Page 33 of Red Hot Harmony

I pushed my plate aside and dialed her number, half expecting to be greeted with the recording, but she picked up.

“Hey, you.” The ambient noise told me she was at the store. I recognized the soft music and the muted chatter.

“Just wanted to check in,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “How’s the pipe?”

“Sorry I didn’t get a chance to respond to your text.” She was moving now, her footsteps little thuds in the background.

“It’s all right. I take it the situation is worse than you thought.”

She laughed. “You have no idea how hard it is to get a plumber on a Sunday.”

“No, I don’t. I suppose you’ll tell me all about it.”

“I’ve got a dozen dresses that are a waste and a mother who somehow found out about it and—” she sighed heavily. “I actually don’t want to talk about this disaster.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“If you can fix pipes or dry clean.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Dang it. I really chose the wrong career path. Who knew a way to a woman’s heart was with plumbing skills?”

Camille was silent for a bit, then asked, “So why are you really calling?”

“Because you didn’t reply to my text,” I told her honestly.

“Is this insecurity I’m sensing?”

“Possibly.”

“Is famous rock star and womanizer of the decade Dante Martinez scared of being rejected?”

“Ouch, did you really need to label me that? You wound me, darlin’.”

“Wasn’t me. Was some gossip rag.”

“Stalker.”

“So is he scared of being rejected?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Are you serious?” Her voice was hardly a whisper now, warm and seductive, and my body stood at attention.

“I’m very serious.”

“You think I’m the kind of woman to let a man spend the night in my bed, in my house where I live with my kid, and then dump him?”

“I’m still not quite sure what kind of woman you are, but I’m eager to find out.” My throat closed, and I cleared it to let the words out. “I liked your bed. It was extremely comfortable.”

“Yes, that mattress cost me a fortune.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“What subject were we on?”

“The subject of you and me sharing a bed, and I’m not talking about cuddling.” My desire was now hot and palpable and very evident in my jeans. Sweet Jesus, my hand was going to be sore tomorrow unless I gotreallylucky.

Camille’s breath came in a gasp. I heard the slam of a door, then the noises fading in the pursuit of privacy. “I’d like that too,” she murmured.

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