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“I thought so.”
Heat washed over her, but whether it was from his look or from the mad dancing of her inner lust demons, she couldn’t say. “Well, I’m sold. Let me call Spence.”
“One more thing.” He grabbed the mouse, moved it around until Weeble Cale was standing next to Weeble Marcia. This time when his little hand shot out, it looked like he was grabbing her breast.
She couldn’t stop the laughter. “Oh God, I can see this site being used for naughty purposes.”
“Can’t do more than grab unfortunately.” He grinned. “That’s as far as it goes.”
She nudged his hand off the mouse and took over. Weeble Marcia skated forward and bumped into Weeble Cale hard enough that they both fell backward. “So what can I grab on you, huh?” she asked as she tried to figure out how to get little Marcia to stand up again.
“Anything you want.”
His husky tone drew her sharp glance. Instead of looking away, he held her gaze and licked his lips. Slowly. Maddeningly. Inciting more liquid to rush between her thighs.
He inched that much closer and covered her hand with his on the mouse while he turned his attention back to mini Marcia on screen. His palm rubbed against her knuckles and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep her face composed.
What was between them wasn’t anything deep or complicated. It went down to the most elemental level possible. She cared about him as a friend—just a friend—but she also wanted him. Badly.
Except he was Tony’s best friend. And her feelings toward Tony weren’t merely so simple. She l—
“Hey, you two.” She jerked back as Tony appeared in the doorway and took a bite out of his double-decker sandwich. “Hungry?”
“I’m not hungry,” Cale replied quietly.
With effort, Marcia trained her attention on the screen and away from the man who’d only just removed his hand from her leg and his other hand from the mouse. It didn’t matter. Her flesh still bore the heated weight of his touch.
“Me either,” she said, wondering if Tony could hear the lie in her voice.
* * * * *
Forget screwed. She was fucked. And not in the manner she’d considered yet again last night as she sat in front of Cale’s computer.
Marcia set aside the want ads and blew out a breath. Her unemployment was long gone and her savings was about to be. Pretty soon she’d be reduced to stripping to pay the bills. Hey, it worked for girls on movies of the week.
Ah, but there was the rub. She was no girl. At her age, she wasn’t prime stripping material. Plus, she had a business degree already. Weren’t the strippers always baring all to pay for law school or something? She’d done her time pursuing higher education. Now she just wanted a decent job and a reasonably satisfying personal life.
Small goals. Doable goals. But if she couldn’t find a decent temporary position soon, she’d have to hit up her baby brother, Adam the magnate—a nickname he claimed to hate, but she knew he secretly loved—for a loan. How pathetic was that?
It wasn’t just about the money either. She’d been out of work long enough that she’d begun to change all the way around, not just mentally but physically too. Without a steady income, she’d let her gym membership lapse.
Her lover certainly didn’t seem to mind. Instead of complaining, Tony bought her sexy lingerie even more often. It was probably due to her increased cup size. Truthfully she liked her new shape. As long as she stopped while she was ahead, she wasn’t in any huge hurry to diet. Besides, she was more than ready to find something to keep her busy. Then she’d have less time to snack in front of the TV anyway.
She picked up the checklist she’d made of her skills. She’d written the list to remind herself of everything she was good at. Numbers three, six and eight through ten were various sex acts. Honesty was imperative when finding your perfect job, right?
“Maybe I should be a whore,” she muttered.
Because that skirted a bit too close to her ex-husband’s assessment of her, she sighed. All wasn’t lost. Spence’s bookstore would be opening in late September so she’d have a job soon. Well, in four months. In the meantime, she could always take a temp typing job. Even if her long nails hampered her speed until it was nonexistent.
She probably should have thought more about what she was doing when she walked away from her position as the manager of The Book Nook. Smart people didn’t willy-nilly quit a job just because they hated their new supervisor. Or old supervisor, since Diana had been her boss before. When Diana had left the company six years prior, Marcia had fervently hoped she’d never see her lying, conniving, slutty ass again.
No such luck.
Diana Sinclair seemed inoffensive enough to the naked eye. She also happened to be a complete snake in a silk pantsuit. Job or no job, there was no way Marcia would work under the woman who had once used Spencer as a sexual bargaining chip in her lackluster marriage. Hell no. She’d strip for change—okay, dollars—first.
Marcia glared at her checklist, wrapping a strand of hair around her finger. Good thing she was keeping her options open, because she was running out of them.
Her expensive habits didn’t help matters. She liked her salon visits, her manis and pedis. Her lattes. She wasn’t a coupon cutter. But she also wasn’t about to lean on her younger brothers or Tony for help. Not unless she had no other choice. She’d gotten herself into this situation so she’d damn well get herself out of it.
