Baby I'm Yours (Angel Sands 5)

She laughed. “I wish.” The barman passed her the whiskey glass, and she took a sip. “But no, I don’t live around here. I’m from Hollywood, just visiting for the weekend.”

“You work in the movies?”

“Kind of.” She shook her head. “Well not any more. It’s a long story.” She finished her whiskey, and the ice tinkled against the glass as she put it down on the counter.

“Another?” the barman asked, and she nodded.

James wanted to laugh. There was Rich dancing with a nurse from their hospital, when he was sitting opposite a bona fide actress.

“I like long stories,” he told her. “And I haven’t got anywhere else to be.”

She tipped her head to the side, surveying him through those thick lashes. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear my tales of woe. This is supposed to be a party.”

“I prefer other peoples’ woes to my own.” He found himself smiling at her, his eyes crinkling in the corner. God, she was too damn pretty for her own good.

And for his.

She leaned her chin on her hand. “I lost my job. Can’t afford the rent. And my best friend moved out and left me all alone.” She shrugged. “It’s a ten-a-penny story in Hollywood I’m sure, but when it happens to you it sucks.”

“Was it an acting role you lost?”

She laughed. “I’m not an actress. I don’t think I could be one if I tried. My grandma always told me I can’t tell a lie to save my life.”

He scanned her with his gaze, trying to figure out what she did, if not an actress. He curled his hand tighter around his glass to stop himself from reaching out to touch her skin. He ached to see if it was as soft as it looked.

Christ, what had gotten into him? He should have taken that cab home an hour ago.

“So what was your job?”

“I’m a costume designer. I design and make the clothes you see on the stage and in movies. My whole department got closed down this week.” She sighed. “So I’m jobless, and soon-to-be homeless.”

“And yet you’re still smiling,” he pointed out, nodding at her grin.

“I blame the whiskey. And the company.” She lifted her glass. “Cheers.”

He clinked his own glass against hers. “Cheers.”

“So what are your tales of woe?” she asked him. “Maybe I can lend you a sympathetic ear.”

Yeah. No. Now would be a good time to leave, because he definitely didn’t want to talk about his issues. He shook his head. “No, you don’t want to hear my problems. Let’s talk about yours instead. Have you started looking for another job?”

She shrugged. “I’m trying, but with every position that comes up I’ll be competing with my old colleagues. And they’re all much more experienced than I am, so the likelihood is I’ll lose out.” She pulled her perfectly painted lip between her teeth, and the action made his body pulse. “In the meantime, I have a little side hustle going. I’m hoping to ramp that up to keep the money coming in.”

“What kind of side hustle?” he asked her, leaning closer. God, she was so easy to talk with.

“I design and sell my own clothes.”

“Did you make your dress?” he asked, inclining his head at the golden silk bodice.

“Yeah.” She blinked, her thick lashes curling down. “I’ve had it for a while, thought about selling it but I got too attached.” Her smile came back, and it was as though the sun had come out from behind the clouds. “This is the first time I’ve had somewhere nice enough to wear it.”

“You look like Grace Kelly.” Did he really just say that out loud?

She laughed. “I do? Wow, you sure know how to sweet talk a lady, don’t you?” She reached out and touched the lapel of his jacket, rubbing the fabric between her thumb and finger. From anybody else it might have seemed like a bold move, but from her it was natural, almost predestined. “This is nice,” she said. “Pure satin. Guys should wear suits like these more often. You don’t know what it does to us women.”

“Maybe we do,” he said, his voice thick. He leaned closer, enough to smell the floral notes of her perfume. His hands were trembling. What the hell was she doing to him? He never trembled – he couldn’t. Not with his job. And yet here he was, his skin on fire, his heart pounding, and his fingers aching to touch her so badly it was all he could do to stop himself.

An hour – and two more whiskeys – later, they were still talking. She was close enough for him to see the dark brown flecks in the vibrant blue of her eyes as she told him a story about a famous actress and a lack of underwear. He laughed and she joined in, putting her hand on his shoulder to steady herself.