A Matter of Trust by Radclyffe Read Free Book Online Page A

hand to lead her through the crowd.
    “They seem to be very good friends,” Michael remarked casually as she and Sloan stepped out into the street. She was still holding Sloan’s hand, and it was surprisingly strong—smooth and warm against her skin. It wasn’t at all unpleasant, that firm, sure touch.
    “They just met not long ago,” Sloan informed her, “but they hit it off right away.” She didn’t ordinarily discuss Jason and Jasmine’s connection. That was for Jason to reveal, and, although she thought Michael might understand, she redirected the conversation to a safer topic. “I’m really glad that you enjoyed the show.”
    As she spoke, she released her grip on Michael’s fingers, disengaged the alarm on the Carrera with her remote, and opened the passenger door for her guest.
    “Oh, I did,” Michael replied, settling into the front seat and then strapping on her seat belt. She shifted in the seat so she could face Sloan as they drove. “Thank you for inviting me.”
    For a moment, Sloan was uncomfortable, very aware that only the day before Michael had contracted her to do a job, and that she didn’t know her very well. Usually when she was alone with a woman, she felt a little more certain of her moves. Tonight had been different. Michael Lassiter was not someone with whom to indulge in a casual dalliance. Sloan had a feeling that Michael wouldn’t even know the rules.
    Glancing at her passenger, she was surprised anew by her quiet elegance and composure. Grinning, she said, “Sorry if the evening took you a little by surprise.”
    “Not at all.” Michael laughed. “Once I figured out that most of the beautiful women were men, and many of the handsome ones were really women, I wasn’t confused in the slightest.”
    “Well, that’s the first time I ever heard it put quite that way, but it does seem to sum it up.” She added without thinking, “Except for you. You’re very beautiful, and most definitely not a man.”
    Michael stared, her skin flushing hot at the compliment. If Nicholas had ever called her beautiful, he’d never said it in exactly that tone. There was something slightly sensuous in the way Sloan said it. Watching the moonlight flicker across the other woman’s face, she realized at that moment that “handsome” was exactly the right word for J. T. Sloan. Lean and well muscled, with features too chiseled to be anything but androgynous, she was not exactly masculine, but “beautiful” was not a strong enough word for her attractiveness either. When Michael realized she was staring, she forced her gaze away.
    “Thank you,” she said softly, not knowing what else to say.
    “You’re welcome,” Sloan replied just as softly, surprised at her own uncensored admission, and even more surprised by how inadequate the words seemed. “Beautiful” did not come close to describing Michael Lassiter. Most disturbing of all was that she had no words for how good being with her made her feel.
    As the Carrera hurtled through the night, she was very aware of her companion and sensed the awareness was mutual, but neither of them broke the silence. Eventually they entered one of the older, wealthier sections of the city, and Michael directed Sloan to her home.
    When they pulled into the circular drive in front of a large stone mansion, Michael was strangely disappointed. She glanced up at the familiar edifice and realized how cold and impersonal it now seemed. Lights were lit in strategic windows, turned on and off at irregular intervals by the electronic timer. This gave the semblance of an inhabited home, when in fact she and Nicholas were rarely there at the same time. Often, their separate business obligations took them in opposite directions across the country for policy or marketing meetings. Days would pass when one or both of them were out of town, or they would simply be coming and going at different times.
    They rarely shared a bed, and she noted with relief that his Ferrari