Dying to Get Published (The Jennifer Marsh Mysteries) by Judy Fitzwater

Author:Judy Fitzwater [Fitzwater, Judy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Amazon.com
Published: 2010-12-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

The room breathed seduction. Maybe gasped was more like it. Jennifer had been aiming for something like a scene in one of Leigh Ann's better novels, but she had a more contemporary setting in mind, not a medieval romance.

The room was dark, lit only by pink forty-watt bulbs that were supposed to bathe the apartment in a soft, other-worldly glow but created something more like a dim, "Oh, God, I'm going blind" effect.

A cluster of candles on the coffee table formed a bright pocket of light around a fishbowl of stemless, floating carnations. The critique group would give her a D- for the carnations, but the supermarket was all out of everything else, except for daisies. She'd gone with the carnations.

Maybe Sam wouldn't notice. If she played her part right, Sam wouldn't remember anything about the night except that she had been there.

Mentally, Jennifer went down her check list. The wine was chilling in the refrigerator, and Celtic harp music was barely audible in the background. The salads were on ice, a loaf of Dee Dee's best bread was sliced and waiting along with the ingredients for a quick pasta dish—assuming they made it to the entree. The sleeping pills were ground into a fine powder and sat waiting on the kitchen counter, enough to make Sam really, really relaxed when mixed with a little wine. She'd have to make sure he didn't take too much alcohol.

She'd planned it all so perfectly. Everything should go fine. Everything would go fine as long as Sam didn't kiss her like he had on the roof.

The doorbell rang. Jennifer grabbed up a sheer black shirt and slipped it over her black tank top and leggings. She straightened her collar, tossed back her long, wavy hair—men, she'd been told, loved women's hair long and down—and touched the corner of her eye where the liner and the shadow made a dramatic upward curve. Eye makeup made her eyes swell if she wore it too often, but she felt it was necessary tonight.

She drew in a deep breath and threw back the door lock. Ready or not, Sam Culpepper, you are about to be seduced.

Sam greeted her with a puzzled, open-mouthed stare. "Jennifer?"

The cad. He could at least have thrown her a leer.

"Sam," she beamed, her mouth twitching at the corners as she consciously tried to take the plastic out of her smile. She took his hand, pulled him inside, and shut and locked the door behind him. The fly was in the parlor.

She watched as his eyes traveled from the coffee table to the stereo, to the dining table set with china—she owned only two good plates and two crystal water goblets, a gift from her mother to seed her hope chest. He arched an eyebrow. "I thought we were going to talk about the book."

She dropped his hand. She might as well have pinned a sign across her chest reading TAKE ME, YOU FOOL!

Her instincts told her to rip open the door, shove him back into the hall, and lock it after him.

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