Playing Her Cards Right. Jo Leigh

heels …

      Bree had rested on the leather sofa with one leg curled up under herself. The glass, now empty, tipped at a thirty-degree angle in her hand. She was sound asleep.

      After carefully lifting the glass from her fingers, freezing for a moment when she made a little low-pitched sound, he touched her bare shoulder gently. “Bree? Bree, we have to leave now.”

      She mumbled something and adjusted the side of her face on the back cushion.

      He hated that he had to disturb her. He brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek. “Bree,” he said as he sat down next to her. He wanted to wake her, not scare her. “I know you’re tired, but it’s the premiere. Movie stars! Glamour! Lights, cameras, action!”

      She tilted. Toward him. He repositioned himself quickly so she would land on the inside of his shoulder, not the bony edge. She slumped against him, the leg that had been tucked under now at a weird angle. While it looked ungainly and not very ladylike, it didn’t seem uncomfortable.

      It was too easy to shift himself, to wrap his arm around her back, to hold her close, to inhale the smell of her. Slumping turned to snuggling and he sighed as he gave his next move some consideration. Then, with his free hand he pulled out his cell. He had to call Naomi, as he wasn’t adept at one-hand texting.

      “You in the car?”

      Ah, the voice. Car became cah, and he couldn’t stop his grin. “No,” he whispered.

      “What?”

      How she’d given that simple word such a swoop gave him equal parts joy and the willies. “We’re not gonna make it. Danny can take my place. Catch him quickly, though, ‘cause he’s not going to be dressed for it.”

      “Why are you not going? Why are you whispering? Charlie, what have you done? It’s something about the girl, isn’t it?”

      “Shhh,” he said, although Naomi’s voice over the cell wasn’t going to wake Bree. “She’s under the weather. It’ll be fine.”

      “How’s it gonna be fine? You’ve got deadlines. You know how many comments you got today? Over twenty-five hundred. And you’re taking sick leave? What the hell, Charlie?”

      “It’ll work out. Like always.”

      “Yeah, well, it’s me you’re talking to, sweetheart, and ‘like always’ my ass.”

      “Naomi. Call Danny. I’ll send you the copy and photos in the morning.”

      He disconnected before she gave him additional grief, and put his cell down on the coffee table. Bree hadn’t stirred an inch. She’d probably be mad at him for sending someone in their place, and he had no idea what he was going to do about tomorrow’s blog pages, but there was no way in hell he was going to wake her. Not now.

      She needed to rest. There would be other premieres. He’d spin the story to his advantage. In fact … He had the perfect angle. Take that, Naomi.

      He’d have a story for tomorrow, but for tonight, he was keeping Bree to himself.

      BREE HEARD A DOG BARK AND while it was a real dog barking, it was a dog once removed. A television dog. But she didn’t open her eyes, not yet. She liked this place, the in-between where there was nothing at all unpleasant and no alarm was going to intrude. The subtle, woodsy scent of Charlie made her sigh and smile. He knew how to use cologne, not like some of the guys from work who showered in the stuff. There was always a hint of the man underneath with Charlie, and that was the best part.

      She moved a bit, her head at a weird angle and it wasn’t her pillow at all, and oh. It was dark, very dark. Charlie’s window was right there, across from his coffee table and behind his big television. It was late. Wrong. All wrong.

      “You’re up.”

      She couldn’t exactly see as some of her fake eyelashes were now sticking to her cheek, but she looked up in the general direction of Charlie’s voice. “What’s going on?” As nice as it felt to be pressed against his chest, she pushed off, up, until her feet were on the ground and she was sitting like a person. “What time is it?”

      “A little past nine.”

      “Nine? p.m.? Oh, God, was the premiere called off? Did something bad happen? Is everyone okay?”

      Charlie laughed as he rubbed his shoulder, the one she’d been nestled against. “Everything’s fine.”

      “We were supposed to be at the theater at six.”

      “You were tired.”

      “I was …” She peeled the lashes off both eyes and settled them in her palm like two spiders. When she glanced back at Charlie he was still rubbing his arm, shaking it. She must have been sleeping on it the whole time. Hours. He’d undone his bow tie, the top button of his shirt, too. The apartment was darker than it had been because he hadn’t turned on more lights. She’d slept through the red carpet. He’d let her. “I don’t understand.”

      “I bet you’re starving,” he said, as he stood. “I know I am. How does Thai sound? Maybe some Tom Yum soup?”

      “Wait.” She raised her hand to stop him, but it was the hand with the eyelashes. “Wait. Explain please. Why are we here? Why was I sleeping?”

      “I told you.” He turned to leave.

      “No, you didn’t.” She stood up. She might be foggy headed and probably looked like hell, but she was going to get an answer. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

      He kept walking to the kitchen, his tux jacket swinging loose, and she thought of watching him take it off slowly, seeing those perfectly cut trousers fall.

      Her heels clicked on the floor and made her wince with each step. Holy crap, these shoes were the instruments of the devil. Speaking of which, her dress, the architectural wonder of a dress, looked like a badly folded sheet. Sveta was going to kill her. “Charlie!”

      He paused. Turned around. Smiled at her. “There’ll be other premieres. I promise. I’ll make it up to you.”

      “You don’t skip things. You never do. I’ve read your blog every day forever, and you’re always there. Even when you’re not, you have a really good excuse. Like natural disasters. Not that your arm was trapped under a sleeping person. So what the hell?”

      Charlie sighed. God, he really did look hot in that tux. “Take off your shoes. It hurts just looking at them.” He kept walking to the kitchen, and she kept following, the pain in her feet making her blink.

      “In fact,” he said, not bothering to turn, “just get into something comfortable. We’ll eat. You’ll have a decent night’s rest and so will I. We’ll go back to the madness tomorrow.”

      They were in the kitchen proper and he’d flipped on the lights. It took her eyes a moment to adjust, to see he was holding a handful of delivery menus. Everything felt tilted sideways.

      “Thai?” he asked. “Chinese? Pizza? Deli? There’s a terrific Indian place nearby that makes a hell of a chicken tikka masala.”

      Bree inhaled, noticed that she really needed to brush her teeth, and that she was still completely bewildered by everything that had happened since she woke up. “Whatever,” she said, shrugging. “As long as it doesn’t have cilantro, I’ll like it. I’ll be back.”

      She didn’t make it to the media room before she took off the shoes. The dress came off in the hallway entrance. When she reached the racks of clothes, she’d already decided to wear one of the kimono robes because dammit, she wanted to be comfortable even if she did have to dress to go home later. Not a teeny short robe, either, because she didn’t want him thinking she wanted that. They didn’t do that. It had been decided.

      Besides there was a particularly beautiful long black robe with a crane on the back that felt like heaven over her bare skin and covered her