Love, Me by Tiffany White Read Free Book Online Page A

in another strange hotel room. She was a guest in Dakota’s home. Probably not a very welcome guest, but a guest nonetheless.
    â€œIs this a fire drill?” she called out. It felt as if she’d just fallen asleep.
    â€œCan we come in?” Dakota asked through the door, while Pokey scratched at it and barked.
    Chelsea pushed herself up in bed, reached for the quilt and tucked it around her naked body. “Come on in.”
    The door opened and Pokey bounded onto the bed and licked her face happily.
    Dakota, who had just set down Chelsea’s bags in a corner of the room, turned to remonstrate the dog.
    â€œPokey, beha—” he began, then stopped, looking stunned.
    Chelsea followed Dakota’s gaze and saw that Pokey’s playful welcome had caused the quilt to slip, displaying her right breast. “Oopsies,” she said, adjusting the quilt.
    Pokey plopped down beside her, panting and grinning like she’d known exactly what she was doing, and that maybe there would be a dog biscuit in it for her. Observing the sexy glint in Dakota’s blue eyes, Chelsea wouldn’t be at all surprised if that was true.
    â€œUh—” he swallowed dryly “—I had your bags packed and brought them over from the hotel.” He nodded toward them. “Breakfast is in half an hour—no room service, sorry. So haul your lazy bones out of bed. Come on, Pokey, let’s go.”
    When man and dog were gone, Chelsea let the soft quilt slip to her waist. The nipples of her breasts had hardened and had a warm, rosy blush to them. She hadn’t been as impervious to the desire in Dakota’s baby blues as she’d pretended.
    She smiled as she shoved back the quilt and got out of bed, not quite sure who was going to drive who crazy during their attempt to get a song written for her.
    She made short work of the unpacking, then showered and a half-hour later, descended the stairs for breakfast wearing a white T-shirt with rolled sleeves, a pair of men’s boxers worn as shorts, and round sunglasses that were tinted bright blue.
    She followed the sound of voices to the airy dining room where she found two things that surprised her. The focal point of the room, a battered oak dining table, was surrounded by mismatched chairs, each wooden curiosity painted a different color.
    Even more intriguing, was the fact that seated to Dakota’s left, barely visible behind the tall vase of snapdragons in the center of the table, was Melinda Jackson, Dakota’s possessive assistant.
    Pokey lay near Dakota’s feet, her tail thumping on the hardwood floor. Unlike Melinda, the dog was happy to see her. Melinda had shown no surprise when Chelsea entered the dining room, but the look on her face left no doubt that she wasn’t one bit happy about Chelsea’s presence in Dakota’s home.
    â€œWell, you finally decided to join us for breakfast,” Dakota said as he stirred sugar into his coffee. “Melinda fetched your things from the Opryland Hotel for me, and I invited her to join us for breakfast. Help yourself to the spread on the sideboard. My cook still thinks he’s cooking for my band on tour, so there’s plenty.”
    â€œDakota, you should have told Chelsea we dress for breakfast in the South,” Melinda chided.
    â€œI am dressed.” Chelsea picked up the plate from the place that had been set on Dakota’s right.
    â€œDon’t you worry what people will think about your dressing that… that way? I would never have the nerve.” Melinda’s venom was obvious despite the sugarcoating.
    â€œIt never occurs to me to worry what people will think of me,” Chelsea replied. “I’m more concerned with what I think of them.”
    Chelsea helped herself to the food on the sideboard. She split a flaky buttermilk biscuit, ladled it with sausage gravy seasoned with pepper, then poured herself a tall glass of tart, pulpy