To the Edge by Cindy Gerard

Author:Cindy Gerard [Gerard, Cindy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780739453568
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2005-05-03T07:00:00+00:00

Nolan cast a covert glance at Jillian as he took two rare rib eyes off the countertop grill and set them on a platter. She sat placidly on a stool at the counter, one elbow on the black granite, her jaw in her palm while she alternately sipped from and played lazily with her wineglass.

Hell. He should have given her wine a long time ago. Since he'd poured her a glass half an hour ago, she'd stopped firing questions at him like bullets. Who knew that when she wasn't scared out of her mind a little alcohol could quiet her down? And who knew she'd have the balls to dig into his past... or the savvy to uncover what she had?

Her little fishing expedition—or witch hunt if you're Sting hairs—had caught him off-guard. He didn't like hearing his life story rolled out like a length of newsprint—even though he had to admit, his opinion of her had grudgingly ratcheted up yet another notch. Obviously, she'd made it as far as she had in the business on her own merit. Anyone who could dig up that much dirt in that short order couldn't be half-bad as an investigative reporter.

"Soup's on," he announced, carrying the platter and a salad bowl to the table.

She roused herself with a slow blink, as if she'd forgotten he was even there. Finally, she sort of spilled off the bar stool and with her wine in hand walked barefoot to the table. "Why root beer?"

He watched her settle herself in her chair. One of many mistakes he'd made so far. She'd ditched her white jacket and heels the minute they cleared her penthouse door. Just his luck, the only thing she was wearing besides a short white skirt that showed way too much pale, bare leg was a skimpy little coral pink top with straps as thin as spaghetti. Hell, he didn't know what it was called—a camisole, maybe. The only thing he knew for sure was that it was as sheer as silk and as sexy as bare skin. And the woman who had designed it had a deep and abiding insight about what brought a man to his knees.

Besides all the subtle shifting going on beneath it when she moved, her breasts pressed against the watery fabric; her nipples were as prominent as pencil erasers.

"Hel-looo?"

He dragged his gaze away from her chest to her face when he realized she was talking to him. "What?"

"Why root beer?" she asked, and he realized she was repeating a question.

He sat down, settled himself, and grabbed a steak knife. "Because I'm on-the-job."

"And?"

He angled her a look. "And because I like the real stuff too much."

"Hm." She considered him, sipped more wine. "I figured you more for a hard-liquor kind of guy."

"That, too," he said, slicing into his steak.

"Meaning you drink it or you like it too much?"

"Yeah to both. Eat. No more questions."

Absolutely no more questions. If she kept hammering away like she had in the car on the way back from the studio, he'd end up spilling his guts just to shut her up.

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