Love Knows No Bounds by Brooke Moss, Nina Croft, Boone Brux

bottle at her. “No, I haven’t been drinking this.”
    Her roommate shrugged. “What are you getting so upset about? It’s only water.”
    “Not just water, holy water.” Whitney stared at her. “Blessed by a priest.” Still no response. “To cleanse the soul?”
    “Oh, I thought it was some kind of special detox diet water.”
    “Yeah, to detox my computer.” Faye raised the bottle, eyeing the level. “I’ll probably need to get more.”
    “Who’s your friend?”
    Faye glanced up to see Whitney’s gaze riveted on Christopher. A predatory interest gleamed in her eyes. Crap. “This is Christopher. We work together. He’s a photographer for Mr. Shogun.”
    Faye cursed herself. Telling Whitney he was a photographer was like chumming for sharks.
    Whitney gave her ponytail a graceful brush and stepped into the room. “A photographer? How fascinating.”
    “Christopher.” Faye pointed the cross at her roommate, dreading his inevitable interest. “This is my roommate, Whitney.”
    “Hello.”
    She lowered the cross and chanced a look at him. He smiled but didn’t seem overly moved by the heat-seeking missile of curves moving toward him.
    “Nice to meet you…” She struck a well-practiced at-ease pose and lowered her voice to a purr. “Christopher.”
    He smiled but didn’t say anything else. An awkward silence stretched between them while Whitney waited for the usual response. When it didn’t come, she straightened. Something that felt a lot like smug satisfaction threatened to make Faye smile.
    Whitney crossed her arms, pushing her boobs almost out of her abused sports bra. “Did I interrupt something?”
    “No,” Faye said. She gave Christopher a silent plea not to say anything. Maybe it was a combination of her possessiveness over him and her desire to avoid Whitney’s criticism, but Faye realized she didn’t want to share the exorcism with anybody but him. “We were just talking about work.”
    Whitney gave a throaty laugh. “Work, that’s all she thinks about.” Her eyes widened. “Hey, I have V.I.P. tickets to a new dinner-dance-club, Kapow . Wanna come?”
    Faye pinned the back of Whitney’s head with a glare that should have ignited her scrunchie and burned a hole through her brain. “I’m sure Christopher has plans.”
    “Are you going?” he asked her.
    Whitney spun and glided to Faye, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “Of course she’s coming. Faye just loves to hang out with me and my friends. Poor girl hardly leaves the house. It’s a real treat when she ventures from her hole.”
    Heat crept up Faye’s neck. Like usual the words were an attempt to belittle her, but things were different today. This time she cared what Christopher thought. She opened her mouth to reply.
    “I’m a homebody myself,” he said, cutting off her snarky retort. “And yes, if Faye is going, I’d love to go.”
    Whitney’s lips tightened and her one-armed hug slipped free from Faye’s shoulder, her voice sounding a little higher than was natural. “Great. I’ll leave your ticket at the door.”
    He gave her a dimpled grin. “Can’t wait.”
    With a stiff spine and a fake smile, she pivoted and left the room.
    Faye cocked her head to the side and crossed her arms over her chest, producing nowhere near the results Whitney’s action had. “Are you really a homebody?”
    He held up his hand. “Scout’s honor.”
    She scrutinized him, trying to figure out if he was messing with her. “You don’t seem like the type.”
    “What type do I seem like?” He stared.
    She shrugged.
    He flicked his head toward the door. “Her type?”
    “Maybe.”
    “I get that a lot.” He leaned back in the desk chair. “But that’s not me. I grew up in the Midwest. I have eight brothers and sisters.” It was his turn to shrug. “Women want a suave, world traveler. They’re very disappointed when they find out I’m not.”
    “I find it hard to believe any woman would be disappointed with