Page 17 of Between the Lines

Jo exchanged a glance with Beth as the two men puffed up like peacocks, each trying to posture their way to dominance.

“I’ve known the Marchandes for a long time,” Theo started, and Jo had suddenly had enough of the bullshit. Holding up her hands, she waved them in the air to stop the argument in its tracks.

“Let’s just cool it before we get to the point where you guys hose each other down with testosterone, okay?” Both men grunted, and Jo turned her attention to Ford. “Thanks for defending our honor and all that, big bro, but if you don’t like the dude, don’t invite him.”

“I liked him just fine before I knew what he’d done to you,” Ford muttered, “but I’d like him better back on one of the golf courses in LA, where I could go after him with a nine iron.”

Beth turned away, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hold in her laugh. Her laugh died as Ford dipped his head to whisper in her ear. Jo watched as her younger sister flushed from head to toe, her posture changing just slightly as she took in whatever dirty thing Ford had just said to her.

“I might be wrong, but I think they’ve forgotten about us,” Jo said wryly as Ford caught her sister’s elbow and led her from the lobby. She felt the pang of envy reverberate around her rib cage.

She was happy for Beth. She was. But was it too much to ask that she have someone who made her feel like that, too?

“Never would have thought that sweet little Beth would hook up with Ford Lassiter.” Theo took another sip of his club soda, calling Jo’s attention back to him. She watched as he swallowed, cursing inwardly when she caught herself watching the lines of his throat.

Couldn’t he have gone soft under that suit? Did he still have to look so damn physical?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jo felt the flare of temper as a knee-jerk reaction. “You don’t think one of the Marchande girls is good enough for a hotel tycoon?”

“Jo.” The exasperation he managed to inflect that single syllable with was a talent of his. “I was actually referring to the fact that, according to rumor, he’s a kinky fucking bastard.”

“What rumors? He said you were golf buddies.” Jo glowered up at Theo. Man, he’d been gone for so long, and yet within seconds he’d managed to tap right back into that special talent he had for getting under her skin.

It was during those times, when he would put his mouth all over her body except the place she most wanted it, that made her hate the fact that he made her wait.

“Golf buddies,” Theo agreed, a slight smirk curling the corners of his lips as he watched her. Heat rose into her cheeks—he knew. Damn it, he knew where her mind had gone. “And we also had some mutual friends. Friends who were into things that would shock you.”

Jo’s mouth went dry as Theo looked her over, top to bottom and up again. His eyes glinted with mischief, and also something darker.

“Shock me more than being trapped in a room watching you get blown by some other woman?” She found her voice and used it as a weapon. She no longer cared if she sounded jealous—she wanted an excuse to leave, leave this conversation and leave Theo, because the longer she stood here with him, the more she started to want things that she could no longer have—at least not if she was smart.

Theo. The dark. The rasp of a zipper, the wet sound of lips on skin. Without warning, Jo felt moisture surge between her legs, just from the memory.

She wasn’t jealous at all. Rather, being a voyeur on that little scene had awoken something she’d thought she’d never feel again.

Theo didn’t reply—he just kept on watching her with those dark eyes. And she absolutely did not have to fight back the urge to rise to her toes and trace her tongue over the golden line of his jaw.

“Fun as this has been, I’m going home.” Setting her now empty glass down on the bar, she wiped her palms over her thighs to hide the fact that they were trembling. “Good night.”

The way that Theo had been acting, the way he’d been flirting—for that was what it had been—Jo was surprised that he remained silent as she walked away, though she knew, just knew, that he watched her until she was out of sight. It wasn’t until she was back in her own room, her back pressed flat against the door she’d just closed, that she acknowledged that she was disappointed that he’d let her just go.

“No way, Jo. Not happening.” She shed her romper and the sandals as quickly as if they’d burst into flame. Pulling on white cotton panties and a worn Marilyn Manson concert tee, she exhaled with relief, as though in taking off the party clothes, she’d shed the Jo who was tempted by Theo Lawrence.

It was still there—that thing between them, that indescribable connection. Even in the dark, even not knowing who he was, he’d managed to turn her on.

“Don’t be stupid,” she muttered to herself as she climbed into her bed, crawling beneath the covers.

The only man who made her crave was also the man who had broken her heart. What kind of person would she be if she took him back? Not that he’d asked. Not that she would.

But as she lay there in the shadows of nighttime, listening to her sisters return from the open house, she couldn’t stop shifting back and forth in her bed. If she got up and looked out the window, she could see the Lawrence house. Was he staying there? Probably not, but the thought of him being so close after so many years made her pulse race.

So she stayed in bed, but when she finally fell into a fitful sleep, she was chased by images of dark eyes, golden skin and wicked hands that woke her up from the sleep she’d been in since he’d left.

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