Danger, Sweetheart Read Online Free Page B

won’t fall in love tomorrow.” And never in a hundred years would Blake point out his mother’s hopeful-yet-defeated tone to her. She had given up on herself, yes. But never on him. Never on his brother.
    â€œLove is an illusion fostered by the greeting card industry.”
    His mother opened her mouth. Closed her mouth. Shrugged. “I can’t think that’s true,” she said at last. “It’s too sad. And someone your age definitely shouldn’t think it’s true.”
    He would never point out she hadn’t found The One, either. In the beginning, she was living on tips and finding out about the world. Then she’d gotten pregnant, and the following years had been spent finding out what the world thought of single mothers.
    Then, of course, their father’s wealth. From Burger King to Trattoria Reggiano in one day, thanks to their absent father’s determination to re-create the erotic food scene from the 9½ Weeks remake (he had choked to death on a kiwi).
    And in all that time, Blake’s mother had dated here and there, and apparently having twins wasn’t nearly the baggage for a rich cocktail waitress as it was for a poor one (she still waited tables one night a month to “keep my toe in the cesspool of humanity”). But the men all left eventually, or she left them, and Blake knew why, because it was the same reason he hadn’t settled down: two Tarbells would never settle . The third Tarbell had structured his entire love life around settling. And see how that turned out.
    â€œIn your own way, you’re just as much a hound as your brother.”
    â€œYou take that back!” he nearly roared.
    â€œYou both go through women like a pig through slop.”
    â€œEnough of the farming homilies.”
    â€œThat’s fair,” she admitted. “That’s how I can tell I need a nap. I start to sound like Sweetheart.”
    â€œChange of subject?” he asked. “How was the Louvre?”
    â€œTerrible.” She pouted. “Security was far too tight.”
    â€œMother.” He shook his head and gulped at his drink. “You’re going to get arrested.”
    â€œWhy are you using the future tense?” she teased. “I’ve been arrested. And stop calling me Mother.”
    He shook his head. His mother had the strangest hobby: She enjoyed changing museum exhibits. She would put Egyptian jewelry on a mannequin in the Western exhibit. She would put a kimono on a mummy. Blake had been thirteen before he realized all mothers did not do this.
    â€œI don’t want to talk about those unyielding, uptight Louvre employees. I want to talk about why you’re alone.”
    â€œLeave it.”
    â€œOh, goody! Here just in time for the ‘I’m rich and cute and life is sooooo hard’ followed by the ‘shut up about your problems that aren’t problems, boy’ section of our program. Thank God I didn’t miss it.”
    Blake didn’t look up. “Apologize for calling me cute. Right now.”
    Then he did look up and saw, as expected, Rake grinning down at them. Further proof Rake was clinically insane: He was happy to see his brother, and tolerated their mother’s loving criticism much better than Blake could. Because Rake was terrible. “And come on. Sushi? Are we really having bait for supper again?”
    â€œBreakfast, I think.” His mother glanced at her watch. Four fifteen A.M. “Sit down, boy. Give your mother a kiss. Stop pretending you don’t like Japanese cuisine.”
    â€œI love Japanese cuisine.” He slid into the booth beside their mother and kissed her cheek with a loud smek! that she pretended to dislike but blushed over even as she wiped it away. Blake admired his brother’s ease in social situations almost as much as he found the man as irritating as a recurring hemorrhoid. “The Japanese are a subtle people when it comes to