make partner? And why couldn’t Cleo see what he was up to?
The door opened, and Josh bolted off the couch. Was he going to make a run for it? No. He wasn’t running. He was frozen in his tracks, eyebrows raised, mouth agape. Curiosity got the better of Julian, and he turned to see what their little princess wore—
She did not wear a prom dress. She wore a very grown-up black lace evening gown that hugged every inch. And the inches formed a perfect, old-school hourglass figure. She should take off those horrible hippie dresses and yoga pants more often—let those curves out to play. Julian’s fingers moved automatically, like they did when he thought of a song and needed a guitar. Only he was not thinking about music, and what he needed…well, his romp with Sylvie obviously hadn’t scratched that itch completely.
“Well?” Cleo said. “Do I look okay?”
“Perfect!” Josh said. He grinned from ear to ear and his voice—usually a hunter green—sounded almost aqua. The fucker was so relieved he was changing colors.
Cleo turned her eyes on Julian. For about three seconds, he literally couldn’t breathe. She raised her eyebrows in question.
“You look beautiful,” Julian said. He’d wanted his voice to sound strong and sincere—gray, like slate—but it came out breathy, an embarrassing, wispy silver.
Heat rose in his cheeks. Maybe Cleo couldn’t see sounds, but she could sure as hell hear them. And his voice sounded… hungry . She tilted her head and gazed through her lashes. The girl could work it.
Josh seemed oblivious, probably because he was still awash in relief. “Black lace was a good choice,” he said, as if he were critiquing the red carpet. “A lot of the other ladies will be in black lace, too.”
Cleo’s mouth turned down a little at that. “Oh. Maybe I should have bought the polka-dot one.”
Julian grinned. “You would look lovely in anything,” he said.
Cleo’s smile came back, full force. “Thanks. What do you guys think of my hair?”
She turned around slowly. A river of lava spilled down her very bare back. The front of the dress covered everything, but the back covered very little. “Take a good, long look,” Cleo said. “Because I’m never straightening it again.”
“Very nice,” Josh said. “And some things are worth the effort.”
Cleo spun back around with a faltering smile. Julian waited for the dick to follow the statement up by saying something about lovely curls, but he just clapped his hands and said, “Ready to go?”
“I’ll follow you out,” Julian said. “I’m going to the club to hear a band.”
Josh laughed. “For a minute there, I thought you meant the country club.”
“No, don’t worry,” Julian said, grabbing his keys. “No riffraff in the country club tonight.”
Cleo lifted the hem of her dress to head down the stairs, and Julian recognized the toes of her black biker boots. Maybe there would be a little riffraff at the country club, after all.
Chapter Seven
Julian looked around the depressing, shabby offices of Upbeat and waited for Manny to get out of the bathroom. He took the liberty of sitting in his friend’s nasty throne of ripped vinyl, propping his feet up on the cluttered desk. He leaned back, and the springs squeaked out an alarm that made its way through the small battered door in the corner of the room.
“Get outta my chair.”
Julian glanced at the door. “Yeah, okay. Sure.” He leaned back and rocked in earnest. He loved fucking with Manny, and it was so bloody easy.
The toilet flushed.
Julian yanked his feet off the desk and leaned over to grab an issue of Upbeat off the stack on the corner. The ugly mugs of the Morones Brothers glared up at him from the cover, and a bizarre sense of pride surged through him. He opened the magazine to the proper page and began reading.
Not surprisingly, Cleo had done a bang-up job.
Manny emerged from the bathroom, lighting a cigarette. He nodded in Julian’s
The door opened, and Josh bolted off the couch. Was he going to make a run for it? No. He wasn’t running. He was frozen in his tracks, eyebrows raised, mouth agape. Curiosity got the better of Julian, and he turned to see what their little princess wore—
She did not wear a prom dress. She wore a very grown-up black lace evening gown that hugged every inch. And the inches formed a perfect, old-school hourglass figure. She should take off those horrible hippie dresses and yoga pants more often—let those curves out to play. Julian’s fingers moved automatically, like they did when he thought of a song and needed a guitar. Only he was not thinking about music, and what he needed…well, his romp with Sylvie obviously hadn’t scratched that itch completely.
“Well?” Cleo said. “Do I look okay?”
“Perfect!” Josh said. He grinned from ear to ear and his voice—usually a hunter green—sounded almost aqua. The fucker was so relieved he was changing colors.
Cleo turned her eyes on Julian. For about three seconds, he literally couldn’t breathe. She raised her eyebrows in question.
“You look beautiful,” Julian said. He’d wanted his voice to sound strong and sincere—gray, like slate—but it came out breathy, an embarrassing, wispy silver.
Heat rose in his cheeks. Maybe Cleo couldn’t see sounds, but she could sure as hell hear them. And his voice sounded… hungry . She tilted her head and gazed through her lashes. The girl could work it.
Josh seemed oblivious, probably because he was still awash in relief. “Black lace was a good choice,” he said, as if he were critiquing the red carpet. “A lot of the other ladies will be in black lace, too.”
Cleo’s mouth turned down a little at that. “Oh. Maybe I should have bought the polka-dot one.”
Julian grinned. “You would look lovely in anything,” he said.
Cleo’s smile came back, full force. “Thanks. What do you guys think of my hair?”
She turned around slowly. A river of lava spilled down her very bare back. The front of the dress covered everything, but the back covered very little. “Take a good, long look,” Cleo said. “Because I’m never straightening it again.”
“Very nice,” Josh said. “And some things are worth the effort.”
Cleo spun back around with a faltering smile. Julian waited for the dick to follow the statement up by saying something about lovely curls, but he just clapped his hands and said, “Ready to go?”
“I’ll follow you out,” Julian said. “I’m going to the club to hear a band.”
Josh laughed. “For a minute there, I thought you meant the country club.”
“No, don’t worry,” Julian said, grabbing his keys. “No riffraff in the country club tonight.”
Cleo lifted the hem of her dress to head down the stairs, and Julian recognized the toes of her black biker boots. Maybe there would be a little riffraff at the country club, after all.
Chapter Seven
Julian looked around the depressing, shabby offices of Upbeat and waited for Manny to get out of the bathroom. He took the liberty of sitting in his friend’s nasty throne of ripped vinyl, propping his feet up on the cluttered desk. He leaned back, and the springs squeaked out an alarm that made its way through the small battered door in the corner of the room.
“Get outta my chair.”
Julian glanced at the door. “Yeah, okay. Sure.” He leaned back and rocked in earnest. He loved fucking with Manny, and it was so bloody easy.
The toilet flushed.
Julian yanked his feet off the desk and leaned over to grab an issue of Upbeat off the stack on the corner. The ugly mugs of the Morones Brothers glared up at him from the cover, and a bizarre sense of pride surged through him. He opened the magazine to the proper page and began reading.
Not surprisingly, Cleo had done a bang-up job.
Manny emerged from the bathroom, lighting a cigarette. He nodded in Julian’s
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