Uninhibited. Candace Schuler
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Zoe managed to look away, finally—to the ground first, and then, panicked, at Gina. But Gina wasn’t any help. She was staring at Reed, too. Or at least in Reed’s direction.
“Who’s the yummy Italian stallion with him?” she asked.
Zoe ducked her head, her lashes protectively lowered, sucking air and melted ice from the bottom of her cup as if getting the last drop of creamy iced coffee was the most important thing in the world at the moment. “Him who?”
Gina rolled her eyes. “The stuffed shirt. Who’s the guy with him?”
“How should I know?” Zoe mumbled, without looking.
“Well, he seems to know you,” Gina said. “He just waved.”
Zoe darted a quick glance from under her lashes without lifting her head. “That’s Moira Sullivan’s butler. Eddie something.”
“The stuffed shirt plays rugby with his great-grandmother’s butler?” Gina’s expressive eyebrows lifted like twin arches. “How democratic of him. I guess maybe he’s not quite so stuff— Hi, there, fellas. Great game.” raspberry lips pursed Reed automatically checked his stride to avoid running into the brunette who suddenly stood in his way. “Thanks,” he murmured absently, his gaze still riveted on the object of his rampaging…affections.
Apparently oblivious to his presence, she was standing half-hidden behind her pint-size friend, her lids lowered, her lusious raspberry lips pursed around the straw protruding from the plastic lid of a paper cup. No one looking at her would believe she’d just been staring at him as if they were gazing at each other across the width of a rumpled bed rather than a rugby field. He almost didn’t believe it himself except there was something just a bit too studied and deliberate about the way she stood there, not looking at him. Something that told him she was as aware of him as he was of her. Something that made him think…hope…wish…that if he reached out and wrapped his arms around her, she’d melt against him in total surrender and beg him to take her. Repeatedly.
“I’m Gina,” the brunette said. “You must be Reed.”
“Uh…yeah.” Reed tore his gaze away from Zoe’s averted face, gathering himself together with a Herculean effort. The rugby field was no place to indulge in ridiculous sexual fantasies. “Yes, I’m Reed.” Belatedly, remembering his manners, he extended his hand to her. “Reed Sullivan,” he said politely, somehow managing to sound as calm and unaffected as if they were standing in his penthouse office. As if his blood wasn’t roaring through his veins like an out of control locomotive on a downhill grade. As if he weren’t still fighting the insane urge to toss the luscious Miss Moon over his shoulder and keep right on walking—preferably straight to the king-size bed in the master bedroom of his Back Bay town house. “And you’re Gina…” he did a quick scan of his memory banks “…Molinari, isn’t it?”
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