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Slow Hands
Leslie Kelly


Society girl Maddy has just won a date with sexy rogue Jake at a charity bachelor auction. But she knows he's hiding a dirty little secret. And it should keep her from trying out her new boy toy.Too bad she can't stop herself from indulging in their red-hot passion…









Slow Hands

Leslie Kelly







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


A two-time RWA RITA


Award nominee, eight-time Romantic Times BOOKreviews Award nominee and 2006 Romantic Times BOOKreviews Award winner, LESLIE KELLY has become known for her delightful characters, sparkling dialogue and outrageous humour. Since the publication of her first book in 1999, Leslie has gone on to pen more than two dozen sassy, sexy romances. Honoured with numerous other awards, including the National Readers’ Choice Award, Leslie writes sexy novels for Blaze


, and single-title contemporaries. Keep up with her latest releases by visiting her website, www. lesliekelly.com, or her blog, www.plotmonkeys.com.


To the fabulous Plotmonkeys gang, including Katie, Jodie, Paula, Donna, Pat, Jeannie (and Zoey!), Tina, Kelly, Cher, Ev, Vero, Ardie, Jane, Estella, Elisa, Fedora, Kim, Stacy, Kathy, Bailey, Jaci, Patty, Michelle, Liza, Shari, Cherylann and so many more. Hanging out with all of you in The Jungle makes me smile every single day. Thank you so much for your friendship and support!




Table of Contents


Cover (#u5212de00-55aa-5030-9884-55419f9a1118)

Title Page (#u7d1fd225-084c-5a6e-be42-2b8a9931cc8a)

About the Author (#u43f9ae5f-7b66-5ccc-b181-a8fbe145c844)

Dedication (#uc5d3cf00-6080-552c-aca5-06bad8cc7727)

Prologue (#uc4f4fc3b-92d4-5f4d-878d-a28e66a09a7d)

Chapter One (#ue017076a-f48b-5b22-9258-6906e96de291)

Chapter Two (#u3f4c9eb7-2298-5b3c-968d-f665b84aff1a)

Chapter Three (#u755f6f70-3443-5b6e-a431-59a43ba24278)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




Prologue


“OH, MY GOD, I CAN’T DO THIS, it’s hopeless! We’re not going to be able to pull it off.”

Penny Rausch heard the panic in her partner’s voice and struggled to keep her own alarm under control. One of them had to stay calm. Otherwise they were both going to lose their minds…not to mention their fledgling graphic design business.

“Calm down. We’re almost there.”

Janice, her partner and more-than-slightly ditzy younger sister, thrust her hand into her spiked blond hair, sending it into even more crazy directions than it had been before. A highly sought-after graphic designer, Janice had no head for business, but wow, was the girl creative…and not just with her hair. Her graphics were incredible. Her drawings collectible. Her fashion sense wildly imaginative.

Too bad she was pretty helpless in nearly every other aspect of her life.

“I dropped the file. The last six photos went everywhere. Just shoot me now.”

She looked utterly exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and a haggard hollowness in her cheeks. Janice was usually very precise about her appearance, but right now her yellow T-shirt was stained with something that was either ketchup from today’s fries or tomato sauce from last night’s pizza.

They hadn’t left their office in thirty-six hours. Not since Janice’s expensive, nearly brand-new computer had crashed, taking most of the files for the high-end, glossy brochure they were producing down with it. And almost taking down their company, too.

Because if they lost this job—creating the programs for a ritzy charity bachelor auction scheduled for next week—they were finished. They wouldn’t make the already-late rent, or keep the power on, or cover the printing bill. They’d be out of business overnight, after only being in it for eight months.

“We can handle this,” Penny insisted. “We’ve come this far, we’re almost there.”

“Maybe we could contact Mrs. Baxter…”

“No. Absolutely impossible.” They could not let the snooty Junior League socialite know they’d had yet another mishap in the design job. No way. They were already on probation, thanks to a few hiccups—like Janice’s case of the flu and a flood in the office. If they admitted to the computer crash, the woman would kick them to the curb for good.

“I can’t even tell them apart anymore,” Janice wailed, waving toward the table laden with photographs and copy. “Looking at one gorgeous man after another, hour after hour…”

“Tough job.”

“It’s not funny. I thought we were in the clear when we found the backup set of hard copies. Why didn’t we put the bachelors’ info on the back when we made them?”

The biographies of the bachelors being auctioned off to support Chicago’s needy children had been on the backs of the originals. But the originals had gone back to the penny-pinching auction organizer, Mrs. Baxter, once they’d been copied and scanned. Now they had the scans on disc, and they had the hard duplicates. They even had the printed biographies.

They just didn’t have any of those things together. And they had no way of knowing who was who.

If not for some easily identifiable, well-known bachelors, some handwritten notes, as well as Google, which they’d accessed on Penny’s still-working laptop, they would have had to give up. But not now. We’re not giving up now.

“We’re down to those last six men, Janice,” Penny insisted, bending to pick over the spilled photos. She laid them out on the worktable, grabbing the small index cards with the bios. “And I just identified four of them.”

Janice’s eyes widened in delight. “Really?”

Penny nodded, putting the correct bio cards with the correct faces, clipping them together in case there were any more spills. “I have spent the past five hours looking at archives in the Trib and I’ve found more of our boys. Eligible bachelors apparently get a lot of press coverage.”

Janice threw her arms around Penny and squeezed her. “So we’re down to these last two.”

Yes. Just two. “But we’re out of time. We have less than an hour to get the whole package to the printer’s if we’re going to make the deadline.” No more time to research…no more hesitation.

Penny lifted the two photographs, studying the handsome faces carefully. Both were dark-haired, but that was where the resemblance ended. One had warm brown eyes, the other vivid blue. One’s hair was short and conservative, the other’s a little longer, almost brushing his collar. One had a dangerous glint in his eye, the other a sexy smile on his curved lips.

“One is a paramedic, the other an international businessman,” Penny whispered, knowing their bios by heart. “One of you is Jake and one of you is Sean.”

Janice came closer, looking over Penny’s shoulder. Penny could almost feel her sister’s heartbeat just inches from her arm. She could definitely hear her deep, quick inhalations.

This was the moment—she had to choose. Suddenly remembering that old Lady or the Tiger story from her school days, she drew in a deep breath and pointed to the unsmiling one with the short hair and brown eyes. “He’s got to be the businessman.”

Beside her, Janice immediately nodded, pointing toward the other picture with the smiling, longer-haired guy. “And that’s a strong rescue worker if I ever saw one.”

“So we’re agreed?”

“Agreed. Absolutely. No doubt about it.”

Then it was done. Penny clipped the bios to the back of each picture, glad her sister was just as confident as she was that they’d made the right choice. Then she sat down to finish up the program on her own, older computer. And as she typed away as fast as she could, incorporating the newly recreated graphics, she tried hard to pretend she didn’t hear her younger sister’s whisper.

“I hope.”




1


“OUR STEPMOMMY DEAREST is about to buy herself a gigolo.”

Madeline Turner, who’d been signing a foot-tall stack of documents at her desk, dropped her pen, leaving a blot of black ink on the second quarter Profit and Loss Statement from a major local firm. Looking up, she could muster no surprise when she realized her sharp-toned visitor was her older half sister, Tabitha, looking as enraged as she sounded.

Enraged…but beautiful, as always. The stunning fashion plate had inherited all her mother’s tall and slender genes, blond hair and elegance, which suited her lifestyle to a T. Madeline, meanwhile, had been gifted with their father’s more short and round frame, plus her late mother’s nearly black hair; dark, laughing eyes and dimples. Which did not suit her lifestyle as a nose-to-the-grindstone bank manager to an R or a squiggly S, much less to a T.

Tabitha tossed her designer handbag onto an empty chair and kicked the door shut with the heel of one pointy-toed, five-hundred-dollar shoe. “Maddy, did you hear me?”

“I think the construction workers twenty floors down heard you,” Madeline mumbled, wondering why Tabitha always had to be so damned melodramatic. Something else she’d inherited from her jet-setting mother.

“The money-grubbing witch is going to cheat on our father.”

Considering Tabitha had cheated on one of her husbands and one of her fiancés, Maddy figured her sister had better jump off that moral high ground upon which she was perched before it crumbled out from underneath her. Still she frowned, not happy with the news that their father’s newest wife—his fourth—was already looking around for more adventure than her older husband could provide.

Tabby might loathe Deborah, but Maddy had never had anything against her. The woman wasn’t exactly warmth personified, especially not to her adult stepdaughters, but she was a lot better than some of the alternatives. Their father could have married a twenty-five-year old…someone younger than Maddy or her sister. At least Deborah, aside from being in her forties, was well-spoken, graceful and successful. She had once run her own successful ballroom dancing studio—that’s where she’d met Maddy’s father—and seemed to make him happy, first as a dance partner, now as a wife.

So she really hoped Tabby was wrong. “How do you know this?”

“I got it straight from Bitsy Wellington.”

Their stepmother’s best gal pal. “Why would she tell you?”

“Well, you know Bitsy. She can never resist causing trouble.”

True. The woman was completely toxic.

“Besides, she wants the man for herself. He’s some European gigolo being auctioned off at that Give A Kid A Christmas charity gig at the InterContinental tomorrow night.”

A gigolo being sold to benefit a children’s charity. There was some serious irony in that. Leave it to the Ladies Who Lunch of Chicago to come up with the idea of buying a stud to raise money for a worthy cause. And then, to compete over him.

Tabitha lowered herself to one of the chairs across from Maddy’s broad desk, sniffing slightly at the messy files strewn across it. Her big sister liked the money that came from the bank their great-grandfather had founded several decades ago. She just didn’t particularly like the stench of work that came along with it.

Sometimes Maddy wondered if one of them had been adopted. Or found on a doorstep. They had so little in common with each other, physically as well as everything else.

In personality, she was told she was a lot like her mother, Jason Turner’s second wife, who’d died when Maddy was four. Supposedly, though he never spoke of her, Jason had mourned her greatly. Which could explain why her sister always harassed Maddy about being their father’s favorite.

Maybe it was just that they had more in common. Aside from looking more like Jason than Tabby did, Maddy was also blessed with his quick mind, one fascinated by banking and finance. She also had the work ethic to run the business that had been in the family for generations.

That didn’t mean Tabitha hadn’t gotten something from their father, too—his fickleness. Maddy seemed to be the only Turner who didn’t fall in and out of love as frequently as the networks changed their Friday night lineup.

“We have to do something.”

“About what?”

“About the little cheater, that’s what!”

Maddy sighed, lowered her pen, and leaned back in her chair. “But she hasn’t cheated yet, has she?”

“No…and we’re going to make damn sure she doesn’t.”

Frankly, her sister’s attitude came as a surprise. Considering how strongly Tabitha disliked their father’s new wife, Maddy would have figured Tabitha would want Deborah to cheat, and get caught. Her father would tolerate a lot when it came to his wives—spending money, demanding attention and throwing tantrums. But he would never tolerate being cheated on. As a few of his former loves could certainly attest. Tabitha’s mother included.

“I’m surprised you haven’t hired a detective to follow her and get the goods yourself.”

Tabitha frowned, shifting her pretty blue eyes away to study her perfectly manicured nails.

“You have? Jesus, Tabby…”

“Look, it was stupid, and I changed my mind almost right away. I don’t want to catch the bitch cheating.”

“You don’t?”

Her sister finally lifted her eyes, and in them was a hint of genuineness, an emotion Tabitha didn’t often let the world see, but which Maddy knew lurked beneath her sister’s polished, shiny, brittle surface. “He loves her, Mad. Really loves her and she makes him so happy. It’s like he’s twenty years younger.” She swallowed, murmuring, “I don’t want him hurt. Again.”

Wow. That stunned her. So much that she couldn’t reply for a minute. Because while she completely understood the sentiment—and felt the same way—she wouldn’t have expected it of Tabitha.

Then she remembered the one area where she and her sister were absolutely, one hundred percent alike: in their love for their father.

She lowered her pen to her desk, finally giving her sister her undivided attention. “Okay. What do you propose we do?”

Tabitha dissembled for a moment, glancing around the room, at the few framed photos on Maddy’s bookshelf—all family—at the plants in the corner and the view of the Chicago skyline out the window.

She wasn’t going to like this, Maddy knew. Tabitha had the same look she’d had when they were nine and twelve and her big sister had suggested they “borrow” their new stepmother’s—wife three’s—Dior gowns to play house. And Maddy had the same reaction—the similar twitch in her temple and the sweatiness in her palms she’d experienced on that day.

One thing was sure…sweat wouldn’t wash any better out of her Chanel suit now than it had out of Dior then.

“Tabby?”

Her sister finally met her stare, appearing almost defiant. “It’s simple, really.”

The twitching intensified. The moisture on her palms could water the office plants for a week. “Oh?”

“Yes. She can’t cheat on our father with the guy if somebody outbids her.” With a smile that showed off the twenty-thousanddollar smile their father had bestowed upon his oldest daughter, Tabitha continued.

“You buy the gigolo.”

PARAMEDIC JAKE WALLACE had faced death dozens of times since he’d started working with Chicago FD’s 4th Battalion five years ago. He’d responded to fires and shootings, to brawls and domestic abuse calls. To riots and hostage standoffs. He’d treated heart attacks, drowning victims and people two steps past death who’d miraculously taken three steps back into existence.

He’d once talked a whacked-out druggie into letting him take his injured girlfriend—whom said druggie had stabbed—out of their house for emergency treatment. And he’d then gotten chewed out by his lieutenant for not following protocol by waiting for the Chicago P.D. to handle it. Right—as if he was going to let her die.

None of those situations had intimidated him.

But this? This scared the hell out of him.

“Why did I ever agree to get involved with this?” he muttered.

One reason. Because he owed his lieutenant big and his lieutenant owed the chief big and the chief’s wife loved this particular pet charity. End of story. Which was why two of his buddies from the battalion had already taken their turns under the spotlight.

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” a stranger’s voice replied.

Jake tugged helplessly at the bow tie that was choking him and glanced at Bachelor Number Eighteen, the one right before him. The other man looked just about as happy to be here as Jake, which was saying a lot. Because Jake would just as soon give CPR to a toothless octogenarian with halitosis than stand up on stage and be bid on by a bunch of rich, horny women with way too much time on their hands and too little self-respect. Or self-control.

“I should feel better about it,” he said, trying to convince himself more than the other final few “bachelors” waiting for their turn on the block. “It is for a good cause, right? So I suffer a few minutes’ embarrassment and a bad date. It’s worth it.”

Number Twenty offered a jaded smile as he leaned indolently against a column in the backstage area that had been set up for this evening’s event. The guy looked almost bored, and Jake envied him his calm. “What, you don’t enjoy having women �paying’ for your services?” The voice held amusement, and a hint of a foreign accent, possibly Irish.

Maybe European dudes were more at ease playing meat-onparade. But this all-American rescue worker most definitely was not. “You do?”

Number twenty smiled as he checked his sleeves, the gold sheen of expensive cuff links flashing beneath the obviously pricey, tailored tux. Jake would lay money it was not rented.

“It can be…entertaining.” This guy’s suit and demeanor said he had money enough to donate to worthy causes on his own. But the longish hair scooped back into a black ponytail said he also liked to live dangerously.

So did Jake. But he got quite enough thrills out of putting his ass on the line at emergency scenes, thank you very much. He didn’t particularly want to put it out there to be appraised, pinched, ogled or catcalled over by a bunch of strange women with itches between their legs and enough dollar bills to scratch them.

The other man continued. “Besides, as you said, it’s for a good cause.”

Right. Good cause. Kids. I like kids. Don’t have any, don’t really want any for a few more years, but they’re cute in a longdistance way. As long as they’re not sticking raisins up their noses or falling down into sewer drains or following the family cat up a tree.

Okay, so maybe he didn’t like kids so much. Not enough to go through this humiliation.

Then he thought about his own baby niece and twin nephews. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to make sure they remained the safe, healthy munchkins they were.

Damn. He was going to have to go through with it.

Tugging again at the too-tight collar of his own rent-a-tux, Jake peered through a crease in the black cloth curtains, eyeing the audience. The elegant ballroom was packed with round, white-draped tables, around which sat dozens of women in gowns and shimmery cocktail dresses. Laughter and gossip reigned supreme as they tossed back fruity Cosmos or sparkling champagne. They all watched hungrily, calling out bawdy suggestions as the raucous bidding continued for Bachelor Seventeen, who was currently center stage.

Well, all except one. A brunette who stood about ten feet away from the curtain he was peeking through. She drew his eye as he scanned the crowd…then drew it again. And this time, he let his gaze linger.

She was almost shadowed by one of the giant standing spotlights, which cast gaudy, unforgiving pools of light on the spectacle occurring on the stage. But what he saw of her was definitely enough to pique his interest.

First because she had some wicked curves. She wasn’t a tall stick figure in a little black dress like half the women here. Instead she was petite, very rounded with the kind of full curves—generous hips and lush breasts revealed in a low-cut, silky blue dress—that weren’t currently fashionable but made his heart pick up its pace and his recently dormant cock come awake in his pants.

Nor did she have bottled blond hair swept up in a complicated hairdo like the other half of the audience. No, hers was dark and thick, with long curls that fell in disarray past her shoulders. The look was wildly seductive, as if she’d just left her bed rather than an exclusive Michigan Avenue beauty salon.

Earthy, sultry, not at all restrained. The woman was sexy in a way that women didn’t seem to allow themselves to be sexy anymore.

Her looks, however, merely started the fire in his gut. Her untouchable, out-of-place demeanor stoked it until it almost engulfed him.

The brunette wasn’t laughing it up with her rich gal pals, or tossing back Manhattans while turning her hand to make sure her diamond rings showed to their greatest flashy advantage. In fact, if he had to guess, he’d say she looked almost disapproving, even tense. He couldn’t see her face very well, though he got a glimpse of a stiff little jaw, lifted up in visible determination. And her back was military straight.

He sensed she was keeping it that way intentionally, as if she didn’t dare let her guard down lest she be distracted from whatever mission she’d set for herself.

As if realizing she was being watched, the woman glanced around, turning her head enough to cast her face in a bit of light spilling off the stage. Enough to highlight the creamy skin, the curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lips and the dark flash of her eyes.

Beautiful.

Jake’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. Though she couldn’t possibly see him and was in no way mirroring his reaction, hers did the same.

She clenched out of visible concentration that seemed to swirl around her, creating a no-fly zone between her and everyone else in the room.

He clenched out of pure lust.

He hadn’t had sex in a while—not since breaking up with a woman he’d been dating last winter. And nobody had as much as given him a quickened pulse rate since. Not the women he met at the station. Not the ones he helped. Not the nurses at the hospital. Not the hot girl who’d moved in upstairs from him, the one who’d already locked herself out three times just so she’d have an excuse to ask for his help.

This stranger? She’d given him a hard-on from ten feet away.

She looked around the room again, watchful, her gaze passing without hesitation over the crease in the drapes behind which he stood.

Buy me.

She couldn’t possibly have heard the mental order, yet she narrowed her eyes, focusing again on the drapes concealing him.

He couldn’t help repeating the silent appeal, trying to remember all the stuff one of his sisters had said about that dumb book she’d been obsessed with lately. About how the universe would grant you what you want if you just visualized it hard enough.

Oh, it was easy to come up with some fast-and-hot visualizations right now.

“You want to know my biggest fear?” said Number Eighteen, a blond-haired surfer-looking guy who said he worked as a stockbroker. “What if whoever wins me pays like fifty bucks? I mean, how frigging humiliating would that be when the richest women in Chicago are all drooling like a pack of stray dogs eyeing a butcher shop window out there?”

Mr. Polished European guy laughed softly at the very thought of that even being a possibility for him. Jake, however, immediately understood the stockbroker’s worries.

Geez. He’d thought being bid on would be a humiliation. But not being bid on? “Get me out of here.”

“Too late,” said a perky voice belonging to the young woman who was stage-managing tonight’s events. She glanced at the blond pretty boy. “You’re on. They’re reading the introduction right now.” Then she pointed the tip of her pencil at Jake. “And you’re right behind him, Nineteen.”

Nineteen. That’s how they’d addressed him from the moment he’d checked in at the event desk and had been whisked to a private dressing room with all the other saps whose bosses, friends, siblings, mothers or coworkers had talked them into doing this.

Jake glanced through the slit in the drapes again, whispering, “Nineteen.”

He could easily envision nineteen things he’d say to the brunette when they met. Nineteen ways to bring about that meeting. The nineteen minutes it would take to run out from behind the curtain, grab her hand and drag her to his place. The number of times he wanted to make love to her and the number of positions he wanted to do it.

“Nineteen? Hello?”

Jake jerked his attention back toward the stage manager who was watching him with an expectant—yet slightly exasperated—look. He’d obviously been visualizing for several minutes. “The guy before you is done.”

“What’d he go for?” Jake couldn’t help asking.

“Thirty-five.”

Thirty-five. Oh, God, thirty-five bucks? He’d whip out his checkbook and pay ten times that if he could get out of this. Then he’d go straight out and introduce himself to the brunette in blue.

“Thirty-five hundred,” the woman added, obviously reading his expression.

“Holy shit.”

He could barely scrape up one times that amount, and if he had ten times it in his checking account, he sure as hell wouldn’t be living in a one-bedroom apartment over a flower shop in Hyde Park.

“They’re reading your bio right now, so we need to move quickly,” Miss Pencil Tapper said, actually reaching out to grasp his arm. She must know he wanted to bolt. He doubted he was the first to feel that way tonight.

“Fine, fine,” he muttered, not even listening to the announcer, whose voice was droning through the hotel sound system. He let go of the black drape curtain, regret making his fingers glide against it for a moment longer than necessary. Then he was being pushed onto the stage, blinded by a spotlight, deafened by the roar of a hundred tipsy women.

This must be what those Chippendales dudes felt like. The thought of doing this dressed in leather cowboy chaps and nothing else was enough to make his stomach heave.

“Who’s going to start the bidding?”

“Five hundred!” someone yelled.

Okay. It was a start. Five hundred…that was a worthy donation. That’d buy a lot of Christmas presents for needy kids. Like, you know, a hundred games of Go Fish or whatever that crap sold for now. But, man, it sounded pathetic considering the pretty boy stockbroker went for seven times that much.

“Six.”

“Seven!”

The numbers started flying at a dizzying speed, and Jake couldn’t keep up with them for a while. Not until a loud, determined female voice cut through the catcalls to shout, “Five thousand dollars!”

Everyone fell silent for an infinitesimal moment. Jake included. He didn’t know what the highest bachelor had sold for, but at least he wasn’t going to be rock bottom.

“We have a bid of five thousand dollars for this excellent cause,” the auctioneer preened. “And I imagine our handsome bachelor will be worth every penny of it.”

Ahh, the joy of being pimped by a fat guy with sweaty jowls and a smarmy smile.

The searing heat of the spotlight suddenly left his face. Jake watched as the large, golden circle washed over the crowd, turning to illuminate the woman who’d ignored auction protocol by upping the ante so dramatically.

Jake held his breath, something in his brain telling him it had been her. The brunette. The one he couldn’t stop thinking about had heard his mental 911 call.

The spotlight finally came to rest on the top of a very blond head.

Shit.

The middle-aged woman trying to look ten years younger sat at one of the exclusive, reserved tables up front, with a few other equally jaded-looking upper crusters. She smiled, well pleased with herself for having silenced the entire room.

But the complacent silence didn’t last for long. Because suddenly, as if they all had one voice, her three companions jumped into the fray.

“Fifty-one hundred.”

“Fifty-two.”

“Fifty-five.”

It went on for at least a minute, until Jake’s head was spinning. These crazy rich females were willing to lay out what amounted to a down payment on a house to go to dinner and a ball game with him? Insane.

It’s for a good cause. True, but damned if he wasn’t getting tired of hearing that refrain in his head.

The figure had hit eight thousand, the blonde and her three friends laughing as they tossed it higher and higher like a volley-ball being lobbed over a net. Jake had hated volleyball ever since he’d been an oversize, clumsy fourth grader who always got picked last for the team in gym. And he especially hated being the ball.

Though the bidding women were laughing, their amusement held a hint of malice and their smiles were tight. They might have started this as a game, but now their competitive spirits were rising.

He didn’t know how long it might have gone on, if he’d continued to be nibbled at in one-hundred dollar bites. Suddenly the whole room froze again. Because another voice—from the other side of the ballroom—shouted, silencing the three bidding crows.

“Twenty-five thousand dollars.”

Jake visualized it, asked the Fates to be kind, then followed the spotlight.

And for once, he realized, his loopy kid sister was right. He’d asked, and the universe had answered. Because the winning bidder was his beautiful brunette.




2


“HOW SHOULD THE CHECK be made out?”

Her pen perched above her open checkbook, Maddy lifted an expectant brow, having finally reached the front of the checkout line for tonight’s auction. It was her bad luck that her bachelor had been second to last in the event. If he’d been one of the earlier “prizes,” she would have been able to pay the fee and escape early, without running the risk that she’d actually have to face her legally purchased slab of beefcake.

That was the last thing she wanted. She’d done what she’d set out to do—what Tabitha had guilted her into doing. She’d stopped her stepmother from hooking up with another man, at least for tonight. And, at least, with that particular man.

Judging by the look on her stepmother’s face, she’d had absolutely no idea any of her husband’s family members had been in the audience. When she’d seen Maddy from across the crowded room, Deborah Turner had paled, her eyes had widened in shocked guilt, and she’d rushed out, her nasty, troublemaking best friend Bitsy close behind her.

Too bad Maddy hadn’t been outbid at that point. She could have saved herself twenty-five thousand dollars. Because, while she hadn’t dated in a while, she most certainly was not desperate enough to actually take advantage of the “prize” she’d just won. If he’d been a regular bachelor? Perhaps. But knowing he was a gigolo who prostituted himself? Never.

It’s for a good cause, she reminded herself, knowing her family’s charitable foundation, which she managed, always supported the worthy children’s program anyway.

“I am in a bit of a hurry,” she prodded, offering the harriedlooking woman running the payment desk a smile to take any sting from her words. “This really is a wonderful program and I’m so glad to be able to support it,” she added, meaning it. “But I do have another engagement.”

That wasn’t exactly untrue. She did have a standing engagement with her remote control and the latest disc from her Grey’s Anatomy Season 2 DVD set. Better that than sticking around and actually having to converse with a man who accepted money from bored, lonely, rich women.

“You won bachelor number…”

“Nineteen,” Maddy supplied, not likely to forget him anytime soon. Oh, she might have no respect for the man, especially because her stepmother had wanted to cheat with him. But he was so damned gorgeous. Even his photograph in the auction program hadn’t prepared her to see him in the flesh.

She’d been expecting some kind of skinny, pasty, girlie kind of man like the character in American Gigolo. She had not imagined anything like those shoulders, which were about the width of a small bus, or the bulked-up chest straining against the fabric of his tux. Nor the thick dark hair, cut short enough to tempt a woman to do some finger tangling while not drawing one bit of attention away from the slashing brows, the prominent cheekbones, the stubborn chin.

He was all man. Nothing like what she’d expected. Although, she had to admit, her ideas had been based on movie references and her own interactions with weaker-willed men who used women. Don’t even go there, a voice in her head reminded her.

“You can make the check out to Give A Kid A Christmas,” the attractive, dark-haired woman behind the counter said. She offered Maddy a grateful smile. “And thank you so much. Yours was the most generous donation of the night.”

“I’m sure it’ll be put to good use.”

“Absolutely,” the woman said. She gestured toward the nearest door. “By the way, we’ve set up a private reception down the hall, for our winning bidders and our bachelors to meet. You know, to break the ice before any private, um…meetings.”

Assignations was more like it.

Addressing the check, Maddy merely smiled politely, not replying. Then, giving the woman her payment and taking a tax receipt in return, she deliberately swung around and walked in the opposite direction.

She’d done her job. Now she needed to get out of here. She’d come in late—having been tipped off by Tabitha that her target would be auctioned off second to last. She hadn’t seen anyone she knew, other than her stepmother and the woman’s friends. Hopefully, she could escape without any further public exposure of her foray into the flesh trade.

She almost made it. She was mere feet from the closest ballroom exit when she was stopped by a movable wall disguised as a tuxedo shirt.

Her heart leaped in her chest, thudding in excitement, even as she mentally cursed the bad luck. Because Number Nineteen had tracked her down.

“Hello,” the wall murmured. “I’m Jake Wallace.”

Maddy growled a little, annoyed at herself for feeling an immediate tingle at the warmth emanating off the solid man now blocking her path. And for leaning forward the tiniest bit and breathing a bit deeper to catch a better whiff of his warm, spicy scent.

“I know we’re supposed to be meeting in the reception room,” he added, “but I’d rather head to the hotel bar, too, if that’s where you were going. I don’t think I could stand another hour with that crowd.”

Funny that he already knew, somehow, that Maddy was not of “that crowd.” Oh, she fit in financially, and she had the family connections and pedigree to mix with the best of Chicago society. But she didn’t like them, didn’t feel comfortable with them, preferring to listen to Tabitha’s cutting first-person reports rather than experience the flighty world of the rich-and-shameless personally. Her social interactions usually centered around business—fund-raisers, executive dinners. Certainly not hot-body auctions.

“That is where you were going, right? You weren’t trying to ditch me.” It wasn’t a question and his tone held a hint of laughter. She didn’t think his amusement was caused by conceit, but rather the incongruity of a woman paying twenty-five thousand dollars to spend an evening with a man and then walking out the door without ever meeting him.

It was kind of crazy.

“I, uh…the ladies’ room,” she mumbled, hating herself for letting the inane excuse cross her lips the very moment she uttered it. Ladies’ room indeed. Deborah, her socially impeccable—if potentially adulterous—stepmother, would be flaring her nostrils in mortification. If she wasn’t cowering somewhere, wondering if Maddy was going to rat her out for trying to buy her way into this man’s arms.

He cleared his throat. “It’s that way.”

His arm moved, the hand gesturing back the way Maddy had just come. That hand was darkly tanned, strong, with neat blunt fingernails and not a hint of kept-man elegance. They looked like a worker’s hands. And suddenly several parts of Maddy’s body went a little spastic at the thought of being worked by them.

Not being the tallest woman in the world, Maddy had been able to keep her attention squarely focused straight ahead, as if minutely interested in the design of the buttons on his shirt. Since she’d been sucked in by his hands, though, she figured she might as well muster up the courage to confront the rest of him.

She could do it. She was woman. Hear her roar.

All she could manage as she lifted her gaze, however, was a helpless whimper.

The chest was, as she already knew, huge and strong. The throat tanned, the neck corded with muscle. His strong jaw jutted in classic male determination. His face was freshly shaved, she’d imagined, for tonight’s event, but already displayed a hint of swarthiness that would provide the tiniest frisson of roughness if their cheeks met.

They won’t.

Even if she acknowledged how physically attractive he was, she still would never again take up with a man who couldn’t keep his pants zipped. She’d been down that road before.

Still…he was handsome. His thick hair was cut short, and had looked lighter when he was up on stage, being paraded around like a prime bit of horseflesh for sale. Now, up close, she realized it was a dark brown, but shot with hints of gold here and there that said he likely spent a lot of time outside. Probably sailing around in yachts owned by rich women, hitting the clubs in Monaco or cruising the Mediterranean. Doing the types of things people in her social circle took for granted, too.

None of which interested her.

Except, maybe, lounging under the sun on a clear blue sea. She might not like the ennui and shallowness that often came with extreme wealth, but she wasn’t stupid. She enjoyed an occasional luxury as much as the next silver spoon girl. And a summer day spent sailing on her father’s thirty-three-foot cutter was one of her few genuine indulgences.

“Why don’t you let me escort you?” he added, finally breaking the silence.

“I’m afraid I was just leaving,” she admitted, knowing she needed to end this now, before he offered to lead her to the closest ladies’ room. Maybe even escort her inside…and do her in the lavish vestibule.

Oh, God, what a fantasy.

She cleared her throat. “It’s a work night.”

Finally allowing herself to meet his gaze directly, all remaining words dried up in Maddy’s mouth. Because those eyes, which she hadn’t been able to see clearly from the audience, were a dark, warm brown, so friendly and approachable, open and engaging that it was impossible to imagine this man was anything but an all-American boy-next-door. Albeit the handsomest one she’d ever met.

There was merriment in those eyes, and warmth and friendliness. Not jaded awareness, not arrogance. Just…niceness. And pure laid-back sex appeal.

That didn’t fit what she knew about the man. Not one bit.

“Work?” he asked, sounding as though he’d never heard the word.

Well, maybe he hadn’t. Maddy lifted her chin, ignoring those eyes, that half smile on his sensual mouth, and forced herself to remember who this brown-eyed, kind-looking hottie really was.

A man for sale.

“Yes. Work,” she snapped. “I came here to support a charity. I’ve done it, and now I’m leaving.”

He put a hand out, touching her elbow lightly, though not trying to restrain her. But all the same, the touch was binding, rooting her where she stood.

“Look, I have the feeling we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot somehow. I’d really like to go sit down somewhere, not as part of our �date’ but just so I can thank you for bidding on me.” He shook his head, smiled slightly and rubbed a hand across his strong jaw, the slide of his fingers rasping the tiniest bit across his very faint five-o’clock shadow. “You saved me from being the cheapest guy of the night.”

“As if that was going to happen.”

“You never know. That stockbroker guy was offering a weekend getaway upstate.”

“What were you offering?” she asked, only out of curiosity. Not out of genuine interest. Definitely not.

Shrugging, he admitted, “A home game at Wrigley Field followed by wings and beer at a pub.”

Maddy’s eyebrows went up.

“You didn’t know that when you shelled out twenty-five thousand bucks?”

She shook her head, muttering, “I don’t think it would have mattered.”

Not one bit. Because neither Bitsy Wellington, or Maddy’s stepmother would ever have let that ball game evening happen. The date would have begun and ended tonight, right in one of the thousand lavish hotel rooms above their heads. Despite being much older than this man, Deborah had the money, the looks and the charm to make sure she got exactly what she wanted. Whether Jake Wallace had really intended a “normal” date with the winner or not.

To Maddy, though, a Major League ball game sounded wonderful. She’d never been to a professional game, relying on ESPN and pay-per-view channels to satisfy her innate—if secret, given its less-than-spoiled-little-rich-girl image—love of sports. Especially sports that took place on a diamond and involved a bat and a ball.

So borrow Dad’s box seats. Because you aren’t going with Mr. Expensive.

“You see why I was expecting the worst. I mean, if somebody had gotten me for twenty bucks, my sisters would never have let me hear the end of it.”

She couldn’t prevent a trill of amused laughter from escaping her lips at the very thought of this man getting out of here for such a paltry amount. He probably charged that much per minute.

He watched her laugh, those soft, dreamy eyes resting on her lips, his own curling up at the edges in response. “You’ve got dimples.”

She clamped her lips tight, silently ordering her cheeks to flatten out.

“They’re beautiful.”

“They’re stupid.”

“Adorable.”

“Made for a five-year-old’s face or a baby’s bottom.”

He shook his head. “Uh-uh. A beautiful woman’s.”

Maddy quivered at that. Though she knew the man was probably schooled at such come-ons, and made a practice of making every woman feel beautiful and desirable, she couldn’t help the warm flow of pleasure surging through her veins. Because he made her believe it.

His lips quirked. “Uh, by that I meant a beautiful woman’s face, of course.”

Remembering the second part of her comment, she inwardly groaned, mortified at having given the man such an easy opening.

“You really are stunning,” he murmured, not handing her a line, not at all sleazy. Just confident of what he said. “A dark and vibrant flame next to all those icy princesses.”

Maddy swallowed. It wasn’t possible that he knew her—and her reputation—was it? No. He couldn’t. He was using his wiles, his tricks of the trade, telling her what he thought she wanted to hear, like any good professional. Because far from being the vibrant “flame,” she was known as the coldest businesswoman in Chicago.

Did he really see her so differently?

“You looked entirely alive from up on that stage…the only woman who did.”

Okay, boy-next-door or not, the man was good at getting around a woman’s defenses with that sexy-smooth delivery. Too good. Especially since she knew there was no way she could have him. Just the thought of what might have happened between him and her stepmother had she not prevented it was enough to make her stomach turn.

Besides, never again would she be with someone who had sex with more partners in a month than she’d had in her lifetime. Been there, done that. Her ex simply had not gotten paid for it. He hadn’t needed to. He’d quite enjoyed giving it away for free to any woman who’d spread her legs.

Well…she had to give this Jake some credit. At least he was honest and open about what he was.

That, however, was as much as she was willing to concede. “I have to go.”

“Oh, come on,” he urged, “please don’t. You’ve got to at least let me buy you a beer for saving me from utter humiliation in front of that bloodthirsty crowd.”

“And from your sisters.”

“Who are absolutely merciless.”

His tone said he didn’t care, that there was a genuine fondness between him and his siblings. Well, Maddy understood that. Though she might have little to nothing in common with Tabby, that didn’t mean she didn’t love her. She understood the concept of loving someone even if you didn’t completely understand them. If not, she’d never have survived this many years in her own family.

“I have one of those.”

“Sisters?”

She nodded. “And she’s also pretty merciless. Especially about getting her own way.”

“I somehow suspect you can hold your own.”

“Ditto.”

“I always found that hanging their bras out their bedroom windows was an effective deterrent to future harassment.”

Maddy couldn’t help chuckling again, unable to keep a smile off her face, dimple exposure or not. “I don’t know that Tabitha’s ever owned one,” she replied, thinking of her sister’s willowy, graceful figure. Tabby was Gwyneth Paltrow slender all the way. While Maddy was more on the Catherine Zeta Jones side.

He glanced down, probably not even aware he was doing it. The glance was quick, not offensive, probably almost reflex considering the need to check out a woman’s breasts seemed inbred into male genes.

His gaze rose to her face, but not so quickly that she didn’t see the way his jaw flexed and his eyes narrowed, shining with dark intensity and appreciation, all traces of that easygoing good humor disappearing.

Hers disappeared, as well. Not to be replaced by anger…but by pure physical awareness. The roam of his stare over her body affected her just as thoroughly as a real touch from anyone else would have.

Sometimes, she didn’t mind so much being the more curvaceous of the Turner sisters. Tabitha had the runway model shape and maintained it by eating as much as a three-day-old sparrow. Maddy, meanwhile, bordered on voluptuous, from her more than ample breasts to her small waist and downright generous hips, and fought every potato chip and cheesecake urge to keep it that way.

Her body might play hell with her wardrobe, ruling out any cute little backless sundress or strapless gowns, which Tabby had by the roomful. But right now, at this moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care. And it was all because of the heat in this sexy man’s eyes and the almost audible quality of his next, slowly indrawn breath.

That was lust she saw there. Pure and undisguised, unhidden by social demands or proper breeding that insisted it wasn’t polite to visibly covet a woman.

He was coveting. She was being coveted. They were both caught in the tension of it.

Though her mind knew better, her body couldn’t help responding. Beneath the silky dress, her skin puckered, tiny goose bumps rising on the deep V of her cleavage, her nipples tightening to jut against the lace of her bra. Her pulse fluttered in her throat, and the breaths she managed to inhale were shallow. Each was filled with the warmth of him and the dark, masculine scent of his body, which had edged to within inches of her own.

All from a look. What in God’s name might happen to her if he ever laid a hand on her?

“Please say yes,” he murmured. “For no other reason than that you want to.”

His tone remained light, not demanding, not intense, despite the look in his eyes and the static in the air between them. As if he knew that coming on too strong might scare her off.

And suddenly, it was working. Her verbal defenses had been firmly in place at the start, but now…well, now she’d actually allowed herself to see him as a person—a very sexy person—rather than just the instrument her stepmother had intended to use to hurt her father.

If he’d played the lothario, Maddy would already have been out of here. But he hadn’t. He’d merely sounded friendly, engaging, and oh so tempting. While he spoke of polite things like his family, his eyes did all the more intimate talking. He wanted her, yet managed to remain genuine and self-deprecating. Not at all like the male prostitute he was.

Suddenly remembering what else Tabby had told her about the man, and the glimpse she’d had at the auction program, she said, “You don’t have an accent!”

“Am I supposed to?”

She clenched her lips shut, wishing she’d thought to learn a bit more about what she was up against tonight. Tabitha had given her the bare bones and Maddy had raced into the plan. Typical story. Just the way it was when they were kids and Tabby had been Lucy holding the ball while Charlie Brown Maddy ran down the field to kick it, knowing she was going to end up on her ass.

“I should have made her do it herself,” Maddy muttered, though she knew that would have been a very bad idea. Even Tabitha had known better.

Maddy could be trusted to avoid a sexy gigolo. Hopefully. Her sister could not. And Tabby seemed truly determined to make her next marriage—which was scheduled for its high society kickoff in a few weeks—work. She would never have been able to keep her perfectly manicured fingers off this hunk.

But Maddy could. And she would. Any moment now. As soon as her heart slowed down and her body came off orange alert and went back down to at least yellow.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Maddy stared at him, searching for something in his expression, a hint that a predator lurked beneath his oh-sosexy, laid-back, nice-guy appearance. There must be something—malice, greed, or lasciviousness—behind the open, honest interest in his stare. Just because she hadn’t seen it, didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

There had to be more to him than she was seeing. And she almost wished she had time to find it.

Maybe if she’d been introduced to him at a cocktail party or met him at the bank, she’d allow herself to fall for the sexy, charming, friendly demeanor and let herself be seduced by the want in his eyes. She would try to get to know him better, and let him know his physical interest was most definitely reciprocated.

But one undeniable truth prevented that.

If she had not been tipped off and come here tonight to prevent it, the man standing in front of her would probably be upstairs having sex with her father’s wife right this minute.

And that was the end of her waffling. Again repulsed by the very idea, Maddy took a step away, removing her arm from his touch, and the rest of her from the force field of sexiness encompassing the man like a cloak. She was immune, damn it. Mentally and, now, because of the harsh truth she’d just forced herself to acknowledge, physically.

Maddy pasted the cordial but not exactly friendly, expression on her face she used daily when running interference between her father and the sycophants constantly hitting him up. “Really, Mr. Wallace, there’s no wrong foot. You don’t owe me a thing. I’m glad I was able to keep you from the ridicule of your sisters.” With a deliberately rueful smile, she thought of how she’d ended up here tonight and admitted, “They can definitely be annoying.”

“Okay then. So we’ll have a drink while we compare our crazy families, make our plans and check out the sports page for the next home game.” Frowning, he added, “You are a Cubs fan, aren’t you?”

“I think it’s illegal not to be around here.”

“Meaning there’s nothing stopping us from going out.”

“If I told you I liked the Cardinals, would that get this ridiculous idea out of your head?” He lifted a hand to his chest, his jaw opening in horror. Which made her laugh again. “Kidding.”

“You’d go that far to avoid going out with me?” he asked, his voice growing quiet, his smile fading. As if her answer really mattered to him…as if he cared.

Shaking her head, Maddy stepped around him, taking that first all-important step toward the door. And away from Mr. Superstud. “It’s not about going out with you. I had my own reasons for being here tonight, and they didn’t include a date. So you are completely off the hook.”

“But the money…”

“Was for the children.” And for my father. “There’s no quid pro quo in this.” Even if five minutes ago all her most feminine parts had been demanding that she get at least a little bit of quid and a whole lot of quo for being so…awakened by him.

That was a good word for it. Their brief conversation hadn’t aroused her quite to the level of blatant physical desire. But it had most definitely awakened her to the possibilities. Especially because she suddenly realized that as well as being physically attracted to him, she could also truly like this warm, amusing man.

Oh, there were so many possibilities.

No. They were impossibilities. Her most feminine parts would have to be happy watching hot doctors having affairs at Seattle Grace.

Telling herself she would not regret this in the morning, but wondering how she’d make it through the long, lonely night ahead without fantasizing about how she could have spent it—she murmured “Goodbye,” and walked out of his life.

JAKE HAD THREE SISTERS, so he knew better than to try to change a woman’s mind when she had definitely made it up. And the sexy brunette in the silky blue dress had most assuredly made up her mind to leave. Funny, though…he had the feeling she’d decided to ditch him before she’d ever bid on him.

Which, frankly, made him feel a lot better. Because her disinterest was not personal. He just needed to make sure that her interest became very personal.

Because there was no way that pert little dismissal and the sashay of her curvy hips out the ballroom door was the end of their relationship. Uh-uh. She’d been sexy and mysterious, aloof and unattainable from behind that black curtain. Now that he’d seen those stormy brown eyes, heard that whiskey-toned voice and caught a glimpse of her beautiful smile and those adorable dimples, he found her not only sexy and earthy but also almost heart-stoppingly desirable.

And no longer unattainable. He had a legitimate reason to find her. A good reason. He owed her what he’d promised and he never welshed on a deal.

Jake didn’t even consider following her. He didn’t need to. Chicago might be a big city, but the world in which the über-wealthy lived was a small, incestuous one. He could find out who she was with a few well-placed questions at the reception going on down the hall.

The problem was, he really didn’t want to venture into that reception. He’d escaped the clutches of the catcalling rich bitches and he had no desire to fall into them again. Fortunately, he didn’t have to.

“Excuse me,” he said as he strode toward the checkout desk. It was almost deserted now, with just a few last volunteers counting cash, sorting checks and cleaning up after the flesh-spending-frenzy.

“Yes?” an attractive brunette replied. Jake recognized her as the woman who ran the charity organization benefiting from tonight’s auction—the Give A Kid A Christmas thing that provided traditional holiday seasons for families living in Chicago’s abused women shelters. Noelle something. She’d been earnest and friendly, a little harried, but not coolly amused and assessing the way some of the auction organizers had been when he’d arrived.

“I must be brain-dead,” he said, offering her a smile. “But I somehow let the woman who won the date with me get away without making our final plans. And I don’t know how to get in touch with her.”

The woman frowned. “What was her name?”

Sticky one. Jake thought about bullshitting some more, then decided honesty was probably the best way to go. If the brunette felt sorry for him at having been bought and then dumped like yesterday’s garbage, she might be more forthcoming with the information he wanted.

“To be honest? She didn’t give it to me. I think she got cold feet, even after laying out twenty-five grand.”

Recognition washed over the woman’s face. “Ah, yes, I remember her.” As if wanting to console him, she added, “She did say she had to be somewhere else. I’m sure she was in a hurry and didn’t realize she hadn’t given you her name and number.”

“That must have been it. I’d really appreciate your help, uh…Noelle, right?”

“Right,” she replied. “Noelle Santori.” Turning her attention toward the money she’d been counting, she added, “She won’t be hard to find. There was only one check made out in that amount tonight.”

The woman riffled through a stack of checks piled inside the metal strongbox, plucked one out and said, “Aha!” Then she frowned. “Uh-oh, it’s a foundation, not a personal check. Her name’s not printed on here, and her signature is a little…messy.”

“Her name is Madeline Turner,” a woman behind him said. Jake swung around and saw a slender, attractive blonde, watching him with hooded speculation. He didn’t know her, as far as he could tell. She might have been one of the horny, diamondladen princesses bidding fast and hard during the auction. Or she might not. The spotlights hadn’t allowed him a close enough look to be certain.

“Here,” the blonde said, handing him a business card. “Maddy works at a bank downtown. That’s the address.” She gave him a thorough once-over, assessing him as if he was a six-foot-three lobster in a fancy restaurant’s tank. And she was very hungry for some surf and turf.

Finally, she sighed and crossed her arms. “I’m sure it was an oversight, her leaving without getting what she came here for. So you be sure to look her up.” She turned away, tugging her weather-inappropriate stole tighter around her shoulders. As she walked away, he caught one final whisper. “You might just be an answer to a prayer.”




3


“EXCUSE ME, MISS TURNER, there’s someone to see you.”

Madeline looked up from her desk as her administrative assistant, Ella, peeked around the partially open door to her office. Being addressed as Miss Turner tipped her off to her young employee’s unusually somber mood. Most times, the efficient-but-bubbly young woman would have buzzed her, reminded her of an appointment, then snapped a quick, naughty joke. Ella liked nothing better than leaving Madeline with an inappropriate grin on her face as some staid business visitor entered her office.

This time, though, Ella sounded subdued, almost awed, and wore a facial expression to match.

“Oh, damn, is it the congressman again? I told him we weren’t increasing his line of credit.”

The other woman shook her head slowly. “Nope. A stranger.” Clearing her throat, she blinked a few times, as if trying to physically shake off her dazed mood. After a few seconds, she grinned. And when she began speaking in a rush, Maddy realized her real assistant was back in the building.

“Look, I just have to say, if this is a sales guy running a scam and he doesn’t really know you and doesn’t really have an appointment, I will so totally take him off your hands. I’ll whisk him out of here, no problem. Show him the door, follow him out, go somewhere private and whip him into shape. Give him a good, stern talking-to about coming by without appointments.” Her expression verging between lustful and hopeful, she added, “It would probably take hours and hours. Maybe the whole weekend.”

Ella wasn’t exactly the most professional bank employee in the world, but she was by no means flighty. Which meant whoever Maddy’s visitor was, he had to be someone capable of turning a normal, levelheaded young woman into a jazzed-up, sexed-up, babbling twit.

“Oh, hell,” she whispered, knowing who was standing right outside her door. Only one man she’d met recently was capable of sucking every brain cell from a woman’s head within two minutes of meeting her.

Considering she’d dreamed about him for the past two nights—hot, Grey’s Anatomy inspired dreams of her being the filling in a triple decker McSteamy, McDreamy and McGigolo sandwich—she should be feeling McPanicked and McCornered. He’d almost surely be able to read the guilty embarrassment on her face the moment he spotted her.

Somehow, though, she could only muster anticipation and excitement. But she knew that all he’d see on her face was interest and admiration that he’d tracked her down—and sought her out—so quickly.

“Show him in,” she murmured, knowing she had about thirty seconds, the time it would take Ella to walk out and Number Nineteen to walk in. Just enough time to touch her hair, smooth her blouse and cross her legs.

She uncrossed them and slid her chair under her desk as soon as he entered. Her skirt wasn’t too short. It was perfectly businesslike, in fact. But the pose seemed a little too blatant…inviting. As if she wanted to encourage him sexually, letting him know he’d been all she’d had on her mind since the moment she’d met him.

That she did, and he was didn’t change her decision to go for professional rather than come-hither.

“Hi,” he said. “Found ya.”

“So you did, Mr. Wallace.”

“Nice to see you again…Miss Turner.” He glanced around her cluttered office, at the shelves laden with books and files and the stack of documents awaiting her signature in her in-box. Then he gazed past her at the window overlooking the city, one of the best views in the high-rise building. Whistling, he murmured, “I guess you do have a real job.”

“What made you think I didn’t?”

He met her stare, saying nothing.

“Okay,” she acknowledged with a grudging smile. “I don’t suppose many of the bidders from the auction work on much more than their tans.”

“But you don’t have one. Meaning you obviously work too much.”

“It could be that I’m naturally pale-skinned and prone to burning.” And that she hadn’t had one of those lazy summer days on her father’s boat since last summer. She was going to have to remedy that.

“I somehow suspect you spend twelve hours a day in here and just wave at the sun from your window as it goes by.”

Smart man. And one who was right now making himself at home, sitting in a chair opposite her desk without being asked. Her office almost seemed to shrink around him, as if his big body had sucked up all the spare particles of air, leaving the two of them cloaked tightly in intimacy.

Thank God for the desk. If it hadn’t been between them, Maddy might have been tempted to slide her chair closer, until their knees touched. Or their thighs. Or their mouths.

Stop it.

“Why’d you ditch me?”

“Why did you pursue me?”

“Ha. I asked you a complicated question and you asked me a very simple one.” He grinned. “I tracked you down because I owe you a date and I am not a welsher.”

That was all. He wasn’t a welsher. Well, didn’t she just feel special, like an average everyday poker player waiting for a fivedollar payoff.

“Now, your turn.”

“It isn’t necessarily complicated.” She arched a brow and managed a bored tone. “Maybe I ditched you because I wasn’t interested.”

His grin still confident, he immediately dispelled that possibility. “Twenty-five thousand bucks is a whole lot of disinterest.”

“It’s for a worthy cause.”

“So why didn’t you bid on somebody else early in the evening and get out right away?”

“What makes you think I didn’t? Maybe you were my second-to-the-last chance to make a difference, so I made an outrageous bid.”

“You didn’t bid on anybody else.” He leaned toward her desk, dropping his elbows on its surface. “Admit it.” The position sent muscle surging against cotton as his casual, washedout T-shirt hugged his arms. The flexing of his tanned skin against the black fabric was almost impossible to tear her gaze away from. She honestly didn’t think she’d ever seen a more powerfully built man in person.

She knew she’d never slept with one.

Most of the men Maddy had had sex with had been wiry young college guys who wanted any female they could get—especially wealthy, heiress females—or pale, soft businessmen she met in her usual circle. Those men—men like Oliver, her ex-lover, whom she’d kicked out of her life a year and a half ago—were generally toned from their weekend tennis game or occasional golf tournaments. Or, in Oliver’s case, from his frequent ski trips with his “best friend” Roddy.

That Roddy had been a nickname for Rhonda, a twenty-yearold ski bunny, had been something he’d failed to mention. Maddy had found out the hard way when she’d decided to surprise him one weekend. She’d found Oliver in his room, engaging in some serious downhill action with the snow ho.

There were no skis involved, but his pole had been getting quite a workout.

She thrust away the memory, acknowledging that in the several months she’d dated the man, she’d never looked at him and immediately lusted the way she did with the guy sitting on the other side of her desk. Jake Wallace had the kind of massive, rock-solid body women dreamed existed but never expected to see in real life.

And she coveted it. As he’d been coveting the other night.

“I don’t think you bid on anyone else,” he murmured, speaking softly, as if aware she’d been struck a little brainless. “I was watching you from behind the curtain for a long time.”

Feeling a bubble of air lodge in the center of her throat, Maddy struggled to swallow it down, but couldn’t quite manage it.

He had been watching her. Watching. Her. With all the tall, elegant, skinny women in the room, she’d caught his eye…and had apparently kept it.

In some contexts, hearing a man saying he’d been “watching her” could creep a woman out. But this didn’t. Just the way his hungry stare hadn’t the night they’d met.

Instead, once again, he appeared so…honest. Open about his feelings. Jake sounded both confident and almost surprised by his own admission, as if he hadn’t meant to reveal his immediate interest in her, even though his presence here in her office confirmed it.

He’s a pro at making women feel this way, a small voice in her head reminded her.

“I even started asking the universe to let you be the one to win me,” he admitted.

Startled into laughter, Maddy knew exactly what he meant. Tabitha had recently been touting the brilliance of the same selfhelp bestseller. She swore it was the reason she’d landed her latest fiancé, a well-known Chicago hotelier, who was nice, a bit dull, but richer than an oil baron.

“You don’t strike me as the type who needs any secret when it comes to winning over a woman, Mr. Wallace.”

“I obviously needed to find out one secret…your identity.”

Smooth.

“Fortunately, like Cinderella, you left a clue behind.”

“I think I had both shoes on my feet when I got home.”

“Your check. With your signature.”

Frowning, she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. “They gave you my check?”

“Just a quick peek. Then a helpful stranger told me the rest of what I needed to know.”

How kind of the stranger.

Honestly, though, considering she was edgy and excited, her pulse a little fast, her heart beating a little hard, maybe it had been a kindness. Maddy hadn’t dated anyone in a long time. The last scene with her ex had burned itself on her brain and left her skeptical of the sweet promises of any man. Oliver’s final words—when he’d insisted they could still be a great team with her money and his family connections, with no messy, intimate “emotions” attached—had replayed in her mind many times since then.

She was a suitable candidate for the position of Oliver’s wife, with an acceptable pedigree and lots of cash. A great business prospect. Nothing more.

Ouch.

“Everybody knows everybody in your circle, huh?”

“It’s the world’s biggest small pond.”

“Yawn.”

“You’ve no idea.”

“So come swim outside the reef with me. You might not be surrounded by your colorful, tropical kind, but sometimes us plain old trout can be entertaining.”

Maddy couldn’t help chuckling again. The man was just cute. As if he could be plain old anything. “You know, lately, I’ve been sticking to the shallows.”

“Double yawn. Come on, take a chance.”

Uh-uh. The shallows suited her fine. Here she could safely ignore any thoughts of her personal life. Along with working insane hours, she’d been dealing with the usual family crises, including Tabby’s upcoming wedding. The social functions she attended were more a matter of courtesy and professionalism than pleasure and the men she met at them always fell into two camps—the boring and proper, or the greedy, who saw dollar signs on her forehead.

The first type could never catch her interest. The second made her skin crawl. None of them could ever make her consider swimming out into those romance waters again. She just wasn’t interested.

Until now.

Yes. Until now. This man had slowed her down, made her think, made her aware of herself for the first time in ages. For that, at least, she owed him thanks. Because though she still had no intention of letting anything happen between her and a paid companion, she had at least begun to wonder if she should accept a few more invitations, get out more and perhaps meet someone else who could get her heart tripping and her palms damp. And maybe even her panties.

She’d guard her heart, set out for some physical satisfaction and never let herself be hurt. As long as she went into it with that in mind, it could be possible for her to have some kind of sex life again.

With him.

“No,” she whispered. Not with him. Because, while his career might actually be a benefit, given the no-strings, pleasure-only kind of affair she suddenly had in mind, her reaction to him was already way too personal, too strong and intimate for her to feel comfortable. He made her laugh, he made her blush, he made her palms sweat. And she could not be one hundred percent sure his feelings were genuine and not merely evidence of how good he was at what he did.

Ergo, he was out of the question as a potential easy, sex-and-go fling.

“No?” he said, obviously hearing her whisper. “You really mean that?” Before she could say yes, he quickly continued. “Because even if you didn’t set out to buy a date and you were only supporting the charity,” he said, sounding as though he only half believed that, “I did not go into it that way. I agreed to a date and I’m trying to live up to my end of the bargain here.”

“Your bargain…”

“I made a promise to the organizers of the auction and my promise is like my handshake. My dad would clobber me if I didn’t stand by either one of them. So that’s what I am going to do.”

Whether you like it or not. He didn’t say the words. But she heard them just the same.

Maddy noted the challenge, realized he was throwing down a gauntlet, daring her to not live up to her end of the bargain. And her competitive spirit rose. She might have been raised in a mansion, but the owner of that mansion had been Jason Turner, who had his financial hands spread over half the city and his fingers touching the other half. He kept them there by shrewdness and sheer will. Something else she’d inherited from her dad.

She suspected their fathers would get along well.

“All right then,” she said, meeting his stare, “so will I.”

“You won’t regret it,” he said, his eyes darkening even further as he stared at her, raking his gaze from her hair to her cheek, then to her mouth and her throat in a look more appreciative than predatory.

She already regretted it. How had she let herself be dared into saying yes?

She opened her mouth to lay down a few ground rules for their “date.” It would be brief, platonic and completely romance-free, without question. She fully intended to meet him at the ball field and leave immediately after the last out of the night. And that would be the end of it.

No touching. No sexy looks. None of those cute jokes that made the stupid dimples on her face put in an appearance. And from here on out, her palms were staying dry. So were her private parts.

Before she could say anything, however, they were both startled by the sudden opening of Maddy’s office door.

“Maddy, I need to talk to you about…oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had an appointment. Your secretary’s not outside and your calendar was clear.”

Maddy leaped from her seat so quickly her chair went sliding backward against the wall. Her father had just entered the room, carrying a folder and wearing his “We have a problem” look that usually meant they were skipping lunch.

He quickly forgot his problem though, as he stared curiously at Jake Wallace. Maybe because nobody had been on her electronic appointment calendar. Maybe because the dark-haired man was smiling too intimately to be a client looking for a loan. Maybe because Maddy was so flustered. Or maybe because the heated tension in her office was about as thick as the stack of her father’s prenups and divorce notices.

Which was pretty damn thick.

“Dad!” she said, wondering how her day could have gone downhill so rapidly. No more words came out of her mouth. Her brain had just emptied, probably because the whole reason she’d attended the bachelor auction was to keep her father’s wife out of this man’s bed.

Jake stood, saving her from having to say anything. But when he spoke, Maddy wondered whether he’d done her any favors at all.

“I’m not an appointment,” he said, smiling at her father, comfortable and at ease as he rose to extend his hand. “I’m Madeline’s date, and I’m here to take her to lunch.”

“I THINK your father likes me.”

Jake didn’t have to hear the annoyed, huffy little sound Madeline Turner made to know she wasn’t happy about that. He could still picture the mortification on her face when her father, the very well-known Jason Turner, had practically pushed her out the door with her lunch “date” after offering Jake a hearty handshake and a broad smile.

Funny, he’d have thought coming face-to-face with one of the wealthiest men in Chicago would have been at least slightly intimidating. Jason Turner might not be known nationwide, but there wasn’t a person in Chicago who hadn’t heard of the rich philanthropist, a man who was as well-known for his charitable works as for his stormy love life.

Jake hadn’t been intimidated, though. Maybe it was because he’d seen enough accident scenes, helped enough crime victims, responded to enough tragedies, that he realized all the money in the world didn’t mean a damn thing when it came to stopping a bullet or avoiding flying through the windshield of a car.

Everyone bled the same—red. There was no such thing as blue blood. Which was, perhaps, why he also felt entirely at ease in his pursuit of Madeline Turner, who the society pages liked to call the Ice Queen of the Financial District. He’d found that out in the two days since the auction. He’d been doing some research.

Personally, she wasn’t a bit icy. Confident and a little unreachable? Sure. But not cold.

Professionally? Well, he really didn’t give a damn what she was like behind that fancy desk at work. He didn’t want her for her connections to a major Chicago bank. He wanted her for the excitement he’d felt in his gut from the moment he’d peered at her from behind the black drapes at the auction the other night. And he wanted to know what had been behind her tension and her determination, which hadn’t been able to disguise her innate earthy sensuality.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said as they reached the corner of Madison and State, heading for the closest lunch café. “Despite his business reputation, my father is a hopeless romantic, who’d love to see me settle down. He’d be happy if an intoxicated mime in full makeup came to take me to lunch, as long as he was single and breathing.”

“I hate mimes.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“I mean, what kind of kid thinks �Gee, when I grow up, I wanna paint my face and annoy people for a living.’”

She raised a droll brow. “One who wants to be a clown?”

“I think I’d feel better if my kid said he wanted to be a lawyer.”

“Perish the thought,” she said with an exaggerated shudder.

“I’ve never seen a drunk one, though. That might be entertaining.”

“You obviously don’t lunch at the Chicago Club with all the rest of the high-priced defense attorneys.”

“I meant the mime,” he explained, enjoying sparring with her, liking the smart comebacks and that smile lurking on her mouth. What he most wanted now was a full frontal attack of those gorgeous dimples and that light laugh he just knew was hiding behind the twitching lips and the twinkling eyes.

“Watching them fall and not be able to get up in their invisible box might be fun.”

It finally worked, he got her to relax. “You’re right.” A tiny grin appeared, finally widening into that brilliant smile, complete with a flash of those dimples. God, she had the kind of smile that could stop traffic. She was absolutely made for it.

Among other things.

Feeling even more confident about his sneaky way of getting her to have lunch with him, he took her arm as the light changed. Instinct. Good manners toward females had been hammered into him from the time he was old enough to understand what the words put the seat down meant.

One good thing—she didn’t flinch. A second one—she didn’t pull away, either. It was something, at least.

“So your dad’s a real romantic, huh?” The image didn’t quite fit with the “ruthless mogul” the papers made him out to be.

“Don’t go there.”

“Touchy subject?”

“His romantic track record’s not exactly one for the books. Yet he still wants everything to be roses and fairy tales, true love all around, as impossible as that may be.”

They crossed the street with the rest of the streaming flow of humanity. On a sunny summer afternoon, everyone stepped outside to bask in the sunlight. And many of them did it at Millennium Park. That was where he intended to take Madeline after they grabbed a take-out lunch. He sensed she wasn’t the picnicking type, especially in the middle of a workday, but he intended to try to convince her, anyway.

“Why is it impossible?” he asked as they stepped onto the opposite sidewalk.

“What?” she asked, glancing up at him in confusion, obviously having forgotten what she’d just said.

That said a lot. Mainly that she didn’t think about love very often. He tucked the realization away, knowing he’d have to get to know this woman bit by bit, piece by piece, because that was all she was going to allow until she let her guard down.

“Why is falling in love impossible?”

She sighed as they continued walking. “Falling in love isn’t the problem,” she murmured. “It’s the staying in love part that I don’t have much faith in.”

“I have two parents, four grandparents, and about fifty aunts, uncles, cousins and friends who’d say you’re wrong about that.”

She finally turned to really look at him, a hard, skeptical glint appearing in those big brown eyes. That was when he knew—the woman had been burned. Badly. The realization made something twist inside him, deep down, to the nice-guy core who detested the jerks who hurt women.

“And I have a father, a sister, a couple of former stepmothers, several cousins, aunts, uncles and friends who say I’m right.”

He gaped. “Not a single successful marriage in the bunch?”

Her gaze shifted, her lashes lowering over suddenly sad eyes. “My parents were supposedly happy.”

Confused, he waited for her to continue.

“My mother died when I was very young. My father once said the years he spent with her were the most blissful of his life.”

“So it is possible.”

“They were only married for five years before she got sick.”

“God, you’re a pessimist.”

“And you’re an optimist?”

“Hell, yes. My glass may only hold beer instead of champagne, but it’s almost always half full.”

Jake had seen too much sadness and tragedy in his work to let himself feel anything but intensely grateful for all the good things in his life. His family, the great childhood, his job, his friends.

And now…well, now, maybe Madeline Turner. If only she’d let him get close enough to find out.

“So, what do you want to grab for lunch?” he asked, still not telling her he intended to get her to the park so she could unwind, unbend, maybe let her guard down a little.

He wanted to see the breeze off the lake blowing in her hair. Wanted to see another genuine smile, maybe even a flash of unguarded interest, as he’d seen in her eyes earlier in her office. Just like the flash that she had obviously seen the other night when they’d met.

Women hated being objectified, he knew that. And Jake had never—ever—treated any woman like a sexy body with a head stuck on it. But pausing to appreciate the soft, mouthwatering curves on this particular one had been as instinctive to him as drawing in his next breath of fresh June air.

She’d noticed. He’d noticed her noticing. Even now his hands tightened and his mouth hungered at the thought of watching her shimmy out of that glittering blue cocktail dress she’d had on.

He’d wager she’d been wearing something very black, very silky and very sinful underneath it. The thought of exactly what that might have looked like against the unbelievably lush curves of her body had been enough to keep his imagination racing and his libido roaring throughout the long, sleepless night after she’d left.

He sensed tonight wouldn’t be much better, though she couldn’t look more different than she had then. Today, dressed in her businesswoman’s armor—a tailored light blue suit, silky blouse, skirt short enough to show a stunning pair of legs, but not so short that she’d send a man into cardiac arrest—she looked entirely in control. Every hint of the sexy, almost-impulsive woman who’d cut through all the bullshit games and bid a small fortune for an evening with him was gone. She had been replaced by a smooth, impeccably mannered businesswoman.




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