Hurts So Good Read Free Page A

you lost tonight."
    He couldn't help but respect the woman for making such an offer. Life had made him mean, but he prided himself on being fair.
    "Don't sweat it. The fill-in I called didn't show?"
    "Take a look and guess."
    He did look. At her. Even frazzled, she had a certain spark he could have related to ten years and a lifetime ago.
    "Give me my week, and I promise to make this up to you."
    Neil studied her determined, fervent expression and saw himself begging for a gig. She reminded him of himself when he'd been a kid, with dreams and ambitions and enough stupidity to believe in great beginnings and happy endings. Just looking at her made him feel wasted and angry for it. And jealous for some of what she had that he'd lost along the way.
    "I won't leave until it's clean," she rushed on in the taut silence. "The register's already been emptied, so there's no reason for you to stay. I'll lock up when I'm through."
    She reached for an overfilled ashtray, and he knocked it away. Her breath audibly caught, and she took a step back. Her eyes—Lord were they gorgeous—darted uneasily to his. So, he made her nervous. Dandy. He supposed that made them somewhat even.
    "Aw, no no, chere ," he said, his voice as smooth as the worn leather flask he pulled from his back pocket. "What kind of man do you take me for? I wouldn't dream of leaving you all alone. Lots of dangerous sorts roaming around this time of night, and you such a sweet thing. I insist on offering my protective presence, seeing that I'm not only generous but a gentleman."
    He saw her swallow, but when she spoke, her words were steady. "I can take care of myself, thank you, Mr. Grey. If you'll excuse me, I have enough work to last me until daybreak. No need to worry about the 'dangerous sorts' on my behalf. See you tomorrow at five? Sharp."
    Seemed that she could take care of herself, he thought, admiring her nerve and wishing he didn't.
    "Trying to get rid of me? I'm hurt." The small snort she made told him she doubted he was capable of that emotion under any circumstances. Strangely enough, he was a bit stung. First honest-to-God twinge of personal injury he'd felt in a long, long time. "You don't think I can hurt, do you?"
    "Can you?"
    Neil frowned and uncapped the flask. There had been a sudden eagerness in her question that smacked of a newshound sniffing his tracks. Those story-mongers couldn't get it through their shifty heads that Neil Grey was old news. Sure the new and diehard fans paid their respects, along with the big-draw hotshots who needed his compositions to stay that way. But his recording career was dead. Afact that only seemed to fuel the public's fascination, as if he were an artist who'd died in his prime while his mystique lived on.
    Tilting the flask to his lips, he paused. As many times as he'd been burned by the press, he wasn't taking chances. He'd make nice with Andrea, maybe tantalize her a tad, and find out in his own way whether she was up to no good.
    "Make you a deal, I'll tell you. For a price."
    She suspiciously eyed the flask that he'd extended.
    "Name your price, and I'll decide if knowing's worth it."
    "Best deal you ever cut, chere. I want four things from you. One: Join me for a drink. Two: Quit calling me Mr. Grey. Three: Tell me what brought you to the Big Easy when that accent of yours pegs you as a damn Yankee. And four: I could go for a good-morning kiss, and I'm willing to work hard to earn it. What do you say we pitch in together to clean up this hellacious mess, and then I'll see you home safe? Then, after that kiss, I'll answer your question. Deal?"
    Andrea wondered if she'd actually heard right.
    She'd braced herself for a request to join him for another dart game. Or a threesome—him, her, and his sax, since his ex-wife had told reporters she'd caught him sleeping with it once.
    In fact, Andrea had anticipated anything but his offer of help, good-humored camaraderie, and concern for her safety. Those were rare