Free Careless Whisper by Wendi Zwaduk Page B

half, I’m positive.” He nipped her earlobe, drawing a shiver from her as she snuggled closer. “I know more than you think—you have a submissive side I find extremely attractive—but you want something more obscure?” He kissed her jaw and rubbed his nose along her cheek. “You like Billy Joel.”
    Her eyes widened when she turned to face him and wriggled out of his arms. “Huh?”
    “Your iPod is full of Billy Joel’s music.” He inched closer to her, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You like the colour red and prefer to wear your hair away from your face when you transcribe.”
    “Ryan.”
    Her breathy voice heated his blood and spurred him on. He glanced at her computer. A slideshow of hot guys filled the screen. So she liked beefcake? Good to know. He laced his fingers with hers, giving them a gentle squeeze. “You love television cops and have a particular fondness for the guy who plays Evan Turner on Vice .”
    “How do you know that?”
    “Your screen saver.” He nodded over her shoulder. “I see you also have—Samara, I’m flattered.” She’d even chosen the picture where he’d flexed his muscles with the glow from the Reformatory behind him. Nice. His heart swelled in time with his erection. “Good thing ole Nolan married your sister. You’ve moved up to the best taste in men.”
    “Thanks,” she replied in a tart voice.
    “How about you try for cheerful?” His guts coiled at the sadness in her eyes. “Tell me how he hurt you. I can’t change the past, but I’m here now.”
    Samara nibbled the corner of her mouth and stepped back.   She glanced away twice before speaking. “I come from a family of tall, model-thin women. Jonquil and
Willow
have glossy black hair and twenty-two-inch waists. I’m the short, curvy runt. Men see my sisters and I fade into the background. As far as guys are concerned, I’ve been invisible for the last fourteen years.” She chuckled and wrapped her arms around her midsection. “I’d love to know what it’s like to be five-seven, just once.”
    “It’s not much different from being five-three.” Ryan captured her loosely in his arms, stroking her hair. “The guys who looked past you were fools or blind.” He breathed in her scent, needing the comfort of her nearness. “You have a journalism degree, don’t you?”
    “That’s not on my screen saver.”
    “I checked your creds when I went looking for another videographer.” He tugged her flush against him and splayed his hands across her back. “What’s on the computer? I know you weren’t staring at my hot bod , although I’d like to believe it.”
    “At least you don’t lack ego. My screen saver is my private stress reliever and inspiration.” She shrugged, her gaze not quite meeting his. “I write short stories—romance—to escape. Although, sometimes real life makes for the best fiction.”
    His ire rose for a split second. Nah, not Samara. She’d have said something. “You didn’t come here for a juicy story starter, did you?” he asked, feigning irritation. “I charge for that sort of thing.”
    She stared at him with a mix of incredulousness and shock. “Yeah, hearing your beau scream his ex’s name in his sleep is such an invitation to romance.”
    Point taken and punishment dealt, Ryan relaxed a bit. Beau? He loved the sound of the endearment on her lips. “It was a dream I didn’t want, you know. I’m a one-woman man.”
    “I believe you.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “But it was unreal.”
    “What was? Tell me what you saw, sweetheart.”
    “In my dream, I saw the whole thing through your eyes. Felicity’s our evil entity. She wants you dead so no one else can have you. Her energy’s dying, but if she can convince you to fall back in love with her she’ll live again.” She chuckled when he opened his mouth to speak. She fluttered her hands in the air, effectively cutting off his response.   “I read your mind like you said