Free That Thing Called Love by Susan Andersen Page A

ORRY OVER HIS NONPROGRESS with Austin had replaced the unexpected moment of good humor by the time he got back to the inn. He headed straight for Jenny’s office.
    He heard her voice before he reached it. “...forecasting staff needs for next week, and I need to set up a meeting with you before you leave for the day to discuss doing one of those Groupon or LivingSocial discounts. Reservations will get the immediate brunt of extra work,” she said, then laughed. “Well, if it does what I’m hoping, at any rate. What’s a good time for you?”
    He stopped in the open doorway. Jenny sat facing the door, but twisted slightly to the left as she glanced back and forth between a weekly planner and a spreadsheet laid across the desk, the phone receiver wedged between her ear and a hunched shoulder. Light from the overhead fixtures and the lamp on her desk detailed the creamy curve of high cheekbones and picked out the sheen of her dark hair on either side of her center part. She’d tucked the long layers behind her ears, and they tumbled over the girly, not-quite-but-damn-near sheer fabric of her little black blouse, their blunt ends curving slightly in alternating lengths against the petite thrust of her breasts. He could almost distinguish the outline of a black bra beneath the top.
    If he didn’t mind giving himself eyestrain.
    “Five o’clock is perfect,” she said. “I’ll see you then.” Hanging up the phone, she leaned forward, made a notation in the planner, then turned her attention to the worksheet.
    He could have sworn he didn’t make a sound, but her head suddenly jerked up and she looked straight at him, eyes startled and slender fingers spread like starfish on the oversize spreadsheet. And for just an instant their gazes melded with a spark that wasn’t solely on his side.
    His whole body perked up.
    He didn’t get it. He’d come away from his relationship with Kari with a carved-in-stone belief that there was no such thing as true commitment and a determination to never again put himself in the position of testing that belief. From the age of eighteen, he’d chosen women who knew the score. They understood they’d have a good time but that any relationship with him had a finite shelf date.
    Jenny was so not the cool, casual-sex kind he usually went for. Yet she still had a way of making his hormones come to attention and lock on her like heat-seeking missiles.
    Eye on the prize, Bradshaw! Shoving the attraction down where it belonged—in the subterranean depths of his mind—he stepped inside and for a second wasn’t sure where to start.
    Her brow furrowed. “Are you okay? Can I do something for you?”
    He walked over to her desk, spread his hands against its messy surface and leaned into them. His head drooped for a nanosecond before pride put some bone back in his spine. “He wouldn’t even talk to me.”
    “Who wouldn—?” Jenny blinked. “Austin?” The breath she exhaled wasn’t one of those exasperated, big sighs that females excelled at, but it wasn’t exactly a “poor baby,” either. “And you think this is my problem why?” she asked drily. “I gave you an opportunity. What you did with it was up to you.”
    “I know.” Noticing a luscious, amazing whisper of scent rising off her—a female aroma he could’ve happily gone all day without detecting—he straightened and took a step back. “I do know that. Damn.” Using one hand to massage the knot of tension from the back of his neck, he tried to explain. “It’s just—they got in the backseat.” He could see she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. “Austin and Nolan, they got into the backseat like I was the damn chauffeur!”
    The delighted laugh that rolled out of her lit her up like a little girl presented with a princess dress. But even as he was drawn to her unfettered enjoyment, even as he felt a spark of warmth take root low in his gut and high in his chest from the sound of her mirth, he found