Her Royal Bed Read Online Free PDF Page B

didn’t I?”
    She laughed. “Is my face red? Because it sure feels like it is.”
    â€œYour face is fine. Beautiful actually.”
    Warmth curled in her belly, and around them the room spun slowly, the noise of the crowd dulled. “As I was saying, I thought it might be best if I wasn’t caught in nothing more than a sheet…et cetera.” She grinned as he laughed again. “We were in a stranger’s bedroom, after all.”
    â€œHardly a stranger,” Bobby corrected. “Hal and Mary Beth have been friends of mine for a long time.”
    â€œ Your friends, not mine,” she pointed out.
    â€œThey’re very nice people. They’d have embraced you.”
    â€œSomething that would’ve been good to know nine days ago.”
    â€œTen,” he corrected.
    Jane stared at him, into those soulful blue eyes of his, and felt her breasts tighten, felt the muscles between her thighs tingle. So, he had thought about her, had counted the days, had wanted to see her again.
    She cleared her throat. “So the Turnbolts didn’t ask why you’d fallen asleep in one of their guest rooms? Naked?”
    â€œThey thought I’d just tied one on.”
    â€œAh.”
    â€œThey were real hospitable. Eggs, bacon and fresh-squeezed orange juice in the morning.”
    â€œSounds good,” said Jane, as behind her, the band leader announced a two-step.
    â€œNot as good as a different morning activity might’ve been.” He laughed at her stunned expression. “Before Iscare you away with all my innuendo and good-old-boy frankness, have a dance with me.”
    â€œI don’t know this kind of dancing.”
    He took her hand in his and led her out on the floor. “Trust me, Jane Hefner.”
    She smiled at him and slipped her hand in his. “But I hardly know you, Bobby Callahan.”
    He grinned. “Boy, we’re gonna have to remedy that, don’t you think?”
    â€œYes, I think so.” She’d never flirted so outrageously in her life—but of course, as far as Bobby Callahan went, she seemed to be racking up a laundry list of firsts.
    He moved with masculine grace, slow, sexy, making sure she was taken care of as they circled the floor. At one point the music came to a twangy crescendo and he led her into a slow turn, then pulled her back into his arms. “So you know why I come to these things—to help out my ranch—but why are you here? You’re not a society lady, are you?”
    â€œNo,” she said, slightly breathless as she felt his chest brush against the tips of her breasts. “I’m a chef.”
    â€œOh, a woman who can cook,” he said with a slight growl. “Be still my heart.”
    She grimaced and said with mock severity, “That sounds a little nineteen-fifties, Bobby.”
    â€œIt’s Mr. Callahan.” He grinned. “Maybe it does sound a bit old-fashioned, but it’s a lost art.”
    â€œWhat exactly? Cooking? Or cooking for your man?”
    He released her hand, and touched the brim of his hat. “Don’t get me wrong. This goes both ways. Womendon’t have the time to take care of their men anymore, and the men won’t take the time to please and care for their women.”
    Jane opened her mouth to reproach this statement, but she promptly shut it. He was right, she’d just never heard anyone say something quite like that. In fact, she’d never heard anyone speak the way he did—honest, forthright and just plain sexy.
    â€œSo you’re a chef,” he said, giving her another twirl. “Where do you work?”
    â€œSo, you didn’t try and find out about me, huh?” she chided. But deep-down, she held her breath for his answer.
    â€œAs a matter of fact I did. But the Turnbolts didn’t know a Jane Hefner.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you crash that party or something?”
    She laughed. No, the