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The Naked Truth
Shannon Hollis
Sassy heroines and irresistible heroes embark on sizzling sexual adventures as they play the game of modern love and lust. Expect fast paced reads with plenty of steamy encounters.Some things are better left undressed! Eve Best is sitting pretty – a great talk show to host, amazing co-workers and soon she’ll be waist-deep in lottery cash. But when Mitch Hayes, a powerful executive, comes strolling into her office, Eve forgets it all in a sizzling urge to have her way with him!Mitch needs to sign Eve’s show for his channel, or else. And after a split-second glance at the curvaceous beauty, Mitch figures he might just have the best job ever…


Six winners. Six fantasies.
SIX MILLION DOLLAR SECRETS…
Plain Jane Kurtz is going to use her winnings to discover her inner vixen. But what’s it really going to cost her?
She Did a Bad, Bad Thing by Stephanie Bond Available from Mills & Boon® Blaze® in July 2008
* * *
New girl in town Nicole Reavis is on a journey to find herself. But what else will she discover along the way?
Underneath It All by Lori Borrill Available from Mills & Boon® Blaze® in August 2008
* * *
Risk taker Eve Best is on the verge of having everything she’s ever wanted. But can she take it?
The Naked Truth by Shannon Hollis Available from Mills & Boon® Blaze® in September 2008
* * *
Young, cocky Zach Haas loves his instant popularity, especially with the women. But can he trust it?
For Lust or Money by Kate Hoffmann Available from Mills & Boon® Blaze® in October 2008
* * *
Solid, dependable Cole Crawford is ready to shake things up. But how “shook up” is he prepared to handle?
Tall, Dark and Filthy Rich by Jill Monroe Available from Mills & Boon® Blaze® in November 2008
* * *
Wild child Liza has always just wanted to belong. But how far will she go to get it?
What She Really Wants for Christmas by Debbi Rawlins Available in the M&B™ collection Her Christmas Temptation in December 2008
Dear Reader,
With reality TV all the rage these days, it seems everyone wants their fifteen minutes of fame. Imagine what it would be like to be in the spotlight five days a week with your own TV show…and get paid to talk about sex and relationships! What’s not to like?
For my heroine, Eve Best, this is the world she knows and loves. The only problem is, she’s all talk and getting no action – until a sexy network scout shows up and everything turns upside down. While writing this book I considered TV stars and the difficulty they have in maintaining a private life – not to mention balancing ambition with love. Find out how Eve does it in The Naked Truth.
For more, be sure to visit my website,
www.shannonhollis.com.
Warmly,
Shannon

THE NAKED TRUTH
BY
SHANNON HOLLIS

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Meline and Russ with gratitude
1
“SO WHAT’S IT going to be? Sexy secrets? The best lies lovers tell? Or should we find someone with a confession to make?”
Eve Best looked into the faces of the production team for Just Between Us, the afternoon cable show she hosted on CATL-TV. The show that had just been profiled in Vanity Fair. The show that was rocketing up the ratings and making the dreams of everyone in this room come true.
Every Monday at five, they got together in this conference room to hammer out the roster for the following week, with the exception of Fridays, when she invited a panel to take questions in a town-hall meeting format, or she simply did it herself. But for four twenty-two-minute segments, Monday through Thursday at three o’clock, they had to come up with the best in sexy, cutting-edge topics and guests. The funny thing was, no matter how many shows they did, they never seemed to run out of material.
They were, after all, talking about human behavior, in all its wonderful forms and mutations.
Lainie Kaye, the junior of their two segment producers, waved a sheaf of clippings. “If we go for a guest, I got a commitment from Dawn Penney. She’s the actress, remember, who turned a part in that awful horror movie about the beach resort into a career character. Now she writes that column for the Register, ‘Perfect Dates.’ Sex and the City, Atlanta style.”
Eve made some notes in her planner. “Get her. See if she can do Thursday.”
Cole Crawford, their executive producer, looked up from the binder that went everywhere with him. Eve had asked him once if he slept with it under his pillow, and had been immediately sorry. Since his wife had up and left him, the topic of sleeping with anything or anyone was a sore one. Cole had made his kids and his career his whole life—to the benefit of the show and the detriment of any hope of a love life for the poor guy.
“Wednesday would be better,” he said. “Hump day and all. Get people past the middle of the week, right?”
Eve shook her head. Technically he had the last word on programming, but this was her show. And the more popular it got, the more clout she had and the more it was likely she’d get the programming she thought audiences would respond to best.
Not a bad place to be, considering Cole was one of the few who remembered she’d started out as junior weathergirl back in the day.
“Thursday,” she repeated firmly. “When Thursday hits, people start thinking about plans for the weekend. It’s the perfect time to hear about the perfect date.” She sat back, satisfied, as Cole nodded and gave in. Lainie left the room at a jog, as if Dawn Penney would give away the space they needed on her calendar if she didn’t get to the phone this second.
“Okay, three down, one to go,” Eve said. “What are the possibilities for Wednesday?”
Nicole Reavis, their primary segment producer, had her own sheaf of clippings. “I had an idea the other night about male-female communication,” she said. “What if we get someone like Dr. Deborah Tannen, the linguistics expert? She could talk about the differences in communication styles, and how what we say isn’t always what the other person understands.”
“I’m liking this,” Eve said. Cole leaned forward. A good sign. “Go on.”
“We could focus on subtext,” Nicole said. “You know, what I’m saying isn’t really what I’m talking about, and how that gets us into trouble in relationships.”
“Trying to read the other party,” Cole said. “How to find out if they mean what they say. Maybe even negotiation tactics and how that works in relationships.”
He would know. But Eve kept that to herself.
“Let’s do it. Nicole, get one of the coordinators to find the guest—someone local, if you can—and you and I will work on the script. And how about we carry over the theme to the Friday town-hall meeting? I bet everyone in the audience has a miscommunication story. We’ll pull three or four out to give advice from a male and female point of view.”
“Consider it done.” Nicole scribbled frantically in her notebook.
Just then, Zach Haas, the youngest crew member but the most experienced cameraman, poked his head into the room. “Sorry to interrupt, guys. Cole, those camera tests are ready whenever you need them.”
“Thanks, Zach,” Cole replied, and the twentysomething kid disappeared.
“So are we finished?” Eve looked around the table. “Yes? Good job, everyone. See y’all tomorrow.”
As the noise level rose with people pushing in chairs and collecting their stacks, Eve’s assistant pushed through the rush for the door. “Eve—”
“Hey, Dylan.”
Dylan Moore was six feet tall and thin as a licorice whip. With the ink still fresh on his communications degree and dirt from the family farm in south Georgia scrubbed off his toes, he was determined to have a career in television and didn’t care how humbly he started. Eve was sure to lose him to Cole one of these days. She’d resigned herself to that. But in the meantime, he was the one who kept her functioning from minute to minute. He’d probably learned project management by default from all those years of being the eldest of all the sibs in the picture on his desk.
“He’s here,” Dylan said in a low voice, tugging on her elbow to draw her away from the door and, presumably, the foyer where guests at the station waited.
“Who?”
But she already knew. Had been dreading his arrival from the moment Cole had told her about him the previous week.
“Him. The exec from CWB.” Dylan glanced at the door, but the room had emptied. At the confirmation of her fears, Eve felt a trickle of dread settle in her stomach. “Mitchell Hayes. The guy who wants to eat you up and have the rest of us on a plate for dessert.”
UNDER THE CUSTOM-TAILORED suit, Mitchell Hayes tried to roll the tension out of his shoulders. Every muscle seemed locked in place, which made it tough to look relaxed and confident.
In this business, appearances were everything—it was bad enough in New York, but that rule had probably been invented right here in Atlanta. This afternoon, it was vital that he look confident without being arrogant. Not to mention friendly and trustworthy and sincere without looking like a suck-up.
“If we can get Just Between Us, we’ll have the female demographic locked up,” Nelson Berg, his boss at CWB, had said two days ago. “You get this Eve Best to sign with the network and you’ll be golden.”
“And if it doesn’t work out?”
Nelson had given him a long look and tented his fingers over his stomach in a way that meant bad news was coming. “We asked you to sign Jah-Redd Jones and NBC got him. We needed—not just wanted, mind, needed—Alastair McCall’s Animal Mind-Hunter. And what happened there?”
“OLN had a mole in the station,” Mitch had protested. “McCall was signed up before I even got on the plane.”
“Well, they don’t have a mole at CATL-TV,” Nelson had snapped, “but it’s only a matter of time. Eve Best is ripe for the picking, and this money she and her friends have won in the lottery is a ratings gold mine. You get down there, romance the socks off her and her staff and get them signed up.”
“Or?” Mitch had said before his brain had a chance to catch up with his mouth.
“Or I’m going to have to replace you.” Nelson’s face had been kind, but the words were brutal. “Not much point in keeping a scout who can’t bring home the bacon, is there?”
No, there wasn’t.
On trips such as these Mitch often wondered why he did this. Why he put up with Nelson’s crap. Nobody on the guy’s staff had a life—they were so busy bringing home the bacon they didn’t have homes to go to. Apartments, yes. Places to keep their stuff, sure. But homes? Nope.
Something moved behind the soundproof glass wall that backed the receptionist’s desk, and the card-secured door clicked open. An African-American guy who could have made a career in college basketball stepped out.
“Mr. Hayes, I’m Dylan Moore, Eve Best’s personal assistant.” Mitch shook his hand. “Right this way.”
Mitch followed him into the rabbit warren of corridors, taping booths and offices that made up TV stations all over the country. This one boasted three studios—one for news, one for network linkups and a huge one for the exclusive use of Just Between Us.
As he passed behind the backdrop that somehow managed to convey a sense of home along with big-city glitz (who was their set designer?) he had to smile. Because of course the studio was all about appearances, too. Behind the set, where the camera never went, the walls were naked board and batten, with schedules and notes stapled all over them. Tie wraps secured wrist-sized bundles of electrical wiring and cables to the studs, along with Ethernet and T1 lines.
It looked so like the studios at CWB that he felt right at home. Or at least, as much as a guy could feel at home when he was living in a pressure cooker.
At the top of a set of stairs, he passed a conference room, where, from the debris, it looked as if a production meeting had just ended. Moore paused at the door of an office next to it, and Mitch resisted the urge to stretch his neck muscles one more time and straighten his tie.
He nodded at Moore and walked into Eve Best’s office with a smile and an outstretched hand.
One of their affiliates in Atlanta had sent him a box full of DVDs of the last three months of the show. But even watching forty hours of Eve Best hadn’t prepared him for the reality.
She pushed her chair back and came around the desk to meet him—and his entire body went on alert. It was as if his pheromones met hers in the space between them, and exploded in a chemical reaction. The small screen simply didn’t do justice to the curves and the healthy glow of her skin. Her baby-doll top was cut just low enough to show a tempting swell of cleavage but not enough to be in bad taste. He’d expected that triangular, girl-next-door smile that knocked viewers off their chairs, but it didn’t happen. Instead, he got the full effect of those wide, long-lashed green eyes.
And they weren’t particularly glad to see him.
“Eve, this is Mitchell Hayes from CWB,” Moore said from the door. “Mr. Hayes, Eve Best.”
“Thank you, Dylan.” Her voice, which was husky and playful when she spoke to her guests, was merely husky now. Subdued or not, it stroked some pleasure point deep inside Mitch’s chest. In fact, the whole package seemed to be custom-made to stroke every pleasure point he had—and when had been the last time he’d experienced that?
What had Nelson said? He was here to romance the socks off this woman and get her to say yes.
To the contract.
He needed to focus on his goal, and soon, or he’d be in the deepest trouble of his career.
“Please sit down, Mr. Hayes.”
Belatedly, he realized he needed to say something to take control of this interview and stop drinking her in like a teenage boy staring at the head cheerleader.
“Thanks for seeing me, Ms. Best,” he said. “I know your schedule is probably packed.”
“You’re right there. The only place I could fit you in was at the end of the day, and even at that I need to keep it short. I appreciate you’ve come a long way to have this conversation, but I’m going to a benefit this evening. I’m afraid I’ll need to leave in about half an hour.”
What an amazing voice. What charisma. No wonder the viewers were flocking to Just Between Us. He could watch this woman all day. “That will be plenty of time.” Once again, he tried to convince his body to relax. But his body was far more interested in hers than it was in getting her commitment to the network.
And then she smiled. It wasn’t an I’m-glad-to-see-you smile, or a come-on-over smile. It was an I’m-going-to-break-this-to-you-in-the-nicest-possible-way smile and his concentration went straight to hell anyway.
“It doesn’t take long to say no, does it?” she agreed sweetly.
Get it together. Your job depends on the next half hour. “I’m hoping I can convince you otherwise, Ms. Best. Communications and Wireless Broadcasting is prepared to make you a very generous offer in hopes that you’ll sign on with us, a national network, and bring your talents to our wider viewership.”
“Please call me Eve. Everyone does.”
He smiled. For a fraction of a second, her gaze dropped to his mouth, and a tiny spurt of gratification deep inside him celebrated it. “And I’m Mitch.”
“How long have you been with CWB, Mitch?”
His rational brain recognized that she was dodging a reply. His irrational brain was happy to make small talk as long as she wanted to, if he could keep listening to that voice.
“Coming up on five years. I started out in production, but then realized I was better at the business side. I was always tripping over cables and walking in front of the wrong cameras.”
There was that smile again. A little warmer, this time. “Do you like being a scout?”
“Yes.” I used to. Now I’m not so sure. “I like bringing people who deserve it to the attention of people who will love them. Like you, for instance.” Neatly, he brought the conversation back around to the reason he was there. “If you’ll bring your show to our network, we’re prepared to offer you six million for the first year, eight for the second and ten for the third if you’ll agree to sign with us.”
A slow blink was her only reaction. For a woman whose openness and frankness were her trademark, she evidently knew how to be as cagey as a poker player. “That’s very generous.”
“You won’t find a better deal, even with the big guns like NBC or SBN. Have they approached you?”
“If they had, I’d hardly say so, would I?”
Of course not. CWB had its spies, and they’d have been careful to brief him beforehand. But that didn’t mean the bigger networks wouldn’t be hot on his heels once they heard CWB was courting Eve. Television fed on itself, after all.
“Maybe not, but you know how it is. Everyone knows everyone, and word gets around.”
“Well, the word around here is no.” With a glance at the clock, she rose. Mitch got to his feet as she again came around the desk and held out a hand. “Thank you for taking the time to come and make the offer, Mitch. It’s very flattering, but the answer is still no.”
He took her hand, and two things registered. First, that her fingers were slender and warm in his. And second, that she was taller than he’d thought. He stood six foot three in his socks, and with the strappy heels she wore, the top of her head came almost to his eye level.
Then a third thing registered. She smelled delicious. A combination of vanilla and spice and the clean scent of warm skin. Involuntarily, he drew in a breath, and she looked into his eyes.
“Mitch?”
His brain went blank. He murmured some vague words of thanks for her time and then beat feet out of there, finding himself in the driver’s seat of his rental car before he knew quite how he’d gotten there.
And a good thing, too.
Because if he’d stayed one second more, he’d have pushed Eve Best up against the wall of her office and breathed that scent from the side of her neck. Then he’d have kissed her senseless.
He could only imagine what that would have done to his chances for getting her to say yes to him.
He shook his head as if to clear it. To CWB. Not him. To CWB and their offer.
Yeah. That’s what he meant.
2
“WAS THAT HIM?”
Jane Kurtz leaned in Eve’s office doorway and, when she saw that Eve was alone, slipped inside and shut the door.
“Yes, that was him.” Eve gave up on trying to organize her desk for the following day and leaned back in her chair as Jane sat in the one reserved for guests.
The one he’d just vacated.
“His name is Mitchell Hayes, and he’s with CWB.”
“Oh, I like them. I watch Dirty Secrets of Daylily Drive every week.”
“Jane, we are not Daylily Drive. And we are not signing with them. I told him so and he vanished like a puff of smoke. But he’ll be back.”
“How do you know?”
“By the pricking of my thumbs.” And the humming in her ears. Not to mention the tingle of possibility deep in her belly, where it had no business being at all.
“Just how accurate are your thumbs?” Jane straightened a pile of research clippings on the corner of Eve’s desk. When Was the Last Time You Got Some? the headline on top wanted to know.
Eve resisted the urge to throw the latest issue of People on top of it. She didn’t want to think about that. She spent sixteen hours a day thinking about relationships, and men and women, and who was getting what and why, and whether they’d come on the show to talk about it. It covered up the uncomfortable fact—which she devoutly hoped no one else noticed—that she, Atlanta’s relationship expert, did not have one.
She bet Mitchell Hayes had one. Two. More. In fact, he probably had every eligible model and aspiring actress in New York lining up at his door. Well, she wished them luck. Mitchell Hayes wasn’t getting her show—or anything else, for that matter.
“Eve?”
She blinked and focused on Jane. “What?”
“I said, how accurate are your thumbs? Is this Hayes guy going to take you at your word, or are we going to have to get Jenna to take out another restraining order?”
Jenna Hamilton was the station’s attorney, and after the recent announcement about their $38-million lottery win, she’d already had to take out two restraining orders because things had gotten out of hand with an unruly fan and an angry truck driver with a nonwinning number. Once the news had gotten out about the protectiveness of the legal team, the number of nasty letters in the daily mail had dropped. Thank goodness.
Even yet, two months after the win and the press conference and all the hoopla, Eve still had a hard time believing that there could be seven or eight million bucks in her future. With that kind of money, she could buy some property outside of town. Travel. Do more than dabble in philanthropy. The only real problem they had was the lawsuit against the five of them, filed by her and Jane’s former best friend, Liza Skinner, demanding her fair share of the loot since they’d played her number. The whole subject caused Eve so much pain that she did her best not to think about it.
Again, she focused on answering Jane. What was the matter with her? Her mind was jumping around like a bean on a hot stove. “He’s on a mission. The network has tasked him to poach me away from here, and he’s going to do his best to do it. He won’t take no for an answer at first. I can tell.”
“He looked like a player, all right.”
For some reason, this rubbed Eve the wrong way. “I wouldn’t say he was a player. Not in the sense you mean. But he’s got a stubborn chin and there’s no dummy behind those eyes. He’s serious about this. The network’s talking big money.”
Jane waved away the thought. “Who needs it? We’re going to be set up for life. And what are you doing looking at his chin?” As soon as Eve saw Jane’s gaze narrow on her, she realized her mistake.
She shrugged with a pretty good imitation of nonchalance. “You know me. Always sizing people up. Reading them. Trying to figure them out.”
Not looking at lips and wondering what they’d feel like in a deep, hot kiss. Not sneaking peeks at long-fingered hands and wondering how they’d feel on skin. Nuh-uh. Nope.
For once Jane took her at her word and got up. She must be a better actress than she thought. “I’m glad I don’t have to deal with him, then. You can always make yourself unavailable and sic Jenna on him.”
“I already did.” Eve got up, too, and collected her briefcase. “Make myself unavailable, I mean. I have the Atlanta Reads benefit tonight, remember? I just hope nobody remembers I wore my green dress to the Women of Power fund-raiser, as well.”
“Put some peacock feathers on it like Nicole Kidman,” Jane suggested over her shoulder, already on her way back to her own office. “Or heck, zip downtown and get yourself a new one. By the time you get the bill, we’ll have settled the suit and you can buy a different dress for every night of the year.”
Eve laughed and shook her head as she pushed open the employee exit door and headed for her car. That would be the day.
Lottery winner or not, she couldn’t see herself shaking the careful habits of someone who had grown up with not much more than the basic necessities of life. Isabel Calvert, her maternal grandmother, who had taken in a traumatized eleven-year-old after the death of her parents in a car accident, had still been working as a Realtor. Though they lived in Coral Gables in a tiny stucco house with an orange tree, money was tight and Eve had learned to be practical along with how to turn out a decent meal and do her own laundry.
Not that those were skills to scoff at. They’d stood her in good stead through university and during her move from Florida back to the city her father’s family had called home for generations. And during the early years, when getting the job as associate senior meteorologist—aka junior weathergirl—had seemed like the apex of her life, she’d discovered she not only had a knack for throwing dinner parties on the cheap, but for digging out and retaining all kinds of information about people.
A great skill to have in this business. But it didn’t help her with a dress for tonight.
With careful investments, she’d managed to save enough for a down payment on a little house in the Vinings district. Nana would be proud. It wasn’t very big—in fact, it had once been a carriage house on a much larger estate—but it certainly had a good address, and in Atlanta, that was half the battle. With the worst of the rush hour traffic clearing, she made it home in record time. Which, of course, left her lots of time to shower, do her hair and contemplate her closet.
She had all kinds of things to wear on the set, some courtesy of Jane’s wardrobe budget and some of her own. She had jeans and camis to wear on weekends. But a couple of black dresses and the green one could only go so far. Now that she was starting to make the society pages, maybe she should take Jane’s advice and run up her credit card on a couple of evening dresses. If what Cole predicted came true, she was going to be spending even more time in the spotlight. Thank goodness for the lottery—because she’d bet her winnings the station wouldn’t be picking up the tab for her updated wardrobe.
The green one would have to do. It fit like a glove—though she watched her weight like a predatory bird, her hourglass figure would pack on a pound in a heartbeat. And everyone knew the camera packed on twenty in less than that.
A final spritz of hair mist and her grandmother’s diamond chandelier earrings, and she was good to go.
The benefit for Atlanta Reads was being held at the Ashmere mansion. The property had recently been made the headquarters of the Ashmere Trust with the hopes that it could become a moneymaking venture while it retained its Old South beauty. As far as Eve could tell, they’d succeeded in a big way. She stepped out of the cab and the soft, warm evening air caressed her bare shoulders. She draped the green chiffon wrap over one arm and breathed in the scent of ferns and mulch and eucalyptus from the gardens.
Straightening her shoulders, she mounted the fan of steps and swam into the crowd, turning to greet society belles and financiers alike with the grace of a dancer and the confidence of three years in the spotlight.
“Eve. Glad you could make it.”
Eve turned to see Dan Phillips, owner of both the station and the production company that produced JustBetween Us, at her elbow. “Hey, Dan. I had to come. Who wouldn’t want to support helping people learn to read?”
“People in television,” he said, so deadpan she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Which was par for the course. “My wife forced me into my tux and out the door at the point of a nail file.”
“Maya’s a smart cookie,” Eve told him. “You won’t regret it. I hear Ambience is catering.”
“Really?” He brightened. “Then I guess I should start schmoozing. I do like to hear people talking about you behind your back, anyway.”
Eve held up a hand. “Just don’t tell me if it’s negative.”
“It won’t be. Everyone in Atlanta loves you.” He paused. “And a few people up north, too, from what I hear.”
Eve didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I’m going to assume you spoke with Mitchell Hayes.”
“I did.”
“And?” She prodded when he took a sip of his martini and didn’t go into detail.
“And nothing. It’s not my decision, it’s yours. Though I made it clear that the show belongs to Driver Productions and if he managed to get you, it would be only at the end of your contract. The show stays here, though what it would do without its host is another headache.”
“You won’t have to worry about that. I told him no.”
Phillips looked her full in the face for the first time. “Did you, now?”
“Of course. We’re doing just fine right where we are. We have great facilities, happy advertisers, and we’re building the viewership in leaps and bounds. Why should I upset the applecart and risk everything on a young network that’s still trying to prove itself?”
“Because it might be the right thing for your career?”
Now it was Eve’s turn to stare at him. “Tell me I didn’t hear you say that.”
He shrugged. “I’ve known for at least a year that the big boys would come knocking. It’s what every regional host wants, Eve—a shot at the national level. CWB is handing you that on a platter. I wouldn’t blame you for jumping at it—though it might be best to wait for more of the networks to offer. Make the station an affiliate as part of the deal.”
Maybe he wouldn’t blame her, but how could she? They’d built a terrific team here, from Jane in makeup to Cole in production. If she agreed to go with any network, what would happen to all of them? They were practically family. The new organization would probably bring in all its own people and move her somewhere else. She’d get national exposure but she’d never see her friends again. She’d already experienced being the one who was left behind. No way would she do that to someone else if she could help it.
“You won’t have to worry about it, Dan,” she said. “I told Mr. Hayes no, and I meant it.”
“I’m sure you did.” His gaze caught on something over her shoulder. “But I think he means to make you change your mind.”
Something in his tone warned her, and she turned just in time to see Mitchell Hayes pause on the stairway. He had one hand casually on the polished banister, the other in his pocket, hitching up the jacket of his tux in a way that turned formality on its ear and made it sexy.
What in the world…?
He scanned the crowd lazily, and two seconds too late, she understood what he was doing.
He was looking for someone—and she had no doubt whatsoever who it was.
THE MOST DIFFICULT THING any of these people had to read was probably their bank statement.
Mitch knew he was being a reverse snob. His own paycheck was pretty generous, considering he hardly ever had time to spend any of it, but his annual salary was probably what some of these folks paid in income tax.
His gaze moved from one part of the vast marble foyer to the next, noting a thumb-sized emerald here, a designer suit there, a pair of skyscraper stilettos somewhere else. One thing was for sure—he needed to move to a room where the acoustics were better, or his head was going to split from the sound of high-pitched laughter and conversation shattering on the stone all around him.
He ducked into the nearest room, which turned out to be the location of the buffet, and exhaled in relief. There was no hurry. He didn’t even know if Eve Best was here yet, and he had nothing else to do except catch a movie on HBO back at the hotel. It had taken less than thirty seconds online at the local newspaper’s Web site to find the society listings, and from there to narrow down the field to the three that he’d define as a “benefit.” The other two were for sports and health care, so he’d gambled that a woman who made her living by communication would have a connection with people who communicated with words on a page—and those who were learning to.
He’d give this an hour. If he was wrong, at least he had the sports gig to look forward to.
The same connection at the affiliate station who had sent him the DVDs of Eve’s show had also done some calling around and come up with a spare ticket for this one. He owed her big-time, especially if he succeeded in convincing Eve to come to the network. In fact, a blue box from Tiffany would probably be in order.
Which showed how important it was that CWB get this show. Nelson would probably sign the requisition without even blinking. Or reading it.
He heard someone laugh behind a huge urn filled with stargazer lilies, and he inhaled sharply. After forty hours of recordings, he knew that sound. A strange feeling swooped through his gut, and he stepped cautiously to one side, peering around the flowers.
And there she was, heading for the buffet with an elderly woman, a polished older man and a woman with a neck like a swan. Or a ballet dancer. His gaze dropped to the woman’s feet, which were turned out. Yep.
He’d dated a dancer from the New York City Ballet for six weeks the previous year. He’d discovered about five weeks in that Analiese was much more beautiful onstage as a swan or a princess than she was as a girlfriend, so they’d parted amicably and he’d bought season tickets to the company’s performances. It was the music he liked best, anyway.
Eve and her companions filled plates that weren’t much more than wafers of china, and stood by the windows visiting and eating hors d’oeuvres. Mitch took a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and then stopped him.
“Who’s that, do you know?” He nodded toward the window. “That couple talking with Eve Best.”
The waiter glanced at them. “Don’t know who the old lady is. But that’s Roy and Anne Best with Eve there. Must be related. He was a developer before he retired. Put in that new retail complex in Decatur. Word is he’s looking to buy a share in the Thrashers.” His gaze swung to Mitch. “Too bad they didn’t make the playoffs this year. You follow hockey?”
“Sure do.” Hockey, soccer, snowboarding. Anything but football or baseball, a preference that would probably get him hung in one or two southern states. “Thanks.”
“Enjoy your evening, sir.”
Roy Best moved slightly, giving Eve an unobstructed view of the window, which reflected the brightly lit room.
Mitch realized that he was standing in that reflection at about the same time she did. So much for lurking behind the flower arrangements while he waited for a moment to speak to her alone. She turned, and the light slid along the silk folds of her strapless gown, which crisscrossed across her breasts and hips, throwing every curve into perfect relief before it cascaded in folds to the floor.
She looked like a goddess.
A really angry goddess.
She said something to her companions and stalked across the floor to where he stood next to the lilies, and he braced himself for thunder and lightning.
“I saw you when you came in, Mr. Hayes. How did you get in here?”
“I’m fine, thank you, Eve. You look beautiful.”
Her step hitched in surprise, and then she recovered. “Thank you. If you’re following me, the answer is still no.”
He managed to arrange his face in an expression of mild surprise. “I wasn’t, actually. I have a ticket, bought and paid for and arranged in advance.”
Okay, so two-thirds of that was true.
She narrowed her eyes at him and looked so completely touchable that he had to put his champagne down on the nearest table and stuff his hands in his pockets. What he really wanted to do was reach out and run them down her bare arms.
“I don’t believe you.”
He reached into his jacket. “I have it right here if you want to look at it.”
“No, of course not. Fine. Enjoy yourself.” She turned to walk away.
“And I’d heard such great things about Southern hospitality,” he said with regret to the nearest lily.
That stopped her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Only that I’d expected you to be a little more gracious in a social situation. Given your reputation for making people feel at ease and all. It certainly comes off on the screen.”
“Are you implying that I’m not making you feel at ease?”
She made him feel hot and slightly out of control and hornier than he’d felt in at least a year. “You could say so.” A pause. “Not that it matters. We only met today. Please.” He indicated the couple by the window, now chatting with a couple of guys in suits. “I don’t mean to keep you from your friends.”
“That’s my grandmother—my father’s mother—and my aunt and uncle.” The words came out slowly, as if she were reluctant to tell him anything personal, but now felt as though she had to in order to be polite.
“Are they here from Florida?” Again the narrowed eyes. “I did my research, Eve. That’s where you grew up, right?”
“Yes. And no, they’re not. All my dad’s family is here in Atlanta.”
His face relaxed into the first sincere smile of the evening. “It must be nice to have family so close. All mine are in New Mexico. I’m lucky to see them once every couple of years.”
“Planes fly both ways.”
“They do,” he allowed, “but after the November sweeps, things go crazy. I can never get out of New York during the holidays.”
She nodded slowly. “I know. Before she died, I only saw Nana—she’s the one who raised me—in the summer during our hiatus, and Florida in July is, well…”
“I know.” He took a breath as he caught a tune floating over the sounds of conversation. “Not to change the subject, but would you like to dance?”
“Dance?”
“Yes. An ancient rite performed in praise of the gods.” He surprised her into a smile, and his concentration fell into pieces. “My God, you’re beautiful,” he blurted.
Then he gave himself a mental slap and waited for her to walk away.
3
MITCH NEVER LOST CONTROL. He was always calm, cool and unbiased…which, now that he came to think of it, hadn’t been standing him in good stead lately. Was that why his last two bids for shows had fallen through? Because he hadn’t shown enough passion for the chase? For them?
Was that why his longest relationship in the last couple of years had topped out at six weeks?
Was that why he kept striking out with Eve Best?
But instead of rolling her eyes at his ineptitude, or sidestepping away as though he might be a stalker, Eve smiled again.
“That’s the first honest thing you’ve said all day,” she said, then held up a finger. “No, the second thing. The first thing was about your family in New Mexico. I’d love to dance. Thank you.”
Relieved and slightly dazed at this reversal of his expectations, he offered her his arm. She took it and they followed the sound of Duke Ellington into a massive glassed-in conservatory that had been converted into a ballroom. At one end, a big band played, perspiration trickling down the faces of the guys blowing trumpet and trombone. Fairy lights glittered in swaths along the wrought-iron ribs of the ceiling, and palm trees stood at intervals along the walls, with the windows opened to the night air. It felt like something out of the twenties, when mad young things danced the Charleston and the world held every possibility.
Maybe his world held possibility, too, Mitch thought as he whirled Eve into a spin and then took her in his arms. And he didn’t mean for business, either. Tonight he was an ordinary man dancing with a desirable woman, and he would leave business out of it and enjoy every second.
“So how long are you going to make me wait?” she asked.
The green silk of her dress moved gently under the hand he had flattened on the small of her back. Besides the heat of her body, he felt the movement of toned, controlled muscles and the beginnings of the curves of her hips.
“Wait?” He’d oblige her in the nearest closet, if she wanted.
“For CWB’s counteroffer. Didn’t you come here to talk business?”
Oh. He’d forgotten all about CWB.
“No. I came to contribute to Atlanta Reads. And to ask you to dance.”
“One out of two isn’t bad,” she murmured. He spun her into another turn and whirled her back. “Not that I believe either one.”
“Literacy’s a good cause,” he said. “My pet charity is Music on the Street.”
“Mmm, that’s three honest things. Tell me about it.”
“It’s a grassroots organization that teaches innercity kids an instrument. They play in a band that gives concerts on basketball courts, in gyms, wherever they can get space. We fund the instruments and the teachers, because the schools can’t.”
She leaned back to look into his eyes, and his thinking ran aground on that clear green gaze.
“What’s your instrument?”
He nodded toward the band. “Trumpet. Or it used to be. I’ve been racking up so many frequent flyer miles I’m way out of practice.”
“Security would probably confiscate your horn as a dangerous weapon, anyway,” she said with a twinkle. The music segued into a slower number and instead of thanking him and leading the way off the dance floor, she fit her body closer against his. He slid his arm farther around her waist and tucked the hand he held against his shoulder.
Whatever witty and self-deprecating comment he’d been about to make fizzled away into soundlessness. All he could think about was how good she felt in his arms—how warm and silky her skin, how intoxicating her scent. The weight of her breasts against his chest and the brush of her thighs as they moved together across the dance floor were making him crazy.
Making his body temperature rise.
And that wasn’t all.
“Mr. Hayes, I’m shocked,” she whispered, her lips close to his ear.
He had two choices. He could make a break for the door and hope he could bribe his way onto the next flight to New York, or he could brazen it out and hope the sense of humor she displayed on TV was real and not put on for the camera.
“I am, too,” he whispered back. “Usually I’m much better behaved than this. But then, I’ve never danced with you before. Now I know I have limits.”
She giggled, tried to choke it back, then seemed to give up. She threw back her head in an honest-to-God laugh. Both arms crept up around his neck.
“I meant I was shocked you weren’t going to counteroffer.” Her voice wobbled with laughter.
Oh, no. Could he just go into cardiac arrest right here and now? Maybe if he went out on a stretcher she’d look at him with pity instead of…what was this?
Her face was alight with humor, not malice or derision. And in her eyes he saw appreciation and a lowering of her guard.
“Mitchell Hayes, you win the prize.”
“And what would that be?” he asked, trying to keep his head up in a sea of embarrassed misery.
“You’ve told me five honest things in the space of half an hour. That’s more than I’ve been able to squeeze out of half the guests we have on the show—and a lot more than I usually get out of the men I’ve dated.”
He huffed a breath of laughter and tried not to think about the way her arms were looped around his neck, bringing that delectable body even more flush against him. “So what’s the prize?”
“We’re going to start over. You don’t scout for a major television network, you never came to my office. I’ve just met you and learned that you’re from New Mexico, you love your family, and you play the trumpet and want kids to enjoy music the way you do.”
“You left out the fifth thing.” What was it his dad used to say? In for a penny, in for a pound.
She shrugged, and flashed that enchanting triangular smile. “Your body’s very honest, too,” she said. “I like that in a man.”
JENNA HAMILTON read the brief one more time in the cab: Skinner v. Best, Kurtz, Crawford, Reavis, Haas. The rolling in her stomach was due less to reading while in motion than to the simple fact that this was the biggest, most public case she’d ever had to handle.
And she wasn’t sure she could do it.
No, no. Scratch that. She’d learn as she went, and get the best advice she could find. She’d already read every scrap of case law in the online library—and she’d branch out to libraries in other states if that’s what it took to win this case.
As the station’s corporate lawyer, and a junior lawyer at Andersen Nadeau who had her eye on a partnership some day, this was her chance to shine. Eve and the others expected her to pull it off, and she wouldn’t disappoint them if she could possibly help it.
The cab pulled up outside the offices of Kregel, Fitch and Devine, which had once been a brick warehouse but was now part of the trendy Decatur district. She paid the driver and took comfort in the knowledge that she knew the details of Liza Skinner’s suit inside out and backwards. Not only that, the file rested in her Kate Spade tote. If there was ever a secret weapon designed to give a woman confidence, it was that.
When the receptionist caught sight of it a moment later, she straightened and announced her right away. The butterflies in Jenna’s stomach settled down. Maybe it was a sign of things to come. She took a firmer grip on the handles and followed the young woman into a spacious office that had enough of the warehouse’s bricks and pipes left showing to give it an edgy, industrial look while screeching “major interior designer” at every turn.
A tall man crossed the room, his hand outstretched.
Nice suit, was her first thought.
Nice hands, was her second, as Kevin Wade shook hers.
“Thanks for coming, Ms. Hamilton,” he said, his voice a smooth bass that tickled something deep inside her. “My client and I appreciate your willingness to be flexible.”
His café-au-lait skin was just a shade lighter than hers, and his brown eyes held a male appreciation that made her body sit up and take notice. No, that wasn’t it. Her spine was straight to give the impression of control, not because it would throw her breasts into prominence. Nuh-uh.
“We might be at this for a while,” she replied, “so please call me Jenna.”
“And I’m Kevin to my friends.”
She didn’t bother to point out that friends was the last thing they were—or were likely to become. Too bad. But with this much money at stake, it was far more likely they’d wind up on either side of a courtroom, each doing their best to grind the other into defeat.
Instead of seating himself in the power position behind the desk, he waved her over to an area by the window that contained a couple of couches facing each other across a low, square coffee table. Some case law and several manila folders already lay on it, as though he’d been doing the same thing she had in the cab.
As they went through the points of Liza Skinner’s lawsuit, she realized that he was darned good at his job, and that this was more of a challenge than she’d anticipated. If only she could focus on the numbered paragraphs of the filings instead of the way his long-fingered hands lay on the papers, or the way she’d get a whiff of his delicious cologne every time he got up to fetch a highlighter or a box of paper clips. This was not going to win Eve and the team what they wanted.
She reined in her errant thoughts with a stern hand. “Kevin, I’m afraid that’s not going to be acceptable to my clients,” she said after he reiterated Liza Skinner’s position on one particularly irritating paragraph in the brief. “The fact is, the lottery winners are not willing to cut her in on a share of the money—nor should they have to. It’s regrettable that they and Ms. Skinner didn’t think to set down the terms of their agreement in writing before they bought the tickets. But without any kind of contract, it’s impossible to hold my clients to what she’s demanding.”
“They were friends,” he reminded her. “Would you make your friends sign something before you gave them tickets, say, for a birthday gift?”
“This wasn’t a gift,” she said. “They all played the same number each week and they all went in on it together—except for Ms. Skinner. She was out of town, out of state—out of my clients’ lives permanently, for all they knew. Any reasonable jury would see that her claim is groundless.”
“It can’t be groundless if there was a verbal agreement,” he pointed out. “She may not have told them she was leaving town, but she never told them she was leaving the group.”
“Regardless of whether she told them or not, I think her departure managed to state it pretty effectively.”
“But metaphors don’t stand up in court.”
He smiled at her, and Jenna lost her focus. That smile had probably gotten what he wanted out of every judge in town. Well, it wasn’t going to work on her.
“The members had a verbal agreement, and Ms. Skinner contributed to the pot.” He pointed to the relevant paragraph in the complaint.
“They won after her monetary contributions ran out,” she reminded him, pointing to the paragraph that countered his in the brief she’d filed that week. “My clients may have played what she’s calling ‘her’number out of a sense of friendship, but in practical terms, she herself was not a party to the win. She can’t own a number.”
“The fact remains that they threw money in the pot in her name, playing the number she played consistently—as you pointed out—over a period of time. She was a virtual member of the group, whether she was there physically or not, and deserves a share of the winnings.” Kevin Wade’s tone was firm. “The case of Barnes v. Hillman sets a precedent. I’m sure you’ve read it.”
Of course she had. She’d read every single piece of case law connected with state lottery winners in the database—texts that had kept her up past midnight for more nights than she could count. “Barnes v. Hillman isn’t relevant to our case,” she retorted. “In that case, the widow filed on behalf of her deceased husband, who was part of a group. Even though Georgia isn’t a community property state, for the judge it was open and shut.”
He leaned back and extended an arm along the top of the couch, for all the world as if he were giving her an invitation to join him.
Which was crazy. Focus, girl.
“Bradley v. Tillman, Morton and Ramirez, on the other hand, sets a precedent for our case.” She riffled papers until she found the one she wanted. “It was proved conclusively that unless all the group members agree in writing that they’re going to play their numbers together, the money can’t be distributed to anyone else.”
“Mr. Bradley, unfortunately, was a resident of another state that doesn’t allow lotteries,” Kevin said. “There wasn’t much the judge could do about that one.”
Okay, so she just hadn’t found a precedent that applied point for point to their case, but she would. Just give her time.
“So where does that leave us?” Jenna resisted the urge to tap her papers together and be the first to concede a standoff.
“I don’t know about you, but it leaves me starving. I didn’t get a chance to have lunch. Do you feel like going somewhere to eat?”
A second too late, she realized she was “catching flies.” She snapped her mouth shut. “I don’t think that’s appropriate, considering we’re on opposing sides of a case, Mr. Wade.”
“You called me Kevin before.”
“I think it’s time to reestablish some distance,” she said steadily, though her heart was bumping erratically in her chest. She dated a few guys on a casual basis, but no one seriously. She was just as likely to go dancing with a bunch of her girlfriends on her rare nights out. Certainly none of the guys she hung out with, most of whom had been her brother’s college buddies, had this sense of masculine power and casual authority that was drawing her into its seductive net, one breath at a time.
Kevin glanced at his watch. “Come on. It’s after seven. What difference does it make if we talk over the case here and go hungry, or talk it over at Cioppino and enjoy great Italian? It’s just a couple of blocks away, and it’s a nice night for a walk.”
Cioppino. She’d heard a couple of the partners talking about it and it sounded heavenly. And when would she have time to spend an entire evening there? Probably never.
“Fine,” she agreed. “But let’s set down some ground rules. Namely, we split the bill.”
“Done.”
As she tapped her stack of briefs together, Jenna added another ground rule to the list: no lusting after him. Because no matter what happened with the case, breaking that rule would get her into the most trouble—guaranteed.
EVE COULDN’T REMEMBER ever having had such a good time at a fund-raiser. A lot of events such as this involved chatting up people she didn’t know, trying artfully to get them to pull out their checkbooks or posing for the media or attempting to jazz up the obligatory speeches after dinner. But this one…it was like being the prom queen. Not that she’d ever been the prom queen, mind you. She’d been too focused on her SATs and getting into university and from there out into the real world.
But tonight, everyone conspired to make her feel desirable and sought-after and at least five pounds lighter than she actually was. Or maybe it just seemed that way because Mitchell Hayes managed to snag her for one dance out of every three. Then two dances…and then she found herself dancing with him exclusively. But it didn’t really matter, because it was close to midnight, the media had gone, and everyone with fat checkbooks had trickled out the door. That left the under-thirty-five crowd to take another run at the buffet tables and convince the band to play something less vintage.
She didn’t care what they played, as long as it had a beat and she could slip in and out of Mitch’s arms as he whirled her out and back. His hands never strayed where they shouldn’t, but each time he touched her, slipped an arm around her waist or took her hand it felt like a caress. Like a man touching his lover with that focused attention that told her he had plans for her later.
Which, of course, Mitch didn’t. At least, she didn’t think he did. And even if it were true, really it was impossible. She wouldn’t sleep with him under any provocation, simply because of who he was and why he was in Atlanta. But he was a fabulous dancer and after a couple of flutes of champagne she felt loose and happy and ready.
For what, she wasn’t sure.
Oh, to dance—that was it.
Without being obvious about it, he’d managed to dance her over to the French doors and out onto the terrace.
“We can’t hear the music as well out here,” she objected.
“The band is going to be packing up soon.” Still holding her hand, he led her over to a shady corner where ivy cascaded down the exterior wall. It smelled like green cinnamon, and the hem of her dress rustled on the flagstones of the terrace, echoing the way the breeze rustled in the trees. “I need some breathing space. You wore me out.”
She leaned on the stone balustrade. “I doubt that. You strike me as a man of endurance. You probably run marathons in your spare time.”
“If I had spare time, I’d do something less masochistic.” His voice warmed with a smile as he leaned beside her. “Back home, if I wasn’t doing something related to music, I’d ride my dirt bike in the pine forest. I never made it up to the top of the sandstone mesa behind our house, but I spent a lot of summers trying.”
As he spoke, he moved behind her. She felt his warmth down her back as his arms slipped around her and held her, loosely, giving her the choice to pull away.
Or not. She settled herself against his chest, her head leaning on his shoulder as they looked out over the darkened gardens. Tomorrow she’d remember that he was CWB’s scout and probably didn’t have her best interests in mind. On Monday, when he reappeared in her studio, she’d send him on his way with another firm no.
But tonight belonged to her and Mitch, their careers and worries stripped away, leaving only this elemental desire and the sense of anticipation and possibility that thickened the air.
She felt his warm breath on the side of her neck a moment before he tasted the bare skin where neck met shoulder. His tongue was hot and he took his time, as though kissing her there were all he had to do for the rest of eternity. Eve sucked in a breath and felt a jolt of pleasure arrow through her. Her nipples tightened, and her breasts seemed to swell in the satin prison of her strapless bodice.
“Do you like that?” he whispered against her skin.
“What if someone sees us?” she breathed.
“It’s dark over here.” He kissed her again, moving an inch up the side of her neck. “No one can see a thing. And you didn’t answer me.”
Now he nibbled her earlobe, running the tip of his tongue just behind the post of her earrings.
“Yes.” He pressed against her from behind, and even through her skirts she felt the hard demand of his erection. “You’re being honest again,” she whispered.
“I can’t help it. I’ve been holding you all night and doing math equations in my head so I don’t embarrass myself on the dance floor. Again.”
“And now?” She knew she was being deliberately provocative, but she couldn’t stop. Okay, she wasn’t going to sleep with him, but there was nothing wrong with flirting. Nothing wrong with appreciating the attention of a very attractive man.
“Circumference equals two pi R,” he murmured. “No, that’s no good. It just makes me think of—” He stopped.
“What?”
“I don’t want to spoil the moment by having you slap me.”
“I promise I won’t. Tell me.”
“Circumference makes me think of round things. Which doesn’t help my situation.”
“What things?” Her voice had gone low and throaty. Who knew that talking about geometry could be such a turn-on?
She could feel his breathing change rhythm now. “Oh, things hidden from view in green satin. Very round, very beautiful, very distracting things, for instance. Among others that don’t even have geometric definitions. They need to be explored. Measured. Mapped for posterity.”
Amazed at her own daring, Eve took both his hands in hers and slid them up her bodice until they cupped her breasts. “Tell me about how you measure,” she said.
He made a choked sound and his hips surged against her backside, pinning his erection against her softness. Under her fingers, his hands tented over her breasts, gently squeezing and shaping…and inadvertently pulling her bodice down until his sharply indrawn breath beside her ear told her that, from his vantage point, he’d just caught a glimpse of her nipples.
And she wanted his hands on them, wanted his mouth, wanted him to suck and lick and drive her wild with desire. Wanted him to throw her skirts up and drive himself into her right here on the terrace, where she’d brace herself against the balustrade and take every hard inch of him into the vast, soft, dripping ache inside her.
Oh, God, what was she thinking? Was she crazy?
As if he’d heard her thoughts, he hooked his thumbs inside the whalebones of her bodice and pulled it up to a respectable level. He dropped his hands to her waist and stepped back. “Eve, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to go that far.”
She turned, and realized that she was partially in the light from a window overhead, while he was in the darkness next to the ivy. All she could hear was his labored breathing.
“I know,” she breathed. She arched her spine, so that the bodice slid down a few precarious millimeters and her cleavage became even more pronounced in the golden light. “You make me want things I shouldn’t.”
You’re teasing him, a voice in the back of her mind warned. Don’t do it if you don’t mean to go through with it. Stop while you still can.
“Likewise,” he said hoarsely. “More than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. But not here, where anyone can walk out and see us. My car’s here. Come back to my hotel with me.”
Balancing on the scalding edge of desire, Eve teetered and fell.
4
HE COULDN’T GET her into the Lexus fast enough. What were they, a pair of horny teenagers desperate for privacy? Mitch fumbled with the rented car’s keys and managed to get them into the ignition on the second try. Then he made the mistake of glancing to the right—and he was done for.
Eve leaned toward him, her eyes hot with desire and her lips parted. One arm wound around his neck as he crushed her mouth under his in a kiss that told both of them how much he wanted to be somewhere horizontal right now. She made a noise deep in her throat, like a purr, as her tongue met his and slid along it in sensual invitation, stroking its length and making his imagination go wild.
What couldn’t a woman with a tongue like that do to a man’s body? He felt himself stiffen even more at the thought.
She broke the kiss to nuzzle the soft skin below his ear. “My nipples are so hard,” she breathed. “I want you to touch them.”
He didn’t ask why the about-face. He didn’t want to know. All he knew was that they were both under some kind of spell—both crazy to have one another despite the fact that it was unethical and probably fatal to his mission.
“I will,” he promised fervently. “As soon as we get out of here.” The Ritz-Carlton, where he was staying, wasn’t far.
“I can’t wait that long. Now.”
“No, we—”
She moved her shoulders in a slow-motion shimmy, and the green bodice slipped down about an inch as she leaned toward him. His protest died on his lips as her breasts swelled out of their confinement. He couldn’t have shifted his gaze if he’d tried. With another breath, the silk slipped some more and twin shadows appeared above the rims of the cups.
“Touch me,” she whispered.
He pulled her toward him and captured her mouth in a kiss as he slipped his hand into her bodice and palmed her breast. She moaned under his lips as he filled his hand with her flesh, so hot and round and firm, and his thumb teased a nipple that was as hard as a blackberry.
Both of them were panting when he finally broke the kiss, and he barely restrained himself from rolling her into the backseat and tearing the gown off her altogether. Instead, he pulled away and watched the delicious process of Eve tucking herself back into her bodice, hiding her secrets from his avid gaze once more.
“You have the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever seen,” he breathed, turning the key in the ignition. “I’m that kind of guy. Easily visually stimulated.” He managed to get the car out of the driveway without hitting anything, and pressed the accelerator down once they were on the main road. “Do you ever go out without a bra?”
“Never.” Her hand lay on his thigh, and his erection practically strained toward it, he wanted her to touch him so badly. But he’d probably run off the road if she did.
“Would you if I asked you to?”
“Maybe.” A wicked smile teased the corners of her mouth.
“I want to see you tomorrow. For lunch or something. It’s Saturday—anything. We won’t tell a soul, and on Monday I’ll deny it ever happened.” She laughed, as if he’d confirmed something she already knew. “Wear a camisole for me and I’ll spend the whole time watching the shape of you under the fabric. Saying things to make your nipples as hard as they are right now, so I can look at them.”
“I’m so shocked,” she murmured, her hand sliding down the inner slope of his thigh. “What will people think?” Her fingers brushed his aching erection, and he sucked a breath between his teeth.
“They’ll think you’re a beautiful, sexy woman,” he got out, “and all the men will wish they were with you.” He managed to brake just in time for a Stop sign. “And if you don’t stop that, we’re going to have an accident.”
“You touched me,” she pointed out.
“You weren’t driving. And besides, you asked me to. Begged me, if I recall.”
“I did, didn’t I?” She pulled her hand back so its burning warmth rested once again on his thigh, and she gave him a sideways glance. “But I was just saying out loud what you wanted.”
“Damn right. Do I turn left or right here?” She pointed, and the car leaped forward. “Because there’s nothing I want more right now than to kiss that dress right off you, inch by inch.”
She did the shimmy with her shoulders again, and the bodice slid down so that it seemed only a miracle kept her nipples from popping out over the rim of the fabric. His entire body throbbed with anticipation.
“How do you do that?” He dragged his gaze back to the highway. In the distance he could see the lighted block of the hotel. Thank God.
“Faulty engineering. Keep your eyes on the road, Mr. Hayes.” With a fingertip, her eyes on his face, she traced the top of the bodice. Teasing. Promising.
“I can’t. Not when you’re giving me a visual feast. And I’m about five seconds from orgasm just looking.”
“At eighty miles an hour? Better slow down.”
“I’m in a hurry. I want to get you up to my room before you come out of that dress again.”
“Mmm,” she crooned, her other hand moving stealthily to stroke his erection through his black dress pants. He shuddered with pleasure. “I could come in it.”
“Not a chance. When you come, it’ll be screaming, naked and on top of me.” The speedometer edged up to eighty-five.
“Promises, promises.”
Her hand felt so good. “Eve, please,” he choked. “I can’t—I’m going to—” The tires chattered on the highway dots as he drifted into the next lane.
With a throaty chuckle, she pulled away and settled into the passenger’s seat, both hands primly in her lap, and he steered the Lexus back into the middle of the lane.
Almost there.
Dimly, Mitch heard a jingling sound, but his senses were so overwhelmed with Eve that it barely registered. Until the second time. Then the third.
“That’s my phone.” She sounded as surprised as if she’d never heard it before, and fumbled in her clutch bag.
“Let it go. We’re nearly there.”
She glanced at the wafer-thin screen, then back at him, her eyes full of apology. “I can’t. No matter how much I want to.”
THE NUMBER WAS JENNA’S, and Eve knew she’d been scheduled to meet with Liza’s attorney that day. The fact that it was nearly midnight made it even more necessary for her to answer.
“Yes?”
“Eve? Thank goodness. I thought it was going to roll to voice mail.”
“What’s up?” Her voice still sounded throaty, and the ricochet of desire through her veins distracted her—though she’d have to forego the distraction for a few minutes and concentrate.
“It’s stupid—I’m so sorry, Eve. I probably woke you up.”
“Yes, but not the way you think.” The heat in her blood dropped a couple of degrees back toward normal. “Take a moment if you need to.”
“It’s just dumb,” Jenna repeated. “But you’re so good at this kind of thing and I’m afraid I’ve messed up big-time.”
Eve glanced at Mitch, who was concentrating on a left turn into the hotel’s underground parking lot. “Did the negotiations not go well?”
“About what I expected. Kevin had his arguments, I had my counterarguments. It ended in a draw.”
“Kevin?” Eve said carefully.
Jenna sighed. “Yes. Kevin Wade, Liza’s attorney. Therein lies the problem.”
“What problem? Is he incompetent? If so, that’s good for us, right?”
Jenna laughed, a sound that conveyed more irony than humor. “No, he’s not incompetent. I am. I’m massively attracted to him and I made the mistake of showing it.”
Mitch pulled into a numbered spot and turned off the engine. But instead of making her feel rushed and guilty because he’d lost her attention, he seemed content to simply lounge against the driver’s side door, watching her. As if whatever she did gave him pleasure.
Focus. Jenna needs you.
“Where are you now?” Eve asked.
“Sitting outside his condo complex. I—I agreed to come back here with him—to discuss the case further, mind—but he must have stopped somewhere because he’s not here yet. I need you to talk me out of going in.”
Eve had to laugh. “He probably stopped at the drugstore for a box of condoms. If you want to do this, we’ll just ask Andersen Nadeau for a different attorney for the lawsuit, and you keep the station’s business as usual.”
“You’re not helping.”
“You don’t need my help. You’re what, thirty-one? Two? You didn’t put in all those years in law school to let someone else make your decisions for you.”
“I know,” Jenna moaned. “But I tell you what, Eve, that man is hot. And what’s more, he thinks I’m hot. I’ve been sitting here weighing my caseload against the fact that I haven’t been in bed with a real man in months, and the caseload is losing.”
Eve could certainly relate to that. “If we have to get another attorney assigned to the suit, we can. But I have to say, I really respect that brain of yours. If anyone can pull this off with sympathy and grace, it’s you.”
“Now you tell me.”
“I’m not trying to argue for either side. Just telling you how I feel.”
“I’ll never be able to explain the switch to Marv Andersen.” Jenna sounded as if she were trying to talk herself out of going into that condo. “I’d have to make something up, and I’m a terrible liar.”
“If you don’t go, it’s not like it’s forever,” Eve reasoned. “Mr. Wade must be as aware of the ethics as you are. Maybe he’ll wait until the case is over.”
“We had such a good time at dinner, Eve,” Jenna said in a rush. “He’s so interesting to talk to, and then the whole will-we-or-won’t-we thing just added this zing to the evening. I’m only supposed to be staying for a drink and another look at the brief, but I know as well as he does it won’t end there.”
Eve glanced again at Mitch, but he just grinned at her. Their situation wasn’t that much different, was it? She was consorting with the enemy, too, though it wasn’t likely she’d get into as much of a legal tangle over it as Jenna.
Men. They could really mess with a girl, couldn’t they? Since when had sex and a career become so complicated?
Hmm. That might make a good segment for—
“Eve? Are you there?”
She dragged her gaze off Mitch’s fly, where it had inexplicably landed, and gave her attention back to her attorney. “I’m here. I was just thinking.”
“I have to go,” Jenna said urgently. “Before he comes back. If I see him again I’ll give in, and I don’t want to do that. I want to see this case through.”
“Good girl.”
“I really appreciate you letting me talk through this.”
“No problem. I know you’d do the same for me.”
“So, where are you, anyway?” In the background, Eve heard keys jingle and an engine fire up.
“On my way home from the Atlanta Reads benefit at the Ashmere place.” Well, it wasn’t a lie. Technically she was between the benefit and home, which meant she was on her way there, right?
“Oh, yeah. I hope it was fun. Look, I’ve got to go. This is a stick shift and I need both hands.”
“Take care.”
“Bye, and thanks again.”
Eve snapped the phone shut and tucked it into her bag. “Thanks for being patient,” she said to Mitch.
The ghost of a smile was still playing around the corners of his mouth. “No problem. Sounds like we’re not the only ones with a hot date.”
“Isn’t that the truth. Only I managed to talk her out of it.”
One eyebrow rose. “Bit of a buzzkill, are you?”
Her body temperature was back to normal now. In fact, the skin on her bare arms and shoulders felt downright cool from the air-conditioning, which he’d considerately kept running. “It was the right thing to do. If she’d stayed, it would have compromised her ethics in a business matter.”
“Can’t have that.” He turned off the air, and silence fell. “Shall we go up?”
The moment of truth. Eve forced herself to relax her grip on her beaded handbag before she did some damage to it.
“I don’t think so, Mitch. Up until five minutes ago, my answer would have been completely different, but—”
“But your friend’s ethics problem might be yours, too?”
“I think you have to admit that it is,” she said quietly, and paused. After leading him on all night, she owed him honesty after changing her mind. “If I go with you, it might change the way I look at CWB’s proposal. And that wouldn’t be fair. I have to think about what’s best for the program, not only myself.”
“Is that likely to happen?” he asked. “The one has nothing to do with the other.”
The phrase triggered a memory of one of their shows from last year. They’d focused on the differences in the ways men and women process information. How much mileage had she and Nicole and Jane got from that? They’d all learned how much men tended to compartmentalize. Men—or at least the ones who had been guests on the show—seemed to have two boxes in their brains, one labeled Sex and one labeled Everything Else.
Clearly, for Mitch, this evening fell into the first box.
It had for her, too, for a couple of delirious, wonderful hours. But how long could she keep it there, particularly if, as he’d said, she’d be seeing him in her office on Monday, as determined as ever to buy her away from her friends? She couldn’t just put a dividing line between “fantasy weekend” and “real life” and expect everything to stay neatly on either side of the line.
“We might not see it that way right now,” she admitted, “but on Monday we will. And we’ll probably be sorry.” She felt the bullet shape of her cell phone under her fingers, through her bag. “Do you mind walking me to the lobby? There’s a cab line out front.”
“You’re not taking a cab.” He fired up the engine and fastened his seat belt once more. “I’ll take you home.”
She put a hand on his arm. “No, Mitch, a cab’s fine. Really. I’m not far from here.”
“In that case, it won’t take us long.” He backed out of the parking stall and she gave in.
“You don’t plan on stalking me once you know where I live, do you?” she asked, directing him to turn left at the intersection.
“It’s not a bad idea,” he said, “but I believe we have a date for tomorrow. This way, I can pick you up. Turn here?”
“The second right, then the first left. Were you serious about tomorrow?”
“Certainly.” His sidelong glance tracked lazily down her body, reminding her vividly that he hadn’t wanted her to wear underwear. “Breakfast, lunch, whatever you want. You could show me around. If you don’t have plans, that is.”
She couldn’t have told him what her calendar said if her life depended on it. That hungry gaze sent a ripple of desire through her belly. And it reminded her of how very dangerous it was to spend any more time with this man than it took to say no and show him the door.
“The white bungalow, there,” she managed to say. “Number 954.”
He turned into her driveway and parked, looking over the front of her house. “Nice,” he said. “Smaller than I would have expected for a celebrity. And the rambling roses over the door are a nice touch.”
You could still invite him in, the treacherous voice of her desire whispered. You could still have him, if that look a minute ago was any indication.
“Thanks.” She cleared her throat. “It used to be a carriage house for that mansion there.” She pointed through the trees. “But it’s big enough for me. Big houses are for big families…or big egos. None of which apply here.”
He glanced at her. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“Which one was that?”
“Whether I can see you tomorrow.” A dozen different answers crashed into one another in her mind, and he seemed to think that her hesitation meant she needed convincing. “Take pity on a Yankee, Eve,” he said. “What am I going to do with myself for two days if you don’t help me out?”
She was absolutely sure he’d have no problem finding something. The Braves were playing, there were concerts galore all over town, and at least two art exhibits were scheduled to open the next day.
“Come on,” he wheedled. “Let’s forget our job titles and the size of our in-boxes and do something fun, all right?”
Absolutely not. The more time she spent with him, the more difficult it would be to see him on Monday. The show came first. The words organized in her mind, she opened her mouth to say them.
“All right,” she said. “But I’m wearing a bra.”
5
THE WARMTH OF THE SUN on her eyelids woke Eve, telling her she’d forgotten to close the drapes before she’d gone to sleep the night before. No wonder. Her mind had been such a maelstrom of sex and ethics and work worries that it was a miracle she’d remembered to lock the front door.
But then, Mitch had been on the other side of it, sitting in the car with the engine running until she’d let herself inside and turned the porch light on and off. She hadn’t locked him out. Oh, no. She’d locked herself in, away from him.
She’d done the right thing. Okay, so maybe it hadn’t been so smart to agree to see him today, but after all, what could happen in broad daylight? Last night had been a combination of champagne, dancing and moonlight; that was it. Now that she’d had some sleep and could think rationally, it’d be easy to keep her distance.
In fact, she could practice saying no all day to get herself in shape for saying it again on Monday.
She’d just started a pot of coffee when the phone rang. And here he was. When he’d asked for her phone number as she was getting out of the car, she’d given it to him, figuring it was better that he call instead of driving over here. Maybe he’d be happy with a phone call. Maybe he’d reconsidered seeing her.
“Eve, it’s Jane.”
Eve took a moment to regroup. Jane, not Mitch. Well, that was a relief.
Wasn’t it? “Hey, sweetie. I thought you were going to the benefit, but I didn’t see you.”
“No, we, uh, didn’t make it out of the bedroom once I got my stockings on. Perry calls me his sexy librarian.”
Eve smiled. At least someone was getting some action in the bedroom. If it couldn’t be her, she was glad it was Jane. After all she’d been through, Jane deserved every minute of the happiness she’d found with Perry.
“Stockings and high heels will do it every time. So, what’s up?”
Jane hesitated. “Can I talk to you?”
“Sure.” She pulled out a kitchen chair and made herself comfortable while the coffee dripped. “I’ve got nothing but time.” And while she was talking to Jane, Mitch couldn’t get through. And if he couldn’t get through, she could push off seeing him.
“Not over the phone. I’d rather talk in person.”
A chill wriggled through Eve’s stomach. “What’s the matter?”
“Can’t we—”
“Jane, you can’t say something like that and not expect me to ask. What’s going on? Are you okay? Did something happen?”
Jane sighed. “I’m fine, nothing happened. Relax. I’ve just been thinking, that’s all.”
“About what?” What could she possibly need a face-to-face for when they saw each other daily and talked all the time?
“I—I’ve been thinking about the future. About my place on the show, given all the rumors flying around the station about the networks coming to call.”
For a second, Eve forgot to breathe. Her lungs constricted, and she took a deep breath. “I’m listening.”
“Perry’s won his lawsuit. Once we win ours, he and I can move anywhere we want. Travel. Do the things I’ve always wanted to do but never had the guts or the reason. Don’t get me wrong—I’m yours for life if you want me, and I’d never leave the show just on a whim. But with the possibility of change in the future, I wanted to sound you out about it.”
Eve squelched the urge to wail, But you’re my best friend! What about me? With Jane, the facts worked best. If she could ground her argument in facts rather than emotion, she had a chance.
“Don’t forget we haven’t actually got the money yet. Wouldn’t it be wiser to go on as usual until we have the checks in our hands?”
“If you’re talking about the lawsuit, Liza has absolutely no grounds to stand on. The case will be thrown out.”
“It hasn’t yet, and how many hearings have we been to?” Eve asked. “It would be foolish to go into even more debt booking trips and buying land or whatever our dreams might be, when we may never see the money. Or at least, not for months or even years.”
“Don’t say that,” Jane groaned.
“Let’s look at reality.” Ha, that was pretty clever. Use one of Jane’s favorite expressions on her. “Until the lawsuit’s settled, we need to go on as usual. And if the show goes on, it’ll need you. I’m not setting foot in that studio without you to put my face on.”
“Makeup artists are a dime a dozen,” Jane said. “The minute the word gets out that the thought has even crossed my mind, the applicants will be lining up around the block along with the studio audience.”
“Your usual artist might be a dime a dozen,” Eve allowed, “but you’re not. You gave me my signature look with that nifty Swiss foundation. And don’t forget how valuable you are in the brainstorming department. Would we have done the ‘High School Reunion Makeover’ episode and broken a ratings record?”
“That was a lot of fun…”

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