Dancing Barefoot Read Online Free PDF

opportunities. She had had student loans to pay...still did. Not everyone could indulge wanderlust and whims like Jacques Sinclair.  
    A headache hummed behind her eyes. You're such a liar and a fraud. You never intended to stay here. You came back because of your mother, but you'd intended on returning to Jacques and Italy. But you got stuck. Stop lying to yourself and everyone else. You screwed up, hurt him, and gave up on your art. Now deal with it like a grown woman who just landed the biggest project of your chosen career. Suck it up. Intentions from five years ago no longer matter.
    She rolled her shoulders back, exhaled a long breath, walked through the door and waved to her friends who waited at a high table along the edge of the bar.
    “I didn’t think you’d make it,” Sela shouted above the drone of the music, nodding to the chair beside her. “What took you so long?”
    “I stopped at that old bookstore, the one across from Boston Commons with the coffee shop attached to it.” She dropped the messenger bag onto the chair and filled a glass with beer. She wished it were stronger—a shot of anything, especially if it had flames, would be good. She wanted to get drunk, stinking drunk.  “Let’s do shots. We need to celebrate. Sincore chose my design!”
    Jane whooped and m otioned for Marc to join them. “Is there a corner office in your future?”
    “Corner? Probably not. I’ll settle for an office with a door, though.” She smiled and looked through the crowd for a waitress. Maybe she would try tequila first and then ask for something on fire. She wanted to see something burn. 
    “What’d you buy? I love that old bookstore, haven't been there in ages, though, hasn't it gone with more of the Indie authors?” Without waiting for an answer, Sela searched the bag, platinum blonde hair shielding her profile as she snooped. She yanked out the book and turned it over in her hands.
    “It’s Jacques Sinclair's book of photographs,” she said. 
    "Jacques Sinclair? The Jacques? The Belgian photographer you were head over heels for?" Sela flipped through the pages before lingering over the front cover.  “My God, honey. Is this you? You’re naked.” 
    “I don’t want to talk about it.” She downed her beer in one gulp. 
    “I didn’t know you were into photography.” Jane leaned over Sela’s shoulder.  “Or should I say pornography?”
    “She’s not. She’s into photographers.” Sela paged through the book. “Looks like he’s into you, too. Damn. How many pictures of you are in here? Did you sign a release for all of these?”
    Oh, God, there were more?  She grimaced. Release form? Nope, but she had posed willingly—almost eagerly. It had turned her on. Jacques had had a way of turning everything into foreplay. She squirmed in her seat thinking about it. 
    “Did someone say pornography?” Marc slipped into a chair beside her and slipped his hand over her thigh beneath the table. "You took your time getting here."
    She moved her leg away from his touch. "I made a detour."
    "We're celebrating her soon-to-be-promotion," Sela said.
    "Sincore made a decision?" Marc leaned close, face a fraction from hers.
    Not for the first time, she wished she could feel for him what she'd felt for Jacques. He fit most women's ideal of the perfect man from his looks to his brains and all things in between. But there had always been something missing , a disconnect.
    "They did, yes." She caught her lower lip between her teeth, unwilling to burst his confident bubble he'd been engulfed in all day.
    "They picked your design, didn't they?" Although his smile didn't falter, the expression in his eyes hardened. "I guess I'm buying. Congratulations, Mori."
    "Thank you."
    "You worked hard for it, I know. I'm sincere in my congratulations."
    "I know you are." She grinned, they had been friends far too long to hold grudges.
    "She watched him walk away and suddenly felt exhausted from her emotional day. Too