Page 12 of Back in Black

Brett bid them all a good night and headed for his truck. He’d have some questions to answer later, if any of the guys bothered to read the flyer. Though even if they didn’t look closely, he didn’t know how anyone could miss the headline:

STOP THE VIOLENCE. BAN THE SBC NOW!

Imagining Drew’s reaction, Brett couldn’t help but chuckle. Joining the SBC had already been interesting. Now, with Audrey Porter in the picture, he had even more to look forward to.

GILLIAN arrived at Drew’s impressive home at six o’clock sharp. She had to knock twice before he answered, and then he came to the door looking as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. Naked except for a medium-size towel that barely reached around his hips, he held the door open for her.

She gaped. She looked at her watch, frowned, and made her attention go to his face—instead of his chest or shoulders or, God forbid, his tight abdomen. “You did say today, at six, yes?”

“Yeah, yeah, six. Come on in. I had some shit run over so I’m behind a little. No big deal.”

She maintained her position on the other side of the door. “If you need to reschedule . . .”

Loosely holding the towel together with one hand, he reached out and grabbed her arm to haul her in. “Quit acting like you’ve never seen a naked man before.” He secured the door behind her. “I didn’t buy that shit about you being in your forties, but you’re sure as hell not a blushing schoolgirl, either.”

He turned away from her, and Gillian saw how the towel parted over his hip, down to his thigh. Her mouth went dry. “This is not at all professional.”

“Screw professional. Do you know what my schedule is like? No? Well, Loren does, and he still let his pain-in-the-ass sister sic you on me. So if we’re going to do this, we’re going to have to make it work. If you can’t do that . . .”

He left the question open-ended so that Gillian was forced to either agree to his unorthodox manner or call it quits.

She couldn’t quit, though, not with so much at stake. Feigning an air of indifference, she gestured at his towel. “Flounce around buck naked if it pleases you. It’s no matter to me.”

He barked a laugh. “Flounce? Yeah, I bet you’d love for me to lose the towel, wouldn’t you? Admit it. And here you pretend to be so proper.” Shaking his head, he didn’t give her a chance to correct him or take umbrage. “Grab a seat and take a load off. I’ll be right back. And Gillian?”

She met his gaze with a raised brow.

“No peeking.”

Rolling her eyes, she gave him her back and strolled across the room to take a seat. When he disappeared from sight, she let out the breath smothering her.

For one heart-stopping moment, she’d thought he would drop his towel, and she’d been very undecided on whether to leave, or stay and get an eyeful.

Her pulse still sped and she felt too warm. Moseying into the dining room, she set her purse and briefcase on the table and then removed her black linen-blend jacket. For hours, she’d agonized over what to wear, but in the end, she decided not to let Drew Black influence her wardrobe choice.

She liked dressing feminine, so she’d opted for a sleeveless, scoop-neck, sheath dress with a tailored fit. It hugged her in all the right places, emphasizing her waist, and ended just below her knee. The black and white pattern of the dress went well with her dark hair. Black pumps were always businesslike, and these were heeled enough to give her needed height in dealing with Drew.

To keep herself from picturing Drew getting dressed, she looked around at what she could see of his house.

His front door opened into a spacious living room with high ceilings and lots of natural light. He had enormous plants, traditional furniture, modern art . . . altogether it looked great. Very stylish. She wondered if he’d decorated on his own or hired someone.

She was just about to peer into the kitchen when music started, and she turned to see Drew standing a few feet away, dressed in worn jeans and an open, casual white shirt, bare feet braced apart. As he stared at her, he buttoned up the shirt.

Gillian’s mouth went dry again. What was it about barefoot, jean-wearing men that was so . . . elemental, so macho? “I hope you didn’t rush on my account.”

His gaze slid over her, hot and personal, studying her throat, bare shoulders, and cleavage, before it tracked down to her legs.

One side of his mouth quirked up. “You’re making this really easy, you realize.”

“This?”

Rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, he approached her. When he stood right in front of her, he said nothing, just kept looking at her while he finished with his shirt.

“Drew?” Damn him, he left hersounsettled. “Really, I don’t—”

With his voice deeper than usual, he asked, “Do you ever wear your hair down?”

Her jaw loosened. “I don’t see—”

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