Attitude Read Online Free

little heated under the silk of her camisole. "Kind of a cross between Sam Worthington and Eric Dane. No. More like between Jason Momoa and Francis Cadieux—"
    "Who?"
    Ginger frowned. "You're kidding. Get thee to Google, woman."
    "Will do. Now back to Cal."
    Another sigh, longer this time. "Hot. Super hot. One of those chiseled chin types with a small dimple in his left cheek, makes a crevice when he smiles. Tall. Major shoulders."
    Ginger warmed to her topic. She might be beige but she wasn't blind. "And I'd say pec central under that green cashmere sweater he was wearing. Thick chestnut hair, straight with sunny streaks in it. Longish, but not girlish. Oh, and he's got a pale scar on his jawline. Right about here." She touched the spot on her own face, to the left, halfway between her chin and earlobe. She let her hand linger there.
    Tracy gave her a speculative look. "You sure you didn't get his shoe size?"
    Ginger pulled her hand back, took another bite of her pickle.
    She wasn't about to add that her stomach did major aerobics at first sight of the man or that he scared the virgin out of her. One look at him and she'd thought rumpled sheets and sex... and more sex. She'd keep that to herself. Sensible women didn't think that way. At least she didn't think so, never having passed Common Sense 101.
    "And his eyes, what about them?"
    Ginger lifted a shoulder, then her dill pickle, studied it. "Kind of like this."
    "He had eyes like pickles?" Tracy echoed, caught in a blond moment.
    Ginger had to laugh. "They were green, Trace. Or hazel. Something like that." Actually they were the color of cedar boughs with a touch of Christmas glitter. They were beautiful eyes, full of questions and promises. And humor, she guessed. Her chest kind of caved in. Was there anything better than hot sex and laughter? She didn't think so.
    "Then it's him. It's got to be him." Tracy's voice rose in excitement.
    "Who? What are you talking about? I'm into serious venting here and—"
    "Your venting can wait." Tracy jumped from her chair and ran out of the room. She was back in seconds. "Look at this. Is this who you met today?" She shoved a magazine into Ginger's hand, one of those weekly entertainment things. The top of the page was headlined, "COMEBACKS? WE HOPE SO." Under that was a picture of a man in a tuxedo at some red-carpet do in L.A., the requisite beauty hanging on his arm.
    Ginger peered harder. It was definitely him, but who was he? "Okay, I give up." She handed the magazine back to Tracy.
    "That—" Tracy stabbed the page with a blunt fingernail, "is Cal Beaumann, from Life and Love. They killed him off three, maybe four years ago. After that he disappeared."
    "You watch the soaps?" Ginger was fascinated with soap operas, but with her work schedule, she never had the luxury of connecting with the story line, so rather than frustrate herself, she left them alone.
    "Did, when I was in art school." She touched Cal's image. "I ate my lunch watching this guy make love to women for two years." She laughed. "And from what I read about him, he was as busy with the female sex off screen as he was on. The tabloids loved him. He actually won a contest they ran on which soap star had the best and biggest pe—"
    " Stop . I don't want to know," Ginger croaked. She would not go from talking business to penis size. She wouldn't. But his jeans definitely held promise.
    "Pectorals, Ginger. I was going to say pectorals.'"
    "I knew that." Ginger turned red enough that Trace shook her head.
    "Although there were rumors..."
    Ginger glared at her, but her stomach did a traitorous flip-flop. She'd pegged Beaumann as an A+ woman magnet, but she hadn't factored in playboy status. No wonder she'd drowned in her own hormones when she set eyes on him. She was programmed to fall for these kind of guys.
    Typical scenario? One look and her brain shorted out, leaving her dumb as an unmanned hammer.
    But not this time! Her loins—or whatever was causing the trouble