A Matter of Choice Read Online Free PDF Page A

drawing another smile from him.
    "It must be frustrating."
    "Only daily," he agreed.
    "Why do you do it?"
    "Why do you eat?"
    Jessica considered for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I suppose it's like that, isn't it? Have you always wanted to write?"
    He thought of his father, how he had bragged that his son would be the next Sladerman on the force. He thought of his teenage years, when he had written his stories in longhand in spiral notebooks late into the night. He thought of his father's eyes the first time he had seen his son in uniform. And he thought of the first time he'd had a short story accepted.
    "Yes." Perhaps it was easier to admit to her what he had never been able to explain to his family. "Always."
    "When you want something badly enough, and you don't give up," Jessica began slowly, "you get it."
    Slade gave a short laugh before he drank. "Always?"
    She touched the tip of her tongue to her top lip. "Almost always. It's all a gamble, isn't it?"
    "Long odds," he murmured, frowning into his glass. "I usually play long odds." He studied the amber liquor, which was almost exactly the shade of her eyes. She shouldn't be so easy to talk to, he mused. He'd find himself saying too much.
    "Ah, Ulysses, I wondered where you were."
    Lifting his eyes, Slade stared at a large, loping mop of fur. It lunged, unerringly, into Jessica's lap. He heard her groan, then giggle.
    "Damn it! How many times do I have to tell you you're not a lap dog.
    You're breaking my ribs." She twisted her head, but the wet, pink tongue found her cheek. "Stop!" she sputtered, pushing impotently. "Get down,"
    she ordered. "Get down right this minute." Ulysses barked twice, then continued to lap his tongue all over her face.
    "What," Slade asked slowly, "is that?"
    Jessica gave another mighty shove, but Ulysses only rested his head on her shoulder. "A dog, of course."
    "There's no 'of course' about that dog."
    "He's a Great Pyrenees," she retorted, quickly running out of breath.
    "And he flunked obedience school three times. You mangy, soft-headed mutt, get down." Ulysses let out a long, contented breath and didn't budge. "Give me a hand, will you?" she demanded of Slade. "I'll have internal injuries this time. Once before I was stuck for two hours until Betsy got home."
    Rising, Slade approached the dog with a frown. "Does he bite?"
    "God, I'm suffocating and the man asks if he bites."
    A grin split Slade's face as he looked down at her. "Can't be too careful about these things. He might be vicious."
    Jessica narrowed her eyes. "Sic 'em, Ulysses!" Hearing his name, the dog roused himself to lick her face again, joyfully. "Satisfied?" Jessica demanded. "Now grab him somewhere and get me out."
    Bending, Slade wrapped his arms around the bulk of fur.
    The back of his hand brushed Jessica's breast as he shifted his grip.
    "Sorry," he muttered, dragging at the dog. "Good God, what does he weigh?"
    "About one twenty-five, I think."
    With a shake of his head, Slade put his back into it. Ulysses slid to the floor to lay adoringly at Jessica's feet. Taking a deep gulp of air, Jessica closed her eyes.
    She was covered with loose white hair. Her own was disheveled and curled around her shoulders, the color, Slade observed, of sun-bleached wheat.
    With her face in repose, the slant of her cheekbones was more pronounced. Her lips were just parted. Their shape was utterly feminine--the classic cupid's bow but for the fullness in the lower lip.
    It spoke of passion--hidden, quietly simmering passion. The mouth and the cheekbones added something to the tearoom looks that had Slade's pulse responding. He couldn't want her, he told himself. That wasn't just irresponsible, it was stupid. He stared down at the dog again.
    "You should do something about training him," he said shortly.
    "I know." With a sigh, Jessica opened her brandy-colored eyes. Her affection for Ulysses made her forget the discomfort and the mess he usually created. "He's very sensitive really. I just