Flirting with Forever by Gwyn Cready

Flirting with Forever by Gwyn Cready

Author:Gwyn Cready
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc
Published: 2016-02-16T05:00:00+00:00


Twenty-seven

Jeanne snapped off her desk lamp, slipped off her pumps, and dug in the tote for her Skechers. If I have to listen to one more high-paid business executive complain about how hard it is to be them, she thought, I’m gonna shoot somebody.

Cam was packed off with Mr. Ball, digging into old, rich-guy food somewhere, and Jeanne was looking forward to an easy bus ride home while she finished the sexy romance novel about the woman who falls into the pages of her favorite book. She actually thought Cam would enjoy it too, given her amazing adventure, but she’d been so damn moody since the Lely thing started, Jeanne didn’t dare risk suggesting it.

She dropped her walking shoes under her desk and was just about to slide a foot in when she noticed a flash of pink on the knuckle of her big toe. Oh, crap. She’d given herself a pedicure this morning—Moorea Dream Mango—and was hoping that wasn’t a smear. She’d just leaned into the kneehole to get a better look when the sound of a crash made her jerk upright.

Her head smacked hard into the underside of the desk, and she flung herself back and shot upright.

Trying to catch his balance in front of Cam’s desk was a long-haired man in a ruffled linen shirt, silk stockings, and puffy brown pants. Holy shit. It’s Hammer time.

“Who are you?” he asked, still clinging to the desk for support.

“Jeanne Turner.” Dazed, she ran across the floor and bumped the door closed. He looked like something out of Shakespeare, but he had a flesh-and-blood quality no actor could convey.

He made a low bow. “I apologize for the interruption. I—What is that?”

“That, my friend, is a laptop.”

He tilted his head slowly. “’Tis a lamp of some sort?”

“For some people, yes.”

His gaze flicked around the room. The coffeemaker, her dress, the tubes of paint at the little practice easel Cam kept on her desk, the telephone. He took a step backward, alarm on his face, then shook his head and brought his attention back to Jeanne. “I…I’m sorry. I should introduce myself. I’m—”

“Oh, I know who you are.”

“You do?”

“Painter by the name of Peter Lely.”

His eyes widened. “I’m looking for a woman.”

“And I’m pretty sure I know who.”



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