight pressed down on his chest.
    Slowly, knowing it was crazy, knowing he was losing his mind, he raised his hand to touch her soft cheek. Even as his brain screamed at him to stop, his fingers tunneled into her thick hair.
    Her lips parted as she sucked in a breath, and her eyes fluttered closed, dark lashes sensual against the dewy glow of her skin.
    He cupped her face with his other hand, drawing her toward him in slow motion. Ten years of pent-up desire simmered to life within him, threatening to overwhelm him, dragging him into oblivion. A taste, he promised himself. Nothing more than a taste of her tender lips.
    She tipped her head.
    It was all the invitation he needed.
    His lips came down on hers, and paradise ricocheted through every cell in his body. His hands convulsed into her hair. His lips parted, his tongue flicking ever so lightly against her mouth. He moaned with the supreme effort it took to hold back.
    She stepped forward, and her thighs brushed against him. He drew her in tight, his mouth widening, turning an exploratory kiss into one of absolute carnality. His palm slipped down to the small of her back, and he pressed her against his erection.
    Her arms wound around his neck as she accepted his kisses, opening wider, allowing him to taste the secret caverns of her mouth. Her tongue answered his plea, and he felt the sultry night settle around them.
    The feather bed was mere feet away.
    He wanted her naked on the cool, crisp comforter.
    He wanted her shimmering hair splayed out against the white pillowcase.
    He wanted to hold her, and kiss her, and make her his own.
    It was Joan in his arms. It was Joan whom he’d dreamed about forever. The scent and feel and taste of her overwhelmed his senses. He kissed her cheek, her neck, the tender skin over