The Wedding Band by Cara Connelly Read Free Book Online Page B

tingled like electricity over his skin.
    â€œThat sounds like the voice of experience,” she said.
    He shrugged a shoulder, gave an answer no one could dispute. “This is Hollywood.”
    He sat on the sofa, stretching his arm along the back, body language for Come on over and join me.
    She crossed her arms.
    Okay, he could do conversation if he had to. “So, you live in L.A.?”
    â€œYes.” No details.
    â€œSurprised I haven’t seen you around.”
    â€œI’m not much for the party scene.”
    â€œClubs?”
    â€œNot the ones you frequent.”
    That made him smile. “You know which clubs I frequent?”
    â€œDoesn’t everyone? I thought that was the point of brawling on the sidewalk. If they’re not paying you for that kind of publicity, you should bill them.”
    He spread his palms. “Then I’d have to give my agent fifteen percent. The IRS would stick their hands out too. The damned extras would want scale.” He shook his head. “Hardly worth it.”
    She laughed. It shivered through him. He gripped the arm of the sofa so he wouldn’t get up and go to her.
    â€œSo, how long you been singing with Zach?”
    â€œYears, on and off. Mostly outside the States.” She uncrossed her arms and braced her hands on the desk. Her shimmery blouse went taut across her breasts.
    Somehow, he kept his eyes on her face. “Ma’s got all his CDs. She says you’re not on any of them.”
    â€œI don’t like the studio.”
    â€œSo you’ve never recorded?”
    â€œIt doesn’t feel like performing. There’s no give-­and-­take with the audience.” She shifted again, picking up a glass paperweight shaped like a dachshund.
    Holding it up to the light, she frowned. “This dog has three legs.”
    â€œTripod,” he said. “He’s my dog. Want to meet him?”
    â€œUm, what about my father?”
    â€œSure, he can meet him too.” Popping up before she could gather her thoughts, he put a hand on the small of her back and steered her out through the glass doors, where the rose garden’s scent rolled over them like a wave.
    She paused, inhaling. “Em brought me through here earlier,” she said. “It’s lovely.”
    â€œYeah, Ma’s into roses.” While the scent had her dazzled, he linked his fingers through hers and got her moving toward his part of the house. “Speaking of Ma, remember, she’s supposed to think we’re on a date.”
    â€œWhoa.” The effect of the roses wore off. “This isn’t a date.”
    â€œWe’ll pretend. Just to make her happy.”
    Keeping hold of her hand, he palmed them through another door, into his living room. Ma and Pops were stretched out in recliners, sound asleep in front of the tube.
    He shut the door with a thud, and Christy hissed. “Quiet, you’ll wake them.”
    He opened the door again. Slammed it.
    Nothing.
    â€œThey slept through a tornado once,” he said in a normal tone.
    But Tripod woke up and popped off Ma’s lap to sprint-­hop to him. He scooped the runt up in the crook of his arm.
    â€œWhat happened to him?” Christy asked, eyeing the scar where the missing front leg should have been.
    â€œIt was already gone when I found him wandering on Sunset.” Kota tickled Tripod’s belly so he wriggled like an eel.
    She reached out and did a one-­finger scratch. “Who named him Tripod?”
    â€œMe. I call him Tri, for short.” He grinned. “Cute, right?”
    â€œAnd original.” She looked up at him.
    And she smiled.
    His swallow stuck in his throat like a piece of steak. For a moment he gagged. Then he blasted a cough, a titanic explosion that made Tri lunge for safety.
    Safety, meaning Christy. The dog hit her chest like a bowling ball. Her arms clutched him instinctively, but Tri wasn’t satisfied. Down her