Read In the Groove for Free Online Page A

trust men."
    "Yeah. Maybe," Sal agreed. "Wouldn't do to have her claim something happened that didn't happen."
    "She wouldn't do that."
    "You never know," Sal said with a shrug. "And I've already got an overnight bag in the back of my car for emergencies, so it's no big deal."
    "You really do think of everything, don't you?"
    "Why you pay me the big bucks," Sal said, turning away.
    But Lance lingered in the door.
    Sal came all but running back, which was a sight to see given his size. "I told you, no distractions."
    "She's so cute."
    "Wait a minute, wait a minute. You're going to allow someone to work for you whom you find cute?"
    "And frisky."
    "Frisky? What are we talking about here, a woman or a golden retriever?"
    "I like her," Lance said, his eyes roving over the curls that lay strewn across the pillow, then back to her gaping mouth. He still couldn't believe the sounds coming out of her mouth.
    "This could be bad," Sal said, echoing Lance's own fears. "This could be very bad."
    "You think we should hire someone else?"
    "I'm thinking that's exactly what we should do. I mean, I thought she was perfect for the job earlier, but now you're telling me you think she's cute."
    But Lance was already shaking his head. "Nah. Can't do that. She needs the money."
    "And you need to focus on your job."
    "I will. Don't worry."
    But it was plain to see Sal was worried.
    "We should probably wake her," Lance said, sidestepping his own concerns. "Doc said she might have a concussion and to keep an eye on her."
    "You're sick, you know that?" Sal asked. "You're really sick. You can't stay away from her."
    "She needs her dinner."
    "That's it," Sal said. "I give up."
    "No, wait," Lance said, frustrated with himself, too. "You're right. I should let her sleep."
    "Yes, you should. And you should stay away from her, too."
    "I will," Lance said.
    And he did stay away from her. Right up until the next morning.
    CHAPTER FIVE
    Sarah was having a really great dream, one of those fantasies where everything is so good, you just know it's a dream. And so when you feel yourself waking up you try to keep yourself under, try to wiggle and shrug and worm away from the hand that. Wouldn't. Leave. Her. Alone.
    "Go away," she moaned.
    "Sarah," a voice said. "It's time to wake up."
    No. It wasn't time. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to keep enjoying the dream that she was a famous swimsuit model with a race-car driver boyfriend and a house on the beach.
    Lance Cooper.
    The name clanged through her head like a cymbal in a marching band. Sarah sat up so abruptly her hair fell over her face. She shoved it back over the top of her head, spitting out strands of hair that had somehow made it into her mouth.
    "Whoa there, Sparky. Settle down," the voice said.
    Lance Cooper.
    Her gaze shot to his, her hands lifting to her face as she let out a loud moan.
    "It wasn't a dream."
    "What wasn't a dream?" he asked.
    "Never mind," she said, horrified that she'd obviously been dreaming about him and that was bad, bad, bad. Men were taboo. They were all jerks. She didn't trust them as far as she could throw them. She had no business, no business, dreaming about Lance Cooper.
    "Those drugs Doc gave you give you bad dreams?"
    "They gave me nightmares," she amended, dropping her hands back to the bed. "What time is it?"
    "It's morning. You slept the whole night through without dinner. That's why I woke you. You should eat some breakfast."
    Breakfast. Ugh. Her stomach turned at just the thought of eating. "I'm not very hungry."
    "It's the drugs. They make you nauseous."
    "You sound like an expert."
    "I am an expert. In my line of work you get a lot of bumps and bruises."
    Yeah. She supposed he did. "Look. Could I have a minute?"
    "Sure," he said. "I had Sal take your stuff out of your car." He pointed.
    A green garbage bag of clothes wilted in the corner of her room.
    He followed her gaze, saying, "I don't think I've ever heard of anyone using a VW as a suitcase."
    "Yeah, well, it's