Let Me Count The Ways Read Free Page A

Electric, which was still in its ‘hot new thing’ phase. Sure, business was good--for now. But who knew how long that would last?
    Still, the evening wasn’t a total loss. The drinks were complimentary and the bartender was to die for. I sipped my mojito and looked him over once again.
    He caught my look and smiled. “How is everything?” he asked, meaning my drink.
    “Just delicious,” I replied, making sure he knew I didn’t.
    Could I just say right here that I love men? For, oh, so many reasons. Just the sheer maleness of them. Even the sight of a five o’clock shadow on a rugged, square chin can turn me on. Can make my skin burn. Can make my fingers itch with the urge to touch and make me quiver as I imagine soft, sandpapery warmth in all my most sensitive places. Then there’s the strength in their hands, their fingers. The softness of their lips. The musk of their sweat. I swear those veins that stand out on their arms when they flex their muscles are enough, sometimes, to make me crazy. Not to mention the muscles themselves.
    The bartender had it all going on--including a killer smile and a soulful, sweet expression beneath a pair of jet black brows. He was an actor, of course. Just like everyone in this town. At least, everyone under twenty-five. That seems to be the cut-off. By twenty-six you know if you stand the ghost of a chance or are just marking time. If you’re still in the business at twenty-eight it’s because you’ve either tasted success or figured out that there’s nothing else you’re suited for.
    When I was twenty-five, I thought I was Money. I had it made. It didn’t last. I wonder, sometimes, if it wouldn’t have been better--for me--if it hadn’t ever happened at all. Sure, I wouldn’t have been famous, but maybe I’d have been happy instead.
    Some days it feels like I gave up a lot to get here. Others, it feels like I gave up too much. Still, even on those other days, fame does have its perks. Maybe especially on those days. I’m a name. I’m a face. And I could still recall how the game was played.
    “What’s your name, sweetie?” I asked, getting into the role.
    The bartender’s eyes lit up. “Javier,” he replied, with another deadly smile.
    I pushed my glass across the bar and returned his smile with one of my own; every bit as lethal. “Well, Javier, the ice in my drink has begun to melt. Why don’t you be a darling and see if you can’t find a way to freshen it up for me, okay?”
    His smile disappeared. “Right away, Miss Calhoun,” he said as he hustled away.
    “Claire,” I murmured watching him run. Have I mentioned he had a nice butt, too? “Call me Claire.”
    Would Javier sweetie really be quite so attentive if I was just a washed-up, not quite middle-aged, no-one-in-particular? Not bloody likely. But even tarnished stars still have some shine. No doubt he thought I could open doors for him. That I knew people who knew people who would give him a break. And maybe I did. Maybe I would. For a price.
    Cold? Possibly. But don’t expect me to shed any tears over yet another aspiring Adonis. This town is full of them. And, male or female, we all have to pay our dues. There’s only one real difference between Javier and me and it’s this: when I was in his shoes I was wearing heels.
    In less than a minute, he was back with a fresh new mojito. I smiled my thanks.
    “So, Claire, what are you doing after the party tonight?” he leaned in to ask, ambition gleaming brightly in those sweet brown eyes. No doubt he’d checked out the room while he was re-filling my drink. He’d obviously concluded that I was either the biggest name here or the easiest to hit on. Maybe both. The next move was mine.
    Before I had a chance to make it, however... “Red wine, please,” a man’s deep voice ordered sharply.
    Startled, Javier scrambled back to work. I turned to find Mike looming menacingly behind me. He looked quite resplendent tonight, if a little grim, dressed in