Read Smolder (St. Martin Family Saga) for Free Online Page B

fact, I’m beyond considering. I’m fucking doing it.” He met Clay’s steady gaze. “I may need some pointers.”
    Clay smiled and pushed back against his chair. “Welcome to the dark side.”

5

     
     
    B y the end of the week, Camp was back in Baton Rouge and feeling defeated. He’d asked Jenny out three times and been completely shut out. She offered no excuses, simply said she couldn’t get involved. He’d asked questions and she’d said no to all— Was she seeing someone? Was she not attracted to him? Was she worried he wouldn’t care for her son? Yet he’d caught her watching him more than once, and she’d either been licking her lips or her eyes were hooded. What had she been thinking?
    Hell, he knew what she was thinking—the same thing he’d been thinking. So why turn him down?
    She’d kept to herself, but he’d told her how impressed he’d been with her turnaround on the delivery error. He’d attempted to apologize for calling her useless, but she’d shushed him with her hand in front of his mouth. She’d said she had screwed up and that calling her useless rather than firing her on the spot showed great restraint on his part. The next day he’d found a ceramic Oreo cookie jar on his desk. Inside were individually foil-wrapped Oreo cookies. She’d included a card that said she appreciated his restraint and also his attention to her needs, but the site crew had all left for the long weekend before he could get to her.
    He didn’t understand Jenny, but he now had new information on her. Clay had found out that she sang at a jazz lounge in the New Orleans French Quarter. The drive to New Orleans from Baton Rouge was about an hour and twenty minutes. Camp was leaving at seven thirty to head her way.
    As Camp drove, his thoughts were consumed by Jenny’s smell, taste, sound, and touch. Thinking of her low sultry voice, he could understand why she sang, but what he couldn’t figure out was why she wasn’t dedicated to one job or the other. He‘d come up with a handful of reasons for why Jenny might moonlight as a lounge singer and work during the day as a designer, but he knew nothing for sure. He didn’t know how much money she made at her day job—he knew what he was paying her firm, but he doubted she received even half of it. Maybe she wanted to break out and become a famous singer. But if so, wouldn’t she need to be in Los Angeles or Nashville? One of the more upsetting reasons he thought up was that she liked the attention singing garnered her. Male attention, that is. He wouldn’t have thought such a thing if not for his first wife, Mandy. She used her position as lead singer in a female band as a platform to lure men to her bed.
    It was nearly nine when Camp arrived at the lounge, and an older man with a saxophone was just wrapping up. Camp took a table in the middle of the floor. A waitress came, tried her hand at flirting, but he shut her down quickly and ordered a single malt scotch with spring water. When the waitress finally moved, his breath hitched in his throat. Jenny was taking the stage in a stunning cream-colored dress. She’d transformed herself into a golden-era goddess in a gown that flowed like water down to the floor. The material clung to her curves, and the plunging neckline showed off her flawless skin.
    He doubted she could focus on any of the audience given the strong spotlight that shone on her.
    She gracefully took her seat at the piano and spoke into the microphone.
    “Good evening.” Her low sensuous voice reverberated through the room. “How is everybody on this warm and humid Friday night?” Catcalls and screams answered her. “All right, then the stage is set. Order a drink, sit back, relax, and enjoy the music.”
    He recognized the song within the first two chords—“Cry Me a River.” Her voice was smoky and rich and flowed like melted chocolate. She had her audience entranced with her sensual nuances. No one talked, all eyes were on her,