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Wickedly Hot
Leslie Kelly
New Yorker Ryan Stoddard can describe Savannah, Georgia, in two words: wickedly hot. But the dark, mysterious woman he's gone there to find is even hotter.Though Jade Maguire turns him on to no end, he can't be distracted from his mission–to prove the sultry siren is a conniving thief! But as he charms her into letting down her guard, he never dreams the wicked game he's playing is about to backfire….Jade is surprised–and secretly thrilled–when Ryan Stoddard finds her. His blatant come-on provides a perfect opening for her revenge. As Ryan's payback for breaking her sister's heart, Jade plans to tempt him, tease him…and seduce him out of his clothes, leaving him high and dry. Only, as she gets to know oh-so-sexy Ryan better, she soon fears she'll be the one left desperate for more….



“Wh-what are you doing?” Jade asked, licking her lips
Ryan unbuttoned his shorts and dropped them to the floor.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, reaching up to clutch her throat.
“Nothing you haven’t seen before, is it, Jade? Though you didn’t stick around long enough to really see how you affected me last night.”
She could see it now, though. Her whole face was flushed as she stared at him. All of him, including the erection he wasn’t trying to hide.
He’d always assumed he was a normally built man. But the shocked hunger in her eyes told him he’d caught her off guard.
“No, you’re right. I d-didn’t see you that well,” she stammered.
He just stood in front of her, completely naked. Uncaring, not bothering even to pretend to be self-conscious.
She looked as if she wanted to run. She looked as if she wanted to jump on him. She looked as if she needed someone to tell her what to do.
So he did.
“Take off your dress and get into the bed, Jade.”

Dear Reader,
I just love Southern cities. Though I was born in Virginia, I wasn’t really raised in the South. But I have always been intrigued by the rich culture, passion and romance of the region. One city in particular, Savannah, has always fascinated me. So when I decided to write a book about a sultry possible-thief, I couldn’t think of any better city to put her in than Savannah.
Jade’s not like a lot of my heroines. She’s more self-confident, and a lot more mysterious. But I really liked exploring her quirky love of history, her legacy and ancestry, not to mention her wicked sense of revenge, which would allow her to tie a naked man to a statue…and leave him there.
Hmm…enter naked man. Ryan Stoddard. Northern, conservative, professional. But since he also has vengeance on his mind, he’s more than up to the challenge of tackling Jade head-on. Handcuffs and all.
Hope you enjoy my atmospheric little visit to this lovely Southern city. I enjoyed it so much I think I’ll return there in the future. In person. And in my books.
Best wishes,
Leslie Kelly

Wickedly Hot
Leslie Kelly


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Karen and Lynn…thanks for helping me plot this one
while we floated in my pool last summer.
And to all the wonderful reviewers and Webmistresses
who help support this genre, particularly Barb Hoeter,
Barb Hicks, Carla Hosom, Blythe Barnhill, Kathy Boswell,
Catherine Witmer, Cynthia Penn and Diana Tidlund.
We couldn’t do this job without your
support and enthusiasm.

Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue

Prologue
LYNNETTE GRAYSON HAD finally found the perfect woman for her grandson Ryan and she was utterly determined to bring them together. Whether he liked it or not.
“Brunette, his favorite,” she murmured as she went over her checklist. “Intelligent, without question. Tall and slim, somewhat mysterious.” And, most of all, interesting.
Ryan was altogether too comfortable, too spoiled, too at ease in his Manhattan apartment with his equally bored friends. He lived for his job with a high-stakes architecture firm, dated far too many women and cared for none of them.
He needed someone to challenge him. “Someone to spice him up a bit,” Lynnette said, remembering the horridly cold creature Ryan had brought to dinner the last time his grandparents had come into the city.
Her grandson wasn’t cold. That big, cold city might have made him forget he came from exciting, passionate, fascinating people who loved quickly and loved forever. Herself included, she had to admit with a smile. She’d led her husband, Edward, on a merry chase before marrying him, but she’d known he was the one from the first time he’d held her hand.
“Women nowadays,” she said aloud with a disgusted sigh. “No mystery. No subtlety. No uniqueness.”
Except for her. Jade Maguire, the young woman from Savannah she’d met just last week.
Jade was exactly what Ryan needed. The perfect woman at the perfect moment. Ryan was thirty years old. It was high time for him to settle down, create a family. Her other grandchildren were all happily settled, having followed family tradition by falling madly in love with the right person as soon as they’d met them. She wouldn’t rest until the same thing happened to Ryan—the oldest and, though she’d never admit it aloud, her favorite.
Unfortunately, she had the feeling he would be a little stubborn about this.
She’d tried matchmaking before with, er, unfortunate results. This wasn’t the same. She wasn’t inviting him up for a weekend when she’d coincidentally invited a young woman she’d met at the bank. Nor was it like the time she’d hosted a dinner party, with Ryan and the granddaughter of a friend the only unattached people there. This wasn’t like the florist, or the schoolteacher, or that nice young girl who sold houses for a living. None of whom Ryan had found the least bit interesting, much less fallen madly in love with in record time.
No, this time she’d chosen wisely. Perfectly, as a matter of fact. An art lover, a historian, a fascinating young woman who’d built a business all on her own. Even her business was exciting, unique and mysterious, like its owner.
Jade Maguire ran one of those wonderfully spooky walking tour companies in the old Southern city of Savannah. Lynnette had never taken such a tour, but the adventurous part of her told her she’d probably love being scared out of her wits while standing on a darkened street late at night. Jade had told them a few fascinating, ghostly tales when she’d come to see Lynnette about the painting that used to hang above the fireplace.
“Imagine,” Lynnette murmured aloud, looking at the now-empty wall where the beautiful portrait of a young woman had hung. “We had stolen property.”
Lynnette’s great-great-grandfather had stolen the portrait from a plantation during the Civil War. Jade had produced positive proof—letters, a copy of a social column from an ancient newspaper, even a copy of the wrinkled, yellowed, hand-written bill of sale from the artist.
Jade had asked Lynnette and her husband to consider donating the painting to the Savannah Historical Society, either now or in the future. Lynnette had immediately agreed, not only because it was the right thing to do but also because she was already trying to figure out a way to get her grandson Ryan to go visit the painting in Savannah.
Not likely. He’d certainly never do it because she asked him to. He’d know something was up and would suspect a romantic fix-up.
So she had to be careful. Tricky. Never ever let Ryan know she was trying to bring him together with Jade Maguire.
“How?” she whispered, still staring at the empty place on the wall. And suddenly, as with most of her really good ideas, it simply popped into her head
She was smiling as she reached for the phone. Smiling as she dialed and listened to the ring. But when Ryan answered, she quickly mustered up a quivery, weak, old-lady voice and some tears. He wouldn’t be taken in by much. Her grandson had always, however, had a soft spot for a woman who cried.
“Ryan?”
“Grandmother, what’s wrong?”
“I need you,” she said. “You see, I’m afraid I’ve been swindled.” Crossing her fingers behind her back and sending up a promise to say an extra Act of Contrition the next time she went to mass, she proceeded directly to the biggest whopper of her life. “A dreadful con woman has stolen the painting my father left me.”

1
JADE MAGUIRE CIRCLED the ballroom of the historic old Medford House Inn and Museum, socializing with the Savannah elite, but never taking her eyes from her prey. He stood out, impossible to miss amongst the ladies in glittering gowns and the men in their pressed tuxedos. Though he’d made the concession of allowing the customary gardenia bloom to be tucked into his lapel, he no more resembled the spoiled, wealthy pillars of Southern society than Jade resembled a Barbie doll.
Though his elegant suit fit his tall, hard form with tailored precision, it was a dark navy instead of the de rigueur black. That only drew more attention to his already striking looks. His shoulders and chest were too brawny to be considered tasteful. His dark hair too long over his brow for most men of high standing. His eyes—which from a distance appeared light, a nice contrast against his hair—moved constantly over the crowd. Searching, hunting, seeking, though she didn’t know what.
His body shifted with an almost-disguised impatience that hinted at boredom. But every once in a while his gaze found her. And lingered. She always looked away, aware of the full force of his attention from across the crowded room. It was accompanied by masculine appreciation, which was good considering her plan. But it also unnerved her. It dug at her, prying into her life, silently looking for answers to unvoiced questions. Hinting that he wasn’t just a simple mark, an easy quarry for her scheme.
All in all, he was much too attractive for a miserable, loathsome creep.
“Ryan Stoddard,” she whispered, tasting the hated name on her lips for the dozenth time today.
“Have you met him?”
She immediately turned her attention to Tally Jackson, local matriarch and Jade’s godmother. Jade didn’t have to ask who she meant. Every woman here tonight had been giving the tall, dark stranger second looks. And third ones. “No.”
Tally flapped her fan, which matched her old-fashioned, hoop-skirted evening gown. She’d chosen to come in full costume, not mere formal wear, since she was representing the historical society at tonight’s gala. “But you want to.”
“Not particularly.”
The older woman gave a sound of disbelief too elegant to be called a snort, but not far from it. “Well, he certainly appears to want to meet you.” When Jade shrugged, Tally added, “Or just to want you.”
“Maybe he’s going to get his wish,” Jade murmured. “But only when it comes to meeting me.”
Tally smirked, obviously thinking the man could get around any woman’s defenses. Including Jade’s, which had been in place for quite some time now. “If you say so.”
Tally was a distant cousin—like many others in Savannah—and seemed to think she knew Jade as well as she knew herself. Maybe that was true. The older woman had, after all, helped shape the woman Jade had become. A fixture in her life since childhood, Tally had long cultivated Jade’s love for local history. Along with Jade’s mama, and great-aunt Lula Mae, Tally had told her endless stories that had enthralled and captivated her as a little girl. The three women had instilled in Jade a sense of belonging, of home, of pride, until Jade had come to understand that Savannah’s history was inextricably wound with her own.
This place defined her.
From her earliest childhood memories, Jade had felt the presence of generations of Dupré women who’d preceded her. She’d seen herself in every role—matriarch to mistress, slave to debutante. Like Savannah, the Dupré women were dark but graceful, sometimes ruthless but always elegant. Genteel but often boiling with emotion and passion.
When they loved, they loved hard, and usually only once. When they lost, they grieved but moved on. They seemed destined to never fill an emptiness inside that longed for a certain something out of reach—whether it was a way of life, or a loved one—but they found a way to live with it.
Jade had learned that lesson at a young age, too, when her father had died.
“Now, aren’t you glad you came?” Tally asked. “If only to see that lovely man? I don’t believe I’ve seen that look in your eye in a good year, young lady.”
“You’re imagining things.” Then, because she didn’t want to offend Tally, she added, “But yes, I’m glad I came.”
Tally was the one who’d talked Jade into coming to this party tonight. Thank heaven she had, given Stoddard’s presence. Normally Jade avoided such functions. But since she’d just helped arrange for the return of a long-lost sapphire necklace—which had been stolen from this plantation home during the Civil War—Jade had allowed Tally to persuade her.
“I wish you’d let me introduce you and reveal your help in getting the necklace donated.”
Jade immediately shook her head. “Not part of the deal. I don’t need recognition. You know that’s not why I do this. Mama likes the spotlight, I don’t.”
Her work provided satisfaction enough. Researching and tracking down historical items and persuading their present-day owners to return them to their rightful places—well, it was merely a hobby, but it fascinated her. Just as she was fascinated by these stately homes with their seething pasts.
Besides, seeing that necklace so proudly displayed here in the small museum was all the payoff she needed.
Tally harrumphed, knowing she’d lose the argument again. Then she glanced at Ryan Stoddard. “Shall I slip him your phone number so you can pretend you’re not making the first move?”
Jade tore her attention off the necklace—on loan here tonight before being moved to a larger local museum run by Tally’s society—and frowned at her overly romantic godmother. “Absolutely not. I can arrange my own introduction, thank you.”
“You need more than an introduction,” Tally said in disgust. “Darlin’, you need a shove into a naked man’s arms.”
Jade raised a brow. “I somehow don’t think I’m going to land in a naked man’s arms immediately after an introduction.”
Something like that might happen to Jenny, the flighty member of their family. But not Jade. Not the mysterious one.
Tally smiled, catlike. “Well, now, that depends on who does the introducin’.”
Tally had been looking for a love life for Jade for two years, ever since Jade had ended a relationship with a man she’d cared about but who’d never really understood her. He’d asked one too many times, Who wants to make a living telling ghost stories? Rick had never appreciated or respected the kind of life she’d chosen for herself.
Respect was important to Jade. Having come from a family who’d done without it a lot of the time, she was determined never to feel lower than anyone else. Any man in her life had to be one she respected in return. One who could match her in wits, challenge her in ideas, and keep her on her toes. He had to support her choices, no matter how crazy her life got. With her family, her life sometimes got really crazy.
And she had to love him beyond all reason.
So far, she hadn’t met such a man. She certainly wouldn’t here, tonight, with all the rich snobs looking down their noses at her—a member of that side of the famous local family.
“You never know what can happen at a first meeting,” Tally said, apparently not noticing Jade’s distraction.
“Actually I do,” Jade said. “Remember the handsome guy who came on the garden walking tour a few years ago, saying he was looking for movie locations?”
“The producer?”
“He wasn’t.”
“He whisked you off to his fabulous place on the beach.”
Jade crossed her arms. “Not his.”
Tally sounded a little less enthusiastic as she asked hopefully, “He drove that beautiful sports car?”
“Rented.”
“Well, darling, I hear this man,” she nodded toward the dark-haired, blue-suited stranger, “is exactly who he claims to be. A nationally known, wealthy, professional architect. So if at first you didn’t succeed…try again.”
“No.” Jade ignored the older woman’s hopeful look. “And don’t say a word to my mother about this. It’s not what you think.” She lifted her drink to her lips, murmuring, “It’s a private matter. One I need to clear up with him.”
“A matter of getting naked and between the sheets?”
Rolling her eyes, she ignored Tally’s salacious chuckle. “No. Now go mingle. Be sociable. Rule the world through your glove-covered iron fist. I think I see someone wearing cream-colored shoes with a taupe dress. Go skewer her with that sharp tongue of yours.”
Tally gave a delicate shiver. “Hideous. Money truly is wasted on the color-blind and those one generation out of the trailer park.”
Jade chuckled, knowing Tally herself was only two generations out of the trailer park.
The older woman’s eyes lit up, spying a wealthy older man who’d recently moved to town. Jade recognized the look. Tally was a fund-raiser supreme.
“Right on time,” Tally whispered, greeting the man with a languid little wave of her hand. “That’s Leonard something-or-other from Chicago. He’s here with his wife who wears altogether too much jewelry. I have to make nice with them before somebody tells her only tarts and carpetbaggers’ wives wear so much jewelry to an event like this.”
“Nobody here would say it—except you. Now be nice or I’ll warn your prey to hide his wallet.”
That reminded Jade of her own victim. She began to look around for Ryan Stoddard, target of her search-and-destroy mission. Searching hadn’t been tough—he’d certainly stood out. The destroying part might be more difficult. But he deserved it.
Anyone who broke the heart of her baby sister deserved destroying. He was just lucky Jade was only going to humiliate him, not castrate him like she’d prefer to do.
“There is one other person who could get away with saying such a thing,” Tally said, after probably trying to decide whether or not Jade had been paying her a compliment. “Your mama. I wish she hadn’t chosen this month to go on her cruise. I need her here.”
“It is her honeymoon,” Jade said, not bothering to keep a dry note from her voice.
“What’s one more honeymoon to your mama?”
That sentence, in a nutshell, could probably explain Jade’s entire life. They’d each had their own ways of dealing with Daddy’s death more than a dozen years ago. Jade had grown mature before her time. Jenny had settled firmly into her role of spoiled baby. And Mama had just kept getting married, hoping she’d find someone else to love as much as she’d loved Daddy.
A shrink would probably say their past explained why Jade felt so protective of her sister, Jenny. It had been the two of them, facing the zaniness of their world with a much-married mother and a scandalous family, for a long time. Though only five years older, Jade had become so used to mothering her sister that she sometimes forgot they were just siblings.
It incensed Jade to remember the tears on her sister’s cheeks. Jenny deserved some payback for what Ryan Stoddard had done to her. And Jade was going to see that she got it.
“Jade? Are you listening to me?”
She returned her attention to Tally. “Of course. But I have to say, this time I think Mama’s finally met her match. A man with money who doesn’t let her tell him what to do.”
Tally nodded. “I have high hopes, too. But I do miss her. I needed her tonight. I don’t suppose you…”
Jade narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “Don’t even think about it. I’m not one of your society matrons. Most people in this room have no idea who I am, and I like it that way.”
Tally frowned. The argument was an old one.
“Besides,” Jade added, “if I want somebody to drop dead, I’ll tell them to drop dead. Not, ‘How delightful you look, sugah. Oh, I just love your hair. Why, it’s almost exactly the shade and style of my grandma’s French poodle.”’
Tally chuckled as Jade laid on a heavy Southern accent, which was nearly nonexistent in her everyday speech. “You’re rather good at that.”
“I don’t want to be,” Jade replied.
And she didn’t. No matter how much her mother and her cohorts had tried to teach her, Jade had never learned to enjoy being sweet while cutting, honest while evasive. She much preferred direct insults to veiled ones, outright lies to such intricate games.
Though, tonight she was setting herself up for a very intricate one, wasn’t she? The thought made her return her attention to the dark-haired stranger. She shivered a little. Intricate games, indeed.
“‘Bye, darling, have fun,” Tally said. Then she greeted the rich northerner with an air kiss and a gushing compliment on his clip-on tie, which Jade knew must be driving Tally mad.
Jade watched, then whispered, “Time to move.”
As she sipped her drink—ginger ale with a twist of lime, which would appear to most to be alcoholic—she scanned the crowd again. Even if she hadn’t been looking for the man when she’d shown up here tonight, she knew her eyes would have sought him out anyway. Just as any woman looked at something she desired but couldn’t have.
Only, Jade meant to have him.
Earlier, his blue suit had stood out in the sea of black tuxes and brightly colored gowns, but she didn’t spot him at first. Then finally she found him, leaning indolently against an arched doorway leading to another room.
Watching her.
He’d been watching her.
She flushed slightly. Darn. Caught off guard.
The man’s eyes met hers from across the room. Blue. Or green. Surrounded by lush lashes and topped by dark brows that were slightly raised as he caught her stare.
Then he smiled.
Her legs wobbled. Good lord, no man had made her legs wobble since she was twelve and her Cajun second cousin had visited from New Orleans. Stoddard was altogether too big. Too ruggedly handsome. Too powerful-looking to play games with.
Yet that’s exactly what Jade planned to do. Play games with him. And then leave him in the dirt.
But why is he here?
She didn’t mean why was he here in Savannah. She knew why—for a big architects’ convention, conveniently scheduled in her home city this year. The convention had saved her from traveling to New York to track him down.
But she’d expected him to stay at the hotel adjoining the convention center. Finding out from a friend at the hotel that he wasn’t registered there had been a shock. Even more of a shock had been learning he was staying here at the Medford House.
Ryan Stoddard had no business being in this secluded, exclusive little piece of Savannah society. No business at all. He should be sitting in a loud hotel bar with the sounds of tinkling glasses and businessmen comparing last year’s sales figures. Scoping out the women, flirting while they wondered how far they could go without technically cheating on their wives.
Not here, amid the husky laughter of bored millionaires and the scent of jasmine and magnolia that permeated the room from open French doors leading out to the lush grounds. Not in this place which many decades ago would have held tobacco planters and wounded veterans, as opposed to the bankers and stock brokers who comprised the elite set these days.
This was her turf. And damned if she wanted him on it. She’d planned to launch her attack on his ground, then slip away, back into the shadows of hers, where he’d never find her.
No way could she implement her original plan. A big chain hotel would have been simple—a pickup in a bar, a trip to his room, a heated encounter. Then walking out, laughter on her lips, leaving him naked and humiliated as he realized he’d been had. Realized he wasn’t going to get off scot-free for breaking the heart of a member of her family.
“Jenny,” she whispered, still missing her only sibling.
Her sister had gone off to try to be a star on the stage in New York City, against the family’s wishes and to Mama’s utmost horror. She’d landed on the stage, all right—a raised platform in a diner where she served chicken noodle soup and pastrami on rye between showstopping numbers.
She’d seemed happy enough, though, at least until last week when she’d come home for Mama’s wedding. Jenny had been crying about a man she’d met at the restaurant. She’d fallen hard as only a vulnerable, lonely twenty-one-year-old could. The stranger had swept her off her feet then dropped her flat.
Ryan Stoddard, aka the bastard.
It was time for him to pay. If Aunt Lula Mae found out, she’d likely want to punish him herself. And it still might come to that. If Jade couldn’t publicly humiliate him, she just might have to get some of his hair and let Lula Mae do what she did best—curse him so he’d never be able to, uh, perform again.
But not until she’d given it a shot. Her way.
Which meant Ryan Stoddard was in for the most embarrassing night of his life.

RYAN HADN’T EXPECTED her to be so beautiful.
She stood out like an exotic jungle flower among a bunch of daisies. Her silky-looking dark hair was nearly black, skimming over her shoulders and down her back until it was lost against the color of her dress. A soft, red scarf draped loosely across her shoulders provided a dramatic contrast that drew the eye again and again.
Her skin was smooth and perfect, a warm tanned color like fine coffee full of rich, sweet cream. She was taller than most of the men who’d been eyeing her all evening, and held her slender jaw slightly up, indicating confidence and perhaps a bit of arrogance.
Though in a crowd, she seemed alone. Her detached attitude was enticing because of its mysterious quality, but off-putting because of her disinterest in her surroundings.
Her body was sin, her face was flawless, her eyes were wicked.
How appropriate for a thief.
“Mr. Stoddard, are you enjoying yourself?”
Mamie Brandywine, the owner of the bed-and-breakfast and museum, joined him. She briefly pulled his attention off his target, the woman he’d come to Savannah to find. Jade Maguire.
“Very nice, thank you.”
“And you’re finding your tours of the local plantation homes helpful in your research?”
“Absolutely,” he said, trying to get his mind off the seductive, deceitful temptress and back on his job. Something he’d been putting on the back burner for the past few weeks while trying to get retribution for what had been done to his grandmother. Fortunately, his quest for justice had led him here, to the very city he needed to visit while writing an article on the architecture of the Old South.
“I’m truly enjoying the tours you’ve set up. Thanks so much for arranging for me to stay in some of the local inns,” he added, trying to find some basic element of charm—or at least cordiality—within himself. It had been buried beneath a layer of anger for weeks.
That anger had increased the moment he’d seen Jade Maguire. She should have looked like a thief, a crone, a crook.
But she didn’t. She looked like every man’s fantasy. The kind of woman he’d always imagined but never found—mysterious, sultry, intelligent, almost unattainable. God, Ryan couldn’t resist a challenge. And Jade Maguire screamed, “Look, but don’t touch,” a challenge no man could resist.
To his eternal shame, he wanted her in spite of knowing what she’d done. Wanted her with instant avarice and a healthy dose of anger. He wanted her under him, crying for mercy even as she cried out in passion and begged him to take her.
He’d never felt the heady mix of passion and anger before. Never understood its power, though he’d heard of it affecting other men.
Now he got it. It was nearly painful to be in the same room with a woman he’d desired on sight, but who’d swindled a valuable family heirloom from a helpless elderly woman.
Well, he could concede, his grandmother was not exactly helpless. She had a steel spine beneath her high-necked blouses—which made it even more imperative for him to get the painting back as soon as possible. The elderly woman was so embarrassed at having been tricked by the deceitful con artist that she’d refused to bring the police in on the case. She’d also forbidden him to tell Grandfather she’d let the painting be stolen. She’d concocted some story about it being on loan for an exhibit to keep the old man from asking any questions. She was relying on Ryan to bring it back before she could get caught.
“I can’t tell you how pleased we are that Architectural Digest is going to devote an article to the construction of our fair city,” Mamie said, interrupting his heated thoughts about the woman across the room.
The article. The reason Ryan was getting the red-carpet treatment here in Savannah. What perfect timing that he’d come here for an annual meeting, after being solicited to write a piece for the journal. He’d kill three birds with one stone.
The conference. The article. And the thief.
“Savannah has paved the way for other cities to save their historic treasures,” he replied, completely in earnest. “Anyone who wants to preserve treasured buildings of the past would look to your city as a fine example.”
The pudgy woman preened and not very subtly smoothed her hand over the low, tight neckline of her unattractive, fluffy green dress. Very tight. Very low cut. The wares were nearly spilling out, which was apparently what she wanted.
Ryan stiffened ever so slightly and took a small step back. His stance grew a bit more formal as he sent out a silent message that he hoped she’d get. He didn’t want to have to flat-out turn her down and risk alienating the woman who owned the inn he’d be sleeping in tonight. Particularly because he imagined she had keys to all the rooms.
He had a sudden mental flash of a fleshy woman creeping into his bed in the dead of night. Talk about your basic nightmares. He’d had flings with older women—his university guidance counselor came to mind—but never decades older.
Then the picture in his oversexed brain changed, and it wasn’t the proprietress face he imagined entering his room in the dark of night. He saw the thief—Jade—lovely and deceptive. Graceful and conniving. Intoxicating and completely ruthless.
The image of her dark black hair against his white sheets made him gulp a big mouthful of his drink.
“Are you all right, Mr. Stoddard?” Mamie asked as he coughed a bit into his fist.
“Fine,” he murmured. “Just…went down the wrong way.”
Everything about this situation had gone down the wrong way, from the minute his grandmother had told him she’d been robbed. First, tracking the wrong J. Maguire from Savannah, he’d wound up meeting the younger sister, Jenny, up in New York. He’d realized within hours that she wasn’t the right woman. Thankfully, he’d only taken her out to lunch once. So she wouldn’t have had any reason to mention him to her sister.
The second detective he’d hired—a better one—had found Jade, and his grandmother had confirmed the description. Ryan had taken the information and come to Savannah determined, in charge, using the cover of the convention and the article to get where he wanted to be—close to her.
Everything had gone fine. Right up until the moment he’d actually seen the woman he was after.
He could be in over his head with this one. It was somehow exciting, rather than disturbing, to imagine the sexy brunette sneaking into his room. Trying her tricks on him, creeping in to take something that belonged to him. Taking him.
He forced the traitorous thought away. Yes, she was damned attractive and he had to clench his fists to remind himself he had to trick her. Not take her.
Unfortunately.
“Well, if you need any help getting around,” Mamie said, not noticing his distraction, “I’d be more than happy to help you in any way.” She drew her hand to her throat again, flashing a big chunky rock on her ring finger and tapping her collarbone with the tip of her red-tinted fingernail.
Not on your best day, lady.
Since she hadn’t gotten the nonverbal hint, he gave her a broader one. “I’m also enjoying getting to meet some of the beautiful young women of your city.”
That seemed to get through. The woman was twenty years his senior, at least, with a husband dangling around here somewhere, probably downing drinks wondering how he was going to pay for her next party. Not to mention her next diamond.
“Well, there’s no shortage of those.” This time Mamie’s smile was somewhat forced.
“What about her?” Ryan asked, nodding toward Jade, who stood talking with an older woman in a Southern-belle ball gown.
Mamie’s mouth stiffened even more. “Jade Maguire. She can show you some things, all right. She owns one of those trashy tour guide companies that prey on out-of-towners who like to be scared out of their wits with silly ghost stories at night.”
Nothing he hadn’t known. The private detective he’d ordered to track down the right J. Maguire had sent a file on Jade’s company, Stroll Savannah, which had become one of the most popular tourist traps since she’d opened it a few years ago.
He knew where she lived. Where she’d gone to school. What she liked to drink and when she liked to eat. Who she employed. Who she dated—nobody, really, which had been a surprise. When she traveled and where she went.
He’d been prepared for everything. Everything except how beautiful she was.
“You can find better tour guides,” Mamie said.
The biting tone in the woman’s voice was a surprise. Then again, he imagined a woman who looked like Jade got a lot of jealous responses from overweight, aging society matriarchs. He was about to put the woman in her place, some unexpected instinct making him want to defend Jade, a woman he personally had hated for weeks. But before he could do so, Mamie continued.
“Her father was just an Irish bartender.”
“So she’s not a native of the city?”
Mamie shrugged, then grudgingly conceded, “She’s actually part of a long lineage of Savannians. On her mother’s side. Her father’s name was Maguire, but her mother’s maiden name was Dupré.” The woman leaned close, looking around to ensure she wasn’t being overheard. “Some of those Duprés…well, they’re not quite the purest family line, if you know what I mean.”
He didn’t. And for some reason, though he should want to gather more ammunition to use against Jade, he resented the woman’s snide tone and didn’t ask for details.
“The party’s going well.”
She frowned at the change of subject, looking disappointed that he hadn’t taken the bait. Why hadn’t he? Stupid. That’d been a stupid move. But he somehow couldn’t find it within himself to regret it.
“I suppose.” Then she put out her dark-tinted bottom lip in a small pout. “Are you going to be moving to the Winter Garden House tomorrow? You’re sure we can’t convince you to stay?”
Ryan shook his head. “Sorry. I must spend some time at all the inns I’ll be writing about.”
Not to mention the fact that Jade Maguire’s tour company capped off their nighttime haunted history tour with a visit to the famous Winter Garden inn. Since he’d paid one of her employees to call in sick tomorrow night, he knew damn well who’d be leading the tour.
It was almost too easy luring the tigress into his den.
Hell, she was making it even easier because she’d been looking at him all night. Giving him these intense stares, studying him.
Ryan was used to the stares of women. Under normal circumstances, this woman’s interest would have gotten exactly the kind of reaction he’d always had to a beautiful, seductive female. Instant heat. Hot pleasure. The kind of crazy passionate relationship he’d enjoyed more than a few times in his life. The kind that had kept him from settling down to anything more permanent—much to his grandmother’s dismay.
Grandmother didn’t believe he wasn’t secretly interested in marriage, kids and all the suburban crap the women she introduced him to seemed to want. And he didn’t want to force her to admit he didn’t possess the love-at-first-sight gene that had downed so many of his family members.
So the least he could do for evading her marriage traps was reclaim a family treasure.
He hadn’t realized, though, until he’d set eyes on Jade, that the job might be so very enjoyable. Getting her naked, helpless and at his mercy might prove to be fun. He just had to keep reminding himself this was a mission. Business, not pleasure.
Though, honestly, if some pleasure happened into the equation, he didn’t think he’d protest too much.

2
“YOU’VE BEEN WATCHING ME,” a smooth voice said, low and melodic and hinting at other words, more sultry words, that he’d rather not say in public.
Ryan Stoddard. God, he’d come right up to her. Jade hadn’t expected him to make the first move.
“You’ve been watching me,” she countered, sipping her drink and not turning around. She closed her eyes and did a rapid one-to-ten count to gain control. She couldn’t believe he’d eased around the crowd and snuck up on her while she’d been watching Tally work her magic with the rich businessman.
On the positive front, she’d only been here an hour and already the object of her revenge scheme had approached her. She was getting almost too good at this clandestine thing. Though, she had to admit, the ability to be noticed in a crowd had come in handy on some of her treasure-hunting jaunts. Particularly with the male targets.
He moved closer. The fabric of his trousers brushed her bare legs, which were revealed well above the knee in a short jet-black beaded cocktail dress that didn’t quite suit the dress code tonight. The contact stirred her, made something lurch within her.
“We’ve been watching each other,” he admitted, his voice closer now. Close enough for her to feel his breath on her neck.
Goose bumps rose there. Goose bumps, for heaven’s sake, as if she hadn’t been practicing this man/woman/ sex thing since before she’d grown breasts. Every Dupré woman knew about seduction, just as every Dupré woman knew about the family history and the many ways to curse someone in the old language.
“If it makes you feel better to think so, go ahead.”
He chuckled, obviously not fooled by her cool tone. How could he be when her whole body was practically arching toward him, shifting with imperceptible need? Was the warmth she felt caused by the hot summer night or by his nearness?
Or by her own anxiety about what she planned to do with this man very, very soon?
“You look wicked in that dress.”
Nothing subtle about this man.
“Compared to the other ladies in their pastels and jewel tones, I mean.”
She knew darn well he hadn’t been talking about the color of her dress. He’d meant her. That she looked wicked.
Wicked as in hot. Not bad.
Which was good, since she didn’t want him to know yet just how bad she could be. Particularly when she had payback on her mind.
“You mean I’m dressed inappropriately?” she asked, smoothing her hand across the front of her dress in a provocative stroke.
His response—a laugh—caught her by surprise. When she frowned, he quickly explained. “My landlady tried the exact same move on me not ten minutes ago. Trust me, it works much better on you than it did on someone whose chins almost meet her cleavage.”
Having no liking for Mamie Brandywine—who’d been downright rude to Jade’s mother on more than one occasion—Jade smiled, and forgave him for his laughter. “You should see her in a bathing suit.”
He visibly shuddered.
“I’m sure she’d be happy to join you in the spa.”
“I’d rather be boiled in oil.”
“Warm oil. I’m sure she could arrange that, too. She’s, uh, rather fond of her male guests.”
He raised an offended hand to his chest and shook his head. “You mean, it’s not just me? She wasn’t bowled over by my manly charms and extraordinary looks?”
Jade couldn’t help it. She let out a little snort, amused by his self-deprecating tone. “Don’t flatter yourself. She’d be trying to get Attila the Hun naked in the hot tub if he were here. I think that’s why she had it installed.”
“I don’t think the two of them would fit.” Then he added, “And if she’s used it a lot for her ‘dates,’ I think I’d better make a mental note—no hot tub for me.”
Against her will, Jade reacted to his good humor. She liked his snappy comebacks and quick mind. Then she remembered what had gotten them on the subject of Mamie Brandywine to begin with. “By the way, I was not making a come-hither move.”
“You weren’t?” he asked, his voice growing husky. “You mean, you didn’t deliberately move your open hand across your breasts, until your nipples got hard against your pretty black dress?”
She gasped. How on earth did he think he could get away with speaking to a complete stranger, in public, like that?
He didn’t even pause. “You didn’t intentionally run your thumb under the neckline, inviting a man to imagine the way your skin tastes?” Then he lifted her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “Not to mention your long fingernails just barely scraping across your skin, dipping between your breasts, inviting him to anticipate what it would be like to kiss you there, lick the hollow of your throat, then follow the path your own hand had taken?” He gave her a wicked look, silently daring her to lie. “None of it was intentional?”
Jade froze, her legs turning to lead and her lips parting to suck in breath. Lord have mercy, what had she gotten herself into here? This man used words the way an artist used paint. He’d woven a spell around her, as heavy and intoxicating as one of Lula Mae’s brews. And he’d done it with only his voice.
She suddenly began to wonder if she’d made a very serious miscalculation.
Because instead of being the seducer, she was very much afraid she might end up the one seduced.

HE HAD HER. HE KNEW IT at that moment. The cool, confident goddess had turned into a stammering high school girl.
Women. Unbelievable what kind of verbal B.S. they fell for.
Though, he hadn’t entirely been B.S.’ing. He’d had to force his voice to remain steady as he’d seduced her with words because, in truth, he’d meant everything he’d said. Though, in any other situation, he’d never have been so outrageous and suggestive with a woman he’d just met. The women he knew were the same cool, mature businesspeople he interacted with every day.
Not like her. Not like Jade. The kind who had him thinking of nothing but what her curves looked like under that black dress, how her mouth would taste, how her hair would feel spread out across his naked chest.
How she stole from your own family, asshole!
Yeah. That, too. This hot seductress used her Southern act to convince others she was intelligent, respectable, in control.
And honest.
She’d fooled his very astute grandmother into thinking she was a professional restorer of valuable art. That’s how she’d conned Grandmother out of the beautiful Jules LeBeuf portrait. The elderly woman would never have handed over the painting, done by a lesser-known French Impressionist in the 1850s, without believing it was in good hands.
Such pretty hands. Such soft hands. Such talented hands…most especially when it came to things like picking locks. Or pockets.
“You seem to think you know how to charm a woman. I suppose you’ve had a lot of experience?”
Her voice was a little shaky. She was obviously still affected by the outrageous things he, a stranger, had just said to her. But there was also a hard note, as if she had her back up for some reason.
“No more than any other man,” he said, lifting his shoulders in what he hoped looked like self-deprecation. Then he quirked a brow. “That’s what I’m supposed to say, right? So I don’t appear too confident?”
“I don’t think that’s possible. You wear your confidence like some men wear their clothes.”
“Attractive and in good taste, I hope?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of flashy and overdone,” she replied, though her insult lacked the punch she’d probably intended.
“Should I go away?” he asked, knowing the answer.
She shook her head. “So far you haven’t done anything completely unredeemable.”
No, she didn’t want him to go away. She was still wrapped in the cozy, intimate place they’d stumbled into here in the midst of all these people. And she was still as affected as he was. He just hid it better.
Jade began rubbing her hand up and down one bare arm, as if warming herself. But the noticeable goose bumps on her skin weren’t caused by cold—the room was sweltering.
No, their interaction was putting her entire body on high alert. But before he could call her on it, her attention was diverted by someone who paused to speak to her.
Ryan watched quietly, silently admitting that he, too, was on high alert. He tried to analyze it. This hot flush of awareness and excitement couldn’t be brushed off as righteous indignation or the culmination of a couple of weeks’ buildup. Being truly honest about it, he believed he’d have reacted just as strongly to Jade Maguire if this really had been a chance meeting at a party.
Ryan had known a lot of women over the years, and been involved with his fair share. Probably more than his fair share. He’d even come close to commitment, getting engaged to a Manhattan lawyer he’d met at a cocktail party a few years ago. But he hadn’t been able to go through with it, and neither had she. They’d both figured out that while the two of them made a picture-perfect couple, they’d never shared the kind of deep, soul-stirring passion a marriage should have.
His grandmother would probably never believe it, and she’d laugh in his face if he told her. But one of the main reasons Ryan had never settled down—never even tried to feign interest in any of the women she, his mother and his sister had set him up with over the years—was because of the example his family had set. His grandparents were mad for each other. Ditto his parents. And Jane, his younger sister, was deeply in love with her husband.
Though he didn’t believe he could fall madly in love at first sight—as other members of his family claimed to have—he did think he was capable of real love.
And he wanted it.
His family had set a high standard. Deep inside, he knew he couldn’t settle for less. Unfortunately, so far Ryan had never felt that way about anyone. Never lost his mind, lost his heart or even lost control of his emotions over a single female he’d ever met.
Which made his instant reaction to this one that much more surprising. And intriguing. He’d never felt as sparking with energy, as…alive with a woman as he did in the brief time he’d known Jade Maguire.
Before he could take any longer to wonder about it, they were interrupted by Mamie Brandywine. “Well, here you are,” she said to Ryan, giving him a broad smile. Then she turned her attention to Jade. “I’m surprised to see you here. This isn’t your usual crowd, is it?” She shook her head and tsked. “And I must protest, you’re monopolizing our special guest.”
No love lost between those two, he’d already figured out by Mamie’s earlier comments, so he wasn’t exactly surprised by the woman’s hard tone. Jade responded with a lazy smile and amused silence that practically dared Mamie Brandywine to push harder.
Mamie didn’t push. And Ryan’s interest in Jade went up another notch. A woman with a lot of nerve, that one.
Rather than losing the staring contest with Jade, Mrs. Brandywine backed down and turned her attention back to Ryan. She took his arm, saying, “I want you to meet someone. The owner of the inn we were discussing is right over there.”
The Winter Garden. The inn where he’d be staying, starting tomorrow. He did not want Jade to know he’d be there. It might be enough to make her suspicious when he put Plan B into action.
Plan A was to seduce her, get close enough to her and try to get her to reveal something that might lead him to the painting.
Plan B was…well…a little riskier and involved the inn.
And a pair of handcuffs.
“You won’t mind if I steal him away, will you, Jade? Surely you can find some other way to amuse yourself,” Mamie said. “There are lots of men here who might find your little ghost stories interesting.”
“Of course there are, and I’m sure you’ve…met…them all,” Jade said, her smile never fading. All three of them knew her hesitation had been intentional.
Mamie stiffened as Jade continued pleasantly, “By the way, you do look lovely in your dress. How funny, I think Auntie Lula Mae has a stuffed dead bird in exactly that color.”
Ryan bit the inside of his cheek to hide a laugh as his landlady’s heavily made-up face went a few shades paler. From behind Jade, he saw another woman—the one in the hoop skirts who’d been talking with Jade earlier—listening intently. At Jade’s cutting insult, the woman grabbed her middle and laughed so hard she almost dropped her drink.
Okay, so at least one other woman here liked the sultry brunette.
Before the offended inn owner could muster up a suitable retort, she was joined by a middle-aged man wearing a slightly faded black tuxedo. His horn-rimmed glasses covered a weary-looking pair of eyes.
Those eyes lit up when the man spied Jade. “Jade, you look wonderful!”
For the first time since he’d joined her, Ryan saw the young woman loosen up and smile with genuine fondness. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed the man on the cheek. “Hello, Uncle Henry.”
Ah, more relations. Another thing about the South, everybody was related to everybody.
“Your mama got off on her cruise all right? Gee, honey, I was so sorry to miss the wedding.”
Mamie Brandywine’s stiff mouth said she, for one, was not sorry to have missed the wedding.
“She’s fine. Having the time of her life, I imagine.”
“Better on the high seas than here causing trouble,” Mamie interjected. “Though I hope the other wives on board keep their husbands close at hand.”
Jade’s jaw stiffened and her face flushed red. For the first time, it appeared the obnoxious Mamie Brandywine had scored a hit.
She opened her mouth to retort. But before she could do so, Ryan interceded. “If you’ll excuse us, we were just about to dance.”
Then, not taking no for an answer, he plucked Jade’s drink out of her hands and put it on the tray of a passing waiter. Taking a strong hold of her arm, he led her away, heading toward the dance floor, feeling her fury and resistance with every step.
He should have known better than to think she’d let it go. After only a half-dozen steps, she planted her feet and refused to proceed.
So, instead of allowing the fireworks, he did the only thing he could think of.
He kissed her.

JADE HAD BEEN PREPARED for reasoning, an apology, a joke, anything a man might typically do to calm down an angry woman.
But not this. Not this amazing kiss. Not his mouth teasing the corner of hers, then moving over until their lips met completely. He wasn’t holding her close, wasn’t restraining her in any way. Yet she still felt completely touched. Held. Embraced. By nothing but his lips.
Somehow, she couldn’t even bring herself to care that she was standing in a crowd of people allowing a complete stranger to kiss her. Maybe because it felt so incredibly good, an unexpected gift of pleasure like suddenly feeling the sun on her face during what had been a cloudy day.
He didn’t try to deepen the kiss, merely playing with her mouth, letting her lips savor the pleasure of his as they shared breaths and as her anger eased away. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he pulled away and looked at her.
She couldn’t say a word, could only stare up at him in confusion, her mouth falling open but no sound coming out. He touched her chin with his index finger, pushed her mouth closed and whispered, “Dance with me.”
Then he slipped his arm around her waist and led her onto the crowded floor. Like Moses parting the Red Sea, his mere presence made people step to the sides, moving away to create room for them. He nodded his thanks, gave polite smiles and left the women groveling in his wake while the men lifted their chins in annoyance.
Good lord, no wonder Jenny had fallen for this man. He’d completely taken over this society party, as if he belonged. As if he’d been born here and could trace his ancestry back several generations—as Jade could—instead of coming from some cold northern city where people didn’t know their neighbors’ names, much less their great-grandparents’.
“I’m afraid I don’t know the latest steps to elevator music,” he whispered as their bodies moved together and began to sway. “But I don’t think rigid as a board is the right position.”
Jade couldn’t prevent a tiny laugh from escaping between her clenched teeth. She had, indeed, been rigid and inflexible, still trying to deal with his words, with that kiss. Not to mention his…presence. That was the only word to describe it.
He was so unlike any of the men she’d known or dated. His looks were one thing—good looks were easy to find, and also easy to forget if they weren’t backed up with personality. But this man had more than the looks and the personality. It was his aura, his power, his self-confidence, that she found nearly irresistible. He commanded respect. And, she suspected, he knew how to give it in return.
Almost against her will, she relaxed against him, the contact causing both instant pleasure and instant tension.
Bad idea.
His body was long, thick and hard.
All over?
She thrust the naughty thought away, lest it distract her once again from her mission. It didn’t help, particularly when she realized that if things went as planned, she’d be finding out his secrets—size and all—in a very short while. She nearly shuddered at the thought, remembering how lost she’d been because of a simple kiss.
Maybe you can’t do this after all.
Can’t, however, was among Jade’s least favorite words. It always had been. Nothing made her give something her all as much as being told she couldn’t do it.
She would do it. Would leave Mr. Smooth quaking and humiliated by the time she got through with him.
Or she’d go down trying.
Go down. The image hit the wicked half of her brain with a vengeance and her legs started to shake again.
Stop it, Jade. Get your mind out of his pants!
All the muscles in her body tensed as she strove for control.
“You’re stiff again,” he said.
“Stiff. Yes,” she murmured, still more than a little unsettled with the undeniably erotic direction her thoughts had taken. Pretty bad to have those kind of thoughts about a man she’d hated before laying eyes on him. It had obviously been way too long since she’d had sex.
“Relax. You’re all tense because of silly Mrs. Brandywine.”
“She deserves to be taken down a peg.”
“Wasn’t it enough for her to be told that her dress looked like a dead bird?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye.
Jade bit her lip, still unable to believe she’d given in and done exactly what she’d sworn to Tally she wouldn’t do. The cutting insult had just fallen off her lips, as naturally as could be. She hadn’t given it a moment’s thought.
“I guess I do have a bit of my mother in me.” Then, remembering what Mamie had said, went on to add, “Mrs. Brandywine hates my mother because Mama’s first husband was Mamie’s high school boyfriend.”
“High school. Long time to hold a grudge.”
Jade shrugged. “Long grudges aren’t unusual down here. Go bring up the Civil War to some of the old-timers.”
“No, I’m not that daring,” he said with a laugh.
The small band segued into yet another slow, dreamy melody. As they moved together, his leg slid between hers in a move too perfectly aimed to be accidental. She gasped at the contact, not expecting him to be so deliberately bold again so soon.
He tried to claim otherwise. “I’m not the best dancer.”
She sucked in a shaky breath. “You’re doing okay.” Then she repositioned herself and shot him a warning look, telling him she knew he’d done it intentionally. “But don’t try it again.”
He didn’t even apologize. Not that she’d expected him to. Instead he remained just out of reach, a breath separating them, so only the fronts of their bodies touched from shoulder to hip. The near-contact was driving her out of her mind. Her earlier curiosity returned in full force.
Long. Thick. Hard. And more…hot.
He radiated heat and energy, from the intensity in his green eyes to the strength in his hands to the breadth of his impossibly wide shoulders. The man screamed masculine, sexual, powerful and untamed.
And she was really going to try to tame him? No, not tame him, punish him?
Yet another feeling of uncustomary uncertainty flashed in her brain, which really irked her. She hadn’t been uncertain about anything related to sex for a long time. Not since deciding to lose her virginity to her college-age neighbor when she’d been in high school.
“Where are you?” he asked softly.
She shook her head and forced a smile and a trill of light laughter. “Right here. Can’t you feel me?”
He nodded, slowly, and pulled her tighter. A little too tight for propriety’s sake. Warmth built inside her. She felt a trickle of moisture on her upper lip. And elsewhere.
“Has this happened to you before?” He nearly whispered in her ear, his voice husky.
“What?”
“Something this instant?”
He didn’t have to elaborate. They both knew what he was talking about.
She answered with complete honesty. “No.” Then, because she didn’t want him getting too cocky, added, “Not this quickly, anyway. I think it usually takes at least a half hour and a glass of wine for me to determine compatibility.”
“So, should I be scared or glad that you’re drinking soda?”
“How did you know that?” she asked in surprise.
“I’ve been watching you very closely. All evening. Now, answer the question. Am I not worthy of wine yet?”
She chuckled, unable to resist his teasing expression, though she did worry about how observant he was. “I haven’t quite decided yet,” she said, needing to regroup and remind herself that the man was a pig and a creep and a despoiler of innocent young girls. Supposedly.
Jenny wouldn’t lie.
No, her sister wouldn’t outright lie. But she was something of a drama queen, which suited her desire to be an actress. Her tendency to exaggerate was well-known in the family, as well as to the Savannah police. Jade had gotten her sibling out of several scrapes, even stepping in to keep Mama in the dark when Jenny’s outrageous behavior got her into serious trouble.
But she couldn’t have lied about this. Jade had even seen a picture of them together. Though it had been poor quality, so his face was slightly blurred, she believed this was the man who’d been in the picture. He’d had his arm laid casually over Jenny’s shoulders, she looking exquisitely happy—as any woman would when being held by a man who looked like pure sex wrapped in an Armani suit.
Jenny hadn’t lied. Maybe he hadn’t meant to hurt her. Probably he hadn’t, given that even during their very brief acquaintance, she’d already realized that though he was a flirtatious, sexy playboy who turned on the charm with anyone female and breathing, he didn’t seem the type to abuse his power over women.
Unfortunately, he’d turned that charm on a young woman unable to handle it, and broken her heart. He was a grown man, thirty at least. Old enough to know better than to mess with a twenty-one-year-old kid. So whether he’d done it intentionally or not, Ryan Stoddard had to pay.
He would pay. And he would definitely know better by the time Jade finished with him.
“Now, we haven’t been properly introduced, have we?” he whispered, his breaths brushing her hair and tickling her ear. “Your name is Jade?”
She cleared her throat and replied, “Yes. Jade.” She didn’t offer her last name.
“I’m Ryan Stoddard.”
Definitely no mistake then. A stab of regret dashed through her as an unspoken wish that he might not be the rotten man she’d thought he was—that she’d made some colossal mistake and some other amazing architect had shown up at the party tonight—disappeared. She looked into his eyes, so clear and honest-looking. Any woman could get lost in them. Including a very young, impressionable woman.
She was once again forcibly reminded of the reason for tonight’s interaction. Revenge.
The crazy, sexy spell she’d been under dissipated. She finally managed to dig deep and reinforce her wavering determination by picturing Jenny in this man’s arms. That mental picture hurt. Badly. Maybe not for the right reasons, but it worked anyway. She didn’t pause to evaluate those reasons, sensing they could be based more on jealousy than family loyalty.
Family loyalty. It was all that really mattered when one grew up as she had. The name Dupré was associated with both power and loss, sadness and ancient scandal. The family had become adept at dealing with whispers and innuendo, envy and tragedy, until the Duprés had become almost a world unto themselves. That world was a safe haven where loyalty and love were valued above all. It was especially comforting to Jade that she was related to so many people here in Savannah.
One thing was sure, the Dupré women had withstood worse than playboys like Ryan Stoddard.
Back in control at last, Jade widened her lips into the smile perfected by generations of Southern women. Warm but not effusive. Friendly but not precisely welcoming. With a bit of Dupré woman thrown in—purely seductive.
“Well, welcome to Savannah, Ryan. I’ll try my best to make your stay as…memorable as possible.”

3
FOR THE NEXT HOUR, Jade concentrated on the plan. She put herself as a barrier between Ryan and any of the other women at the party who’d been giving him the eye. Tally, for some reason, seemed to want to help. She ran interference once or twice, including saying something to Mamie Brandywine that made the woman’s face turn as red as her long, fake fingernails.
While standing in a shadowy corner, nibbling on canapés and sipping her drink, she leaned forward and touched him as often as she could. Laughed at the appropriate moments. Batted her eyelashes like a stupid twit and all in all did whatever one did to try to attract a man. It had been a long time since she’d wanted to.
She didn’t want to consider whether or not she’d have been trying to attract Ryan Stoddard if she didn’t have to bring him down. Because the answer would probably be yes.
“So how do you like our town?” She pursed her lips a bit, inviting him to stare and remember their kiss. “And its people?”
He tilted his head and arched his brow, staring at her mouth for a long moment—as he was meant to. Finally, he shook his head and tightened his jaw before coming up with a reply. “How do you know I’m not from here?”
“I know,” she replied, certain she’d affected him. Men—they were all so utterly predictable. She gave him a warm laugh, inviting him to join in a gentle jibe at her hometown. “This is a small town for a modern city.”
She didn’t bother going into detail about how long her family had lived here, how many local families had ties to hers, and how her great-aunt was the local voodoo priestess who could name nearly every pureblooded Savannah resident.
“It’s interesting,” he said. “Different from New York.”
“Are you from there?” she asked, wanting to know more of his background, in case she needed to use it against him. She knew he’d met Jenny in New York City, but wasn’t entirely sure that was where he lived.
“Yep. Born and raised. Now I live in Manhattan.”
Manhattan. So he probably had money. He carried himself like a man completely comfortable with his finances.
She’d been to New York last month on one of her treasure-hunting trips, when she’d recovered an Impressionist painting from a very nice elderly couple who lived upstate. The painting had already been returned to the original plantation from which it had been stolen during the Civil War. The place now operated as a tourist destination outside the city and they were utterly thrilled to have the portrait back where it belonged.
For a second, she wondered if perhaps she’d spotted Ryan during her trip, and if that was why he’d seemed familiar to her when she’d first seen him tonight. Maybe her subconscious remembered him.
The picture, stupid.
Yeah, the picture of him with Jenny. No, it hadn’t been a great one, and she’d only seen it briefly. But it’d obviously made an impression. As did the man.
“Let me know when you decide you want that glass of wine, okay?” he said, eyeing her empty soda cup.
She knew what he meant. It had already been more than half an hour. No wonder he was getting confident. There’d been no hesitation, no doubt in his voice. He thought he had her. Hell, maybe he did. At least for an hour or so.
Until she could get him naked.
“All right,” she replied. “But for now, maybe we should just dance again.”
“Suits me fine.”
Suited her fine, too. Especially because, when they returned to the dance floor, he moved his cheek close to her hair and inhaled. She knew his head was filled with the special orange-blossom-and-almond conditioner Aunt Lula Mae made for her. His murmur of appreciation told her he liked it. He liked all of it.
Good. The man was making it incredibly easy. He’d sought her out—she hadn’t even had to make a move on him. When he looked back on things later, he’d have to remember that much, at least.
“You truly seem to fit in here,” he murmured as the music continued and they moved as carefully as possible amid the crush of people.
“You don’t.”
He chuckled. “Why not?”
“Blue suit. Genuine smile. Interested look.”
“That makes me stand out?”
“Like a June bug in a bowl of rice.”
He laughed again, looking down at her, eyes sparkling with interest. Dark green. Long lashed. Crinkled at the corners, probably from casting his wicked smile at any woman old enough to be affected by it.
He’s a heart-breaking reprobate! She struggled to remember that as he continued to smile down at her.
“I like Southerners.”
“We don’t particularly care for you-all.”
That made him laugh out loud.
She nibbled her lip, forcing her eyes to focus somewhere over his right shoulder so she wouldn’t get caught up again in his good humor, wouldn’t lose herself in his twinkling eyes and irresistible grin. Maybe dancing hadn’t been such a good idea. Hard to remember silly things like family honor and vengeance when being held closely by a man as fine as this one.
“Honesty. I like that in a woman.”
Well, darlin’, you’re not gonna like me very much, then.
“So tell me, how can I make myself fit in?”
“Got a few million dollars lying around?”
He shook his head.
“Genteel impoverished, but able to trace your lineage back to before the war?”
“Which war?”
She raised a brow and gave him a wounded look. “Whichever do you think?”
Their eyes met and she saw the laughter in his. He’d been teasing her, just as she’d been teasing him.
“I’m afraid I’m an Irish-English-German mutt,” he replied with a mournful-sounding sigh. “Can’t trace my roots further back than Ellis Island, for the most part.”
“But I bet you have good taste in beer. Irish, English, German?”
He nodded, still looking amused.
“Unfortunately, that doesn’t get you in with this crowd.”
“How about with you?”
“Are you offering to buy me a beer?” she asked, leaping on the opening he’d provided. The time had come to get him alone. Now—before her defenses dropped even further and she forgot she wasn’t allowed to like this man. “I doubt they serve it here.”
“I have some in the fridge up in my room.”
Ooh, cutting right to the chase. Trying to get her up to his room. How incredibly easy he was making this. And his smooth way of trying to get her alone reinforced her certainty that he was the creep her sister made him out to be, even though he’d been nothing but charming and friendly—if a bit flirtatious—all evening.
“I could meet you on the back patio for a cold one.”
Okay, so he wasn’t trying to get her to his room. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.
She’d thought through several scenarios. The original one had involved his hotel room, a bedpost, her long red scarf and a wide-open door. Because he’d moved to the Medford House, she’d have to modify things a bit.
But the scarf was still included.
“How do you know I’m the beer-drinking type?” she asked as he waited for her answer.
His expression screamed confidence, as if he knew all there was to know about her after an hour of conversation.
“Let me tell you what I’ve figured out about you.”
She smirked, daring him to be accurate.
“You’ve been nursing ginger ale all evening. Before I rescued you, you’d done nothing but look at the paintings, the furniture and that old necklace. You didn’t return one glance at one of the rich guys who’d probably love to invite you to bathe in champagne back at their pampered palaces.”
“Champagne bath? Sounds ticklish,” she retorted, though the mental image created a surge of warmth low in her body.
He ignored her. “Your foot was tapping with suppressed energy and your fingers clenched and released about thirty times a minute.”
“You were watching me that long, hmm?”
He didn’t try to deny it. “You had my complete attention the moment I became aware of your existence.”
There was a note of intensity, almost a growl in his voice, which surprised her. Again she wondered, briefly, if she’d ever met him before, perhaps on one of her trips to track down and retrieve artifacts stolen from local families during the war.
But she knew she hadn’t. This was one man she would never have been able to forget.
“Your face, your mouth, your eyes, your body, they were all saying one thing,” he continued, uncaring of the open ears surrounding them on the dance floor.
Take me?
“Bored.”
That, too.
“Bored enough to want to do something different.” His voice lowered, and there was an unmistakably suggestive tone in it. “Maybe something crazy. Which is why I decided to shock you out of your boredom during our initial conversation.”
Oh, yeah, their initial conversation. The one that had included mention of her nipples and breasts, both of which were still aching as their bodies brushed against each other.
“I’m still not sure I’ve forgiven you.”
“I don’t think I asked for forgiveness.”
Again that confidence. That suggestive—not salacious—tone. He was a self-assured man who’d noted their instant attraction and was acting on it without games, without the typical steps of flirtation. She liked that about him. Damn, she liked him more and more the longer she remained in his arms.
“Are you sure you’re not a P.I. or something? You’re pretty good at watching people,” she said.
Her tone was teasing, though she was a teensy bit worried. If she didn’t know for certain he was an architect, she might have thought the P.I. thing was nearer to the truth. The man was incredibly observant!
“You’re very interesting to watch,” he said, his voice low and only for her ears. “Fascinating.” Then he lightened up. “Besides, it beats watching the white-haired guy with the ruffled shirt trying to look down the blouse of every cocktail server here.”
She followed his glance. “Mr. Sherman. Disgusting, but harmless, especially since his wife tried to castrate him back in the seventies.”
He stopped dancing, nearly stumbling on his own feet. His eyes were wide and she merely shrugged. The story was an old one.
“You’re serious?”
“Why do you think none of the servers have slapped his face? Everyone feels sorry for the limp old thing.”
He shook his head, drawing her close again to continue the dance. “What about the couple over by the buffet table? He looks thirty years too young to be her husband. I thought she was his mother until I saw them kiss on the dance floor.”
Jade glanced over, unable to hide a frown of disgust when she saw the couple. “The latest divorced matron with her rebound boy toy.”
“That kind of thing happens in the rich crowd even in the South?” He sounded truly surprised.
“Obviously you haven’t seen or read The Book.”
“The Book?”
“The tell-all novel that changed the image of Savannah in print and on film.”
He nodded. “Ahh. Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.”
“Here, we just call it The Book.”
“Okay. And actually, I have seen the movie. I assumed it was fiction.”
“Some was. But not the eccentricities of the city’s residents.”
He shrugged, looking neither surprised nor disappointed. “It fits. Eccentricities, beautiful homes, fine things.” He stared into her face, studying her eyes, her hair, her cheekbones. Jade resisted the urge to lick her lips, wondering if they were still as glossy red as they’d been when she’d touched up her lipstick earlier.
“I like looking at fine things,” he murmured.
She sucked in a breath. The way he said the word fine made her shiver deep inside, as if he’d examined her, studied her, and declared her as lovely and desirable as a perfect piece of art.
God, what deceptive things come in pretty packages. Because she wasn’t fine. She wasn’t being honest. She wasn’t anything he thought her to be.
For a brief moment, she wished they’d met under different circumstances. If Jenny had never mentioned Ryan Stoddard. If she’d never seen the man’s picture—which had enraged Jade even more, considering how irresistible he’d be to a vulnerable twenty-one-year-old. If only…
If only there’d been a big mistake and he wasn’t the man she’d sworn revenge on.
But he was. And it was time to get on with it.
“Okay, Ryan. I’ll have that beer with you.”

RYAN LEFT THE BALLROOM of the old mansion, telling Jade he’d meet her outside in fifteen minutes. She gave him a measured look, then nodded her agreement and stepped out of his arms. He’d had to stand there on the dance floor for a moment, to calm his pulse, to evaluate what he was doing, to make sure he wasn’t about to make a mistake.
There was something so intriguing about the woman. Her strength, her charm. The way she stood her ground when surrounded by catty women whose dislike probably stemmed from jealousy more than anything else.
She seemed above it, somehow, not rising to it except for that one moment with Mamie. But even then, she’d regained her cool head pretty quickly.
He didn’t know why, but he had a strong sense of misgiving about how the evening was progressing. He was supposed to be the hunter. So why was he suddenly feeling hunted?
“You’re imagining things,” he told himself. Things were going perfectly. It was only his overactive imagination—and overheated sex drive—that needed to be brought under control.
Unfortunately, someone else overheard. “Imagining things? No, you’re not.”
Ryan looked up and saw the woman in the hoop-skirted ball gown who’d been talking to Jade earlier. She should have looked ridiculous, but somehow, her innate grace made the silly dress work. At least in this setting.

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