Roped Into Romance by Alison Kent Read Free Book Online Page A

freight car's rattletrap creaks and groans.
    This still didn't look promising. And so Lauren continued to think until the lift ground to a stop and Anton, again using his security key, shoved the door upward along its overhead tracks and yanked back on the loft's metal privacy grate.
    At her first sight of the hardwood floor, Lauren changed her mind. She turned and met Macy's wide eyes, seeing the astonished reflection of her own baby blues in her best friend's whiskey-colored gaze.
    "I don't believe this place." Lauren slipped off her clogs before walking on bare feet into the loft. "Talk about not judging a book by its cover. Crumbling bricks be damned. This floor is absolutely the best."
    "It smells," Macy said, stepping out of her wedged sandals, "like real wood."
    "It is real wood." Anton left on his Italian leather loafers. "One hundred percent maple plank. Urethane finish. Definitely shoe-proof. And the building's facade is being repaired. One brick at a time."
    "I don't care," Lauren said, shaking her head. "I mean, I do care. About the bricks.
    Not about the floor being shoe-proof. Well, I care about that, too. But I want to experience this with my skin."
    Macy had already slapped her barefooted way into the center of the loft's main room.
    "It's a hardwood floor, Lauren. It's not a grassy meadow. It's not Berber carpet.
    There's no t a lot to experience with your skin."
    "Maybe not with your skin." Lauren closed her eyes, held her shoes wrapped in her arms close to her chest, and flexed her toes against the wood. No one, her best friend included, had ever understood how her body assimilated touch.
    Her sensitivity had often been a curse. Childhood immunizations? The worst.
    Eyebrow tweezing? Yikes! Bikini waxes? Forget about it! But, oh, could her sensory feedback be a blessing. The right man and…
    Shivering, Lauren opened her eyes — and looked straight into Anton Neville's. They gleamed with speculation. And his irises, wow. That shade of near navy was incredibly rare. She knew he wasn't wearing contacts. Just like she knew, if she had her way, he wasn't going to be wearing anything soon.
    "Like I said. The best." She flexed her toes again and hoped he bought it. Then took Macy by the hand. "We're going to take a look around."
    Ankles crossed, hands shoved down in his pockets, Anton leaned back against the edge of the open elevator. "Take yo ur time."

    Ankles crossed, hands shoved down in his pockets, Anton leaned back against the edge of the open elevator. "Take your time."
    Once she'd dragged Macy out of the main room to the far end of the building, Lauren nearly groaned. "All night wouldn't be enough time. Give me that man and give me forever."
    "You are such a slut."
    Lauren grinned, unoffended. She was a sensualist, not a slut. A discriminating one, and Macy knew it. Getting a rise out of each other was tough, but they both loved to try.
    Having checked a far corner and claimed it as her bedroom, Macy returned to the main room and the area prepped for a kitchen build-out. "Hey. You remember those sculptures we saw in the Sixties Store?"
    Lauren's eyes widened. "They would make perfect room dividers. You're brilliant, Mace. Five of them, at least. Right here between the kitchen and the center of the loft." Lauren's eyes widened further as she caught sight for the first time of the balcony doors.
    "C'mon. Let's check out the view." Lauren headed that way. Pulling open the sliding glass door, she slipped on her clogs and stepped outside.
    "This is so great! Can you imagine a little candlelight, a little wine? A lotta lovin' under the stars? Listening to the traffic below and trying not to get caught?" Lauren hugged her arms around her middle, whirled back to Macy, and said, "I can't wait to try it out!"
    Only it wasn't Macy standing in the open doorway behind Lauren.
    It was Anton Neville.
    And he said, "Neither can I."

Chapter Two
    Anton Neville slumped back in his desk chair. Feet flat on the floor, he