Bravo Unwrapped by Christine Rimmer Page B

the lovemaking clause. When Buck put his hands on her, her brain had the most alarming tendency to leak out her ears. There could be no brain leaks. Oh, no. With Buck, she needed all her wits about her all of the time.
    They’d get through the two weeks, maybe even get to…understand each other a little better. And when they returned to Manhattan, they’d be going their separate ways.
    Pretty much.
    Except for the baby.
    The baby. A second, more important reason—beyond the feature article she needed—for her to reconcile herself to fourteen days in the piney woods with Buck.
    She hadn’t forgotten what he’d told her at dinner: that bit about being a Bravo and a Bravo always doing the right thing…
    Message received. It was looking far too likely that, where the baby was concerned, she would have to come to some kind of working relationship with him.Maybe in the next two weeks, she’d get a clearer idea of the best way to do that. Maybe they would grow…closer. In a purely friendly kind of way.
    â€œHah.” The mocking sound escaped her at the very thought of being “purely friendly” with Buck. “So never going to happen,” she announced to the beadboard above, and then she slid down in the tub until the water closed over her head.
    She came up a moment later, blinking and sputtering, a taunting voice in the back of her mind whispering wickedly, You’ll never keep your hands off that man for two whole weeks and you know damn well that you won’t.
    Â 
    Bright and early the next morning, as she sprinted over the rag rugs in her bare feet and a silk sleep shirt, racing to make it to the facilities before she horked up what was left of last night’s steak dinner, B.J. discovered the worst thing about having her bathroom down the hall: the distance from the toilet.
    She did make it, though. Barely.
    One morning down. Thirteen to go. Oh, the joy.
    B.J. brushed her teeth, pulled herself together and went on downstairs.
    The dining room was done up in classic B & B Victorian: dark wood floor and paneling, cabbage-rose wallpaper above the plate rails. On one wall loomed a heavily carved mirrored sideboard. There were four small tables, all decked out in varying china patterns with depression-glass accessories. A larger table, set in the same charming mish-mash of styles as the others, waited by the room’s bow window. B.J., Buck and Lupe took that one.
    Chastity did the cooking and Glory served. The girl bustled around, setting out the muffin basket andpouring coffee from a silver pot, her shining brown hair tied back, a blue bib apron over her jeans and light sweater. B.J. had to make an effort not to stare at her. This Glory seemed like a completely different person from the bug-eyed, screaming, wild-woman of the day before.
    â€œCoffee?” Glory bent close and asked the question in B.J.’s ear.
    She almost said decaf. But right then just the smell of the stuff made B.J.’s stomach lurch. “Ah…no, thanks.” B.J. craned back to meet Glory’s warm brown eyes. Glory smiled. She had dimples: a pair of cute little dents to either side of her plump mouth. “Do you have apple juice?”
    â€œComin’ right up.”
    The girl hustled away and B.J. stared after her, still marveling at the difference: Glory Dellazola, then and now. She turned back to the table—and there was Buck. Watching her. B.J. gave him a shrug and a smile and he smiled back and…
    Well, other than that irritating shiver of excitement that danced along the surface of her skin, it was okay. Nice. Cordial. They’d be best friends in no time.
    Yeah, right.
    Since there were no other guests, Chastity and Glory joined them at the table by the window.
    Bowie came in late. He’d shaved his scruffy beard and combed his long, thick blond hair. He seemed kind of sweet, really. Big, handsome in a raw-boned sort of way—and