Page 34 of Hot to Trot

"Doll, there's a prostitute for everything. You'll be a good fit."

"Gee, thanks. I'm not sure whether to thank you or break your Armani glasses with my fist."

She could hear his smile. "The former. And get your sweet ass to LA.”

"I'll leave as soon as I pay my fine tomorrow."

“Good. I’ll let Macy Flores know. She's casting on this one. Ciao."

Scarlet pressed the end button and shimmied out of the North Face shorts she'd slept in last night. A chance to work with David Sparrow. Her heart beat twice as fast in her chest. It could be a dream come true. An absolute coup. But first she had to get to California. Like, fast.

As she padded to the bathroom, a momentary pang of regret struck her. Adam had awakened something in her she thought she'd lost. He'd virtually glued a part of herself that had been broken. Tomorrow would be the last chance to double-check that stirring of desire. If he even showed up to court. She supposed he had to. After all, he was the arresting officer.

She wondered if she could pay her fine for the broken taillight and the speeding ticket. Two birds with one stone. Or rather one payment.

It was time to dust Oak Stand from her shoes. She had two more months before she had to be back in New York for production onDeep Shadows.A month in California sounded dandy to her. Sunshine, sand, and shopping on Rodeo. Plus her parents were in San Francisco.

Who needed France?

She hummed "I Love L.A." as she adjusted the faucet in the shower.

Maybe she'd find someone there who could finish what the straitlaced lawman had started. Someone to unzip her dress while mending her heart. Someone with golden hair and a quizzical smile. Someone who didn't look a thing like the man in New York who had ripped her to shreds and made her doubt her ability to ever find passion again. She didn't need love. She needed a good time.

Yes. Exactly.

Time to move on.

CHAPTER NINE

THE RHYTHMIC THUNK of the glove connecting with the body bag soothed Adam. He punched the bag, rattling the chain that secured it to a beam in the garage. Right jab, right jab, block, feint left, left hook. Repeat.

Sweat rolled down his back, coated his arms. He blinked the saltiness away doubling his efforts as if the leather bag were the bundle of trouble that had fallen in his lap.

It was the worst sort of trouble-one that had bee-stung lips, curvaceous hips, and an inclination for trouble.

Scarlet Rose.

This afternoon, she had received forty hours of community service for her disorderly conduct. And he was assigned as her supervising officer.

Wasn't going to be easy. He had to prepare himself for trouble. For three reasons.

First, Scarlet was royally pissed. During the sentencing, everyone from one side of Oak Stand to the other had learned she "couldn't stay in their Podunk town." She had to audition for a role of a lifetime. In California. "For the hottest director in Hollywood." She'd nearly been held in contempt for herdramatic, pleading performance. Hell, if he'd been an Academy voter, she would have had his vote.

Second, Judge Sharon Kent had given a community-service project as part of the sentence when she could have given a fine.

And third, did he mention he'd been appointed her supervising officer? Even though he was the chief? That meant he'd be required to check on her. Which meant he'd have to see her. Which meant he'd be tempted to touch her. To kiss her. To bend her over his cruiser and run his hands over her spectacular ass.

He punched the bag harder, making it swing erratically.

"Shit," he said to the empty garage, dropping his arms to his sides. He tilted his head back and panted, taking shallow breaths that smelled like hot asphalt and burnt oil. "I mean, shoot."

He tried not to swear. Or drink. Or kiss sexy actresses with legs a mile long and breasts that made his mouth water. He also tried not to talk to himself.

Battle lost on all fronts.

He tossed the gloves on the workbench welded to the garage wall and opened the fridge he kept stocked with water and beer. He grabbed a Heineken, wrenched the top off, and took three long swallows of the icy beer. His body needed water. His mind demanded the beer.

No way he could keep his hands off her.

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