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Sultry Pleasure
Lindsay Evans
An attraction like no other… A hot Miami night. A glittering gala. And a gorgeous billionaire who wants to spirit her away. This might be a fantasy for most women, but not Diana Hobbes. She's at the charity event representing the nonprofit adoption agency she's poured her heart and soul into. And despite the hot body, easy charm and luxury ride of playboy Marcus Stanfield, Diana has nothing in common with him.Marcus is unaccustomed to having women refuse him. So he's surprised by Diana's brush-off–and intrigued. Angelically kind and devilishly sexy, Diana is worth more than a little effort…so an epic seduction campaign begins. Lavish evenings, small touches and grand gestures all say "I want you." The desire is mutual, the tension maddening. But which will Diana ultimately choose: holding back…or giving in?


An attraction like no other…
A hot Miami night. A glittering gala. And a gorgeous billionaire who wants to spirit her away. This might be a fantasy for most women, but not Diana Hobbes. She’s at the charity event representing the nonprofit adoption agency she’s poured her heart and soul into. And despite the hot body, easy charm and luxury ride of playboy Marcus Stanfield, Diana has nothing in common with him.
Marcus is unaccustomed to having women refuse him. So he’s surprised by Diana’s brush-off—and intrigued. Angelically kind and devilishly sexy, Diana is worth more than a little effort…so an epic seduction campaign begins. Lavish evenings, small touches and grand gestures all say “I want you.” The desire is mutual, the tension maddening. But which will Diana ultimately choose: holding back…or giving in?
“You are beautiful,” he murmured.
And God help her, she believed him.
She slipped her arms around his neck and moved closer, a little horrified that she was so susceptible to flattery. But it felt good that this handsome man thought she was beautiful and wanted to spend time with her. She was enjoying his company. When the song ended, they kept dancing by silent agreement, moving even more slowly as the singers took on a Sade song, “Lover’s Rock.”
Their hips swayed together. Flutters of arousal moved through Diana’s belly, made her skin tingle wherever it touched his. She knew she should be worried, that she should move away from him and regain control of herself, but it felt too good. His touch. The music. The desire winding around them like a silken ribbon.
The song ended, and Marcus slid his hands around her waist, pressed his mouth to her forehead.
“I want to kiss you,” he murmured.
She trembled at the urgency in his voice. Her hands tightened for a moment on his shoulders. Her body was hot with the need for that kiss. “Not here,” she said, not knowing how she would react to his touch in front of all those people.
He pulled back, took her hand and drew her through the thin crowd of dancers. Down a quiet, wood-paneled hallway. The smell of cigars, wood smoke. Emptiness. He pressed her against the wall, hips against hers, hands planted on either side of her head. His mouth swooped down, lightly touching hers and asking permission.
LINDSAY EVANS
is a traveler, lover of food and avid café loafer. She’s been reading romances since she was a very young girl and feels touched by a certain amount of surreal magic in that she now gets to write her own love stories. Pleasure Under the Sun was her debut book with Harlequin Kimani Romance.
Sultry Pleasure
Lindsay Evans





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Reader (#ulink_639e010a-71ea-559d-882a-83aba1de8d1c),
With one selfish and unforgivable act, Diana’s father stole her childhood, leaving her broken, yet stronger than ever before. After his betrayal, she built a life for herself from the ground up without anyone’s help.
When an irresistible millionaire with laughing eyes and unexpected connections to her previous tragedy walks into her life, Diana must fight to separate her past pain from the very present possibilities of pleasure and love.
The sexy millionaire is a master of seduction. But she has always been the mistress of saying “no.” Join me, dear reader, to find out who will win this sensual battle of wills.
Lindsay Evans
For Dorothy Lindsay and Cherie Evans Lyon. Your encouragement and love lifts me up, always.

Many thanks to Kimberly Kaye Terry for her invaluable help on this journey of mine. Also to Khaulah Naima Nuruddin, Sheree L. Greer, Angela Gabriel, Brook Blander and Keturah Israel—my friends and supporters. The butterflies in my garden.
Contents
Cover (#u7e1b0ea2-4d31-53d8-90e4-ea0a0e9493c4)
Back Cover Text (#ucd538713-af03-5afc-ac2a-580ff092cdd8)
Introduction (#u584bfab3-d3bf-537b-b6c9-8c5bc5d55c70)
About the Author (#u3fd86cf2-14c8-517d-8226-89186d09c076)
Title Page (#u6ce38ca4-8d45-54ec-bd44-95bf12c6e3fd)
Dear Reader (#ulink_6808cfac-8f60-5b21-bb62-7d776440eb35)
Dedication (#uf57d5913-3c39-5036-a596-9fdc40f454c8)
Chapter One (#ulink_e3396c56-80df-5cb6-9dda-8fcafb95e152)
Chapter Two (#ulink_1a668749-5a4f-5d1d-84b8-e4750601551d)
Chapter Three (#ulink_09debb4b-6651-5faf-847a-b601775661ef)
Chapter Four (#ulink_eb2e2674-1d12-563b-8f6b-e91943ccbbff)
Chapter Five (#ulink_2e904961-2662-5f25-865e-1597a4b405dd)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_b7729c6b-343e-5e4c-86b3-544b685aa775)
Marcus Stanfield walked into the party already looking for the exits. On a Saturday night in Miami, he’d much rather be on his boat or partying with friends than bleeding away the night at a charity ball he had no real interest in attending. The music was calm and laid-back, acceptable jazz that blended into the background while Miami business professionals and philanthropists wove through the crowd in their formal-dinner wear—black tie and tails, cocktail dresses, diamonds dripping from necks and wrists.
He shifted his shoulders under his unbuttoned black blazer and reached out to take a glass of what he hoped was scotch from one of the passing waiters. He sipped the drink and winced. It was scotch but too cheap for his taste. Maybe he wouldn’t even last until the awards were announced.
Marcus left the drink on a nearby table and looked around the room, hoping to find Reynaldo March, one of the men being honored at the night’s charity banquet and a VP at his company, Sucram Holdings. As Marcus glanced over the crowd in search of the gray-haired VP, he heard the sound of a woman’s laughter, husky and low, nearby.
The woman’s laugh was rich and deep, with a hint of naughtiness. A combination that drew him like a bee to honey. His ears latched on to the sound while his eyes tracked the room for its source. Soon he found it.
Two women stood together. One was still laughing, her head thrown back, a hand propped up on her hip. She was slender and pretty, light-skinned with wavy black hair down to the middle of her back. She had a firm and high rear. And she looked money-hungry, like the type who would lie down for a man just because of what was in his wallet. Definitely his usual style.
But, inexplicably, it was the woman standing next to her that drew and kept Marcus’s attention. She had dark skin, angelic features and straightened hair pulled back in an elegant French roll. Even from across the room, he sensed her innocence. While her friend was dressed in a purple satin dress that caught her at midthigh and clung to her slender but generously proportioned body, this woman wore ice-blue.
The pale dress drew Marcus’s eyes to her deep mahogany skin. The dress was modestly cut just beneath her collar bones, the waist cinched and hem flaring out in frothy blue around her knees. She was tapping her feet to the music.
While her friend laughed with her whole body, this woman only smiled faintly, her full mouth tilting up at the corners with mild amusement. Marcus looked back at the friend with her killer body, white teeth and long hair that fell in thick waves over her luscious breasts. She was definitely more his type, a woman who would want him for his money and never anything else. The safe type.
But he wanted the woman in blue. He fastened his blazer’s single button and walked over to them.
“Good evening, ladies,” Marcus said, his charming smile firmly in place.
The laughing woman gave him a considering glance, a quick but thorough evaluation of what he was wearing, how he looked, what he was worth. He had been the focus of that look so many times in Miami that he expected it more often than not when meeting someone new.
“Good evening.” The woman in purple greeted him, a smile curving her full lips. “You’re Marcus, aren’t you?”
“I am,” he said. “A pleasure to meet you.”
The woman he wanted treated him like he was intruding on their conversation. She was even more beguiling up close. Not traditionally beautiful but exquisitely made with her large eyes, wide mouth and narrow chin. Her neck was a long and slender stalk he could easily span with one hand. The top of her head only came as high as his jaw, even in her stilettos.
“I’m Trish,” the long-haired one said, offering her hand to shake. “And this is my best friend, Diana.” She nudged her friend, as if encouraging her to be nice to Marcus.
Diana looked at her in irritation, then extended her own hand in greeting. “Marcus.” Her voice was carefully neutral.
“Don’t say my name like that,” he said with a grin. “So formal. Especially when I came over here intending to ask you to dance with me.”
A frown settled on her angelic face. “I don’t dance.”
“She’d love to.” Trish smiled even wider to make up for Diana’s lack of welcome, then nudged her friend again, this time directly into Marcus’s arms. “Enjoy, honey!” She grabbed Diana’s purse and stood back, looking pleased with herself.
Marcus took Diana’s arm and led her to the dance floor, where they were playing Marvin Gaye’s “Got to Give It Up.” He drew her into his arms, keeping a respectable distance between them but still allowing himself the pleasure of smelling the light rosemary-scented perfume that clung to her skin. Another scent, something sweeter, lingered beneath the hint of fresh herb.
“Thank you for dancing with me,” he said.
She looked up at him, her eyes large and serious behind a veil of thick lashes. Her narrow chin jutted out.
“You know very well I didn’t agree to dance with you,” she said.
“You don’t strike me as a woman who’d let herself be talked into something she didn’t want to do,” he murmured as they moved to the beat of the song. “Whatever small part of you wanted to come with me, I’m grateful for it.” He smiled, strangely charmed by her coolness. Her reaction to him was completely different from what he usually got from women.
At his look, Diana pursed her lips, the lines of her face softening. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a long day. Everyone here seems to think just because I work for a nonprofit, that means I’m going to whore myself out to the one with the biggest bank account.”
Damn. She was definitely not his type at all. With other women, he knew what they wanted, and they knew what he could give. Sex for money: a transparent transaction. But he didn’t want to let Diana go yet.
“If it makes you feel any better, you don’t have to whore yourself out to me at all.” Marcus dipped his hips close to hers as they moved to the music, then pulled back. “All I want is a dance.”
She looked at him with a hint of doubt in her sparkling brown eyes. “A dance is all you really want?”
Marcus smiled. “For now.” He spun her around to the rhythm of the song, then pulled her back seamlessly into his arms. “Later I was thinking of trying to tempt you with dinner, maybe a late-night walk on the beach.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “I’ve already eaten, and I try to avoid the beach at night.”
“Why is that?”
She looked at him with a pointed rise of an eyebrow. “Sharks.”
Marcus only shook his head, carefully keeping his amusement from showing. “Well, that’s where you have me all wrong,” he said. “I don’t bite. At least not on the first date.”
* * *
Against her will, Diana Hobbes was getting swept away. Marcus was a charmer. He danced beautifully, a graceful companion as they moved through the steps of the old-school dance, not grandstanding, simply complementing the moves she made, the subtle rocking of her hips and dip of her shoulders. He danced with her like he wanted something and was willing to be patient until he got it.
He was a handsome man. She had noticed that immediately when he came up to her and Trish. Tall and wickedly sexy with eyes the color of old gold rimmed in black. He was obviously one of the rich ones despite his lack of the usual trappings. His blazer and jeans looked like they had been tailored to fit his gym-hard body, and his haircut was crisp and fresh, his nails buff-shined and recently manicured. The jeans and sneakers he wore said he obviously didn’t care what people thought, yet no one looked twice at him. She just couldn’t tell if he was one of the idle rich or someone who actually worked for his money.
Trish had known immediately who he was, but Diana had no clue. She reminded herself to ask her best friend later exactly who this guy was. In the meantime, the feel of his strong arms around her was intoxicating. The subtle scent of his sandalwood cologne, along with his deep and rumbling voice that pulled answers from her rather than talking about himself, worked magic on her attention-starved body. It had been a long time since a man had paid her such focused attention, especially with Trish around. But she knew it wouldn’t last. It never did.
“What about the second date?” she asked. “What should I expect then?”
The question fell from Diana’s lips against her will. She bit the inside of her cheek, but it was impossible to take back the words. She didn’t want to seem overly interested. Or desperate.
“On the second date, anything can happen,” he said with an amused light in his mesmerizing black-rimmed pale eyes. “Are you giving me something to look forward to?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she said. Though she might as well have been talking to herself. Just because he was the first man in months to show her this much attention shouldn’t be a reason to throw all caution to the wind. Like all the others, once he figured out she didn’t have much space in her life for anyone else, he would disappear.
“I never do that,” he said. “But I do go after what I want.” He looked at her meaningfully. “Can we at least have a first date before we discuss the terms of the second?”
Her fingers tightened briefly on his shoulder through the soft blazer. She had been working harder than usual lately. Giving all her days and even some of her nights to Building Bridges. Never leaving time to find a man, much less cultivating something meaningful and lasting—or just hot and delicious—with one. And then there was her family.
As she opened her mouth to respond to Marcus, the song ended. He took her hand, looked around the room as if searching for someone, then tugged her toward the back of the enormous ballroom and outside to the balcony.
The night was beautiful. A symphony of stars shone in the sky, and the gorgeous Miami skyline lit up like a Christmas tree in December. The balmy breeze brushed over Diana’s face and throat.
“Come to dinner with me.” The laughter was gone from his voice.
“I’m a little busy right now,” she said, though her heart pounded in her chest at his nearness and the urgent way he spoke. She allowed him to pull her close and then closer, overwhelming her with the spicy scent of his aftershave and the heat of his body.
“You are a very compelling woman,” he said in his rumbling voice.
“And what is it, Marcus, that makes me so compelling in your eyes?” She meant to tease him, to force him into a tongue-tied mess so he could retreat and put them back on more appropriate footing.
His mouth tucked up at the corners. “Because you insist on saying my name in such a stern way, for one.” He moved a hand down her back, eliciting a round of intrigued tremors. “When you say my name, it sounds like I’m in trouble.”
“Hmm. Is this better?” She tested the gentler sound of his name on her tongue. Once. Twice.
“Say my name one more time like that and I might have to accelerate this to being our second date. My teeth are aching for a taste.”
She shuddered and drew back, her hands falling off his chest and to her sides. She put a few more feet of space between them. His teasing was getting to be more than she could handle. Yes, she liked him, but she was never one to rush into something with any man.
“I think you’ll have to go hungry this time around,” she said.
He looked at her with disappointment, sliding his hands into his pants pockets. He leaned back against the railing separating them from the brilliant Miami night. “You’re breaking my heart,” he said softly. “I hope this isn’t something you’re going to do all the time.”
She turned away from him and toward the rooftop pool, glittering impossibly blue under the lights. “I don’t play games,” she said.
“But games are part of what make life fun.” Amusement and temptation laced his voice.
Diana knew she had to get away from this man. She had danced with him for longer than she planned, had stepped out to the balcony with him although she’d known it wasn’t a good idea. And it would soon be time for the awards to be announced. Her boss, the executive director of Building Bridges, wanted to have Diana by her side when the crystal plaques were presented. She looked past Marcus’s shoulder to see the room resolving itself into order, people stepping away from the dance floor en masse and heading into the ballroom, where the round tables and chairs sat.
“I have to go,” she said.
He gently grabbed her hand. “Come out with me after this. I’d like to show you my Miami.”
Just then, a gray-haired man with a red rose in his lapel opened the door behind them and announced that it was almost time for the awards presentation. Diana felt he had looked specifically at her and Marcus, although there were nearly a dozen other people out on the balcony enjoying the balmy evening.
“We’ll see,” she said, tugging her hand away.
Diana felt his disappointment but refused to turn around. She slipped inside and made her way quickly into the ballroom and over to the table where her boss was waiting.
“Diana! I’ve been looking all over the place for you.” Nora Evers, elegant and poised in her pearls and iron-gray Chanel dress, held out her hands to grip Diana’s. “Come. It’s about to start.”
Nora’s lush figure was downplayed in the severely cut dress, but it was still apparent why the newspapers often called her one of the sexiest women in nonprofit. Her frosted gray hair was cut in a sleek natural style that showed off her long-lashed bedroom eyes and pillowy lips. Her still-youthful body and the way she spoke with someone as if they were the only person in the room made her irresistible to many.
Despite her boss’s call for her attention, Diana couldn’t resist a last look over her shoulder toward Marcus. Then she deliberately pushed him from her mind and concentrated on the event at hand.
The Prism Award Ceremony and Gala was one of the best attended and most prestigious charity events in Miami. The award honored business people and philanthropists in south Florida for the outstanding charity work they had done for the local community. Although Building Bridges had been doing its work for more than eight years with Nora at the helm for three of those years, this was the first time the organization had been invited to the Prism gala.
It was a well-known fact that when an organization’s head was personally invited to the Prism gala, it meant the organization was either being awarded or considered for an award the following year. Either way, Nora and the Building Bridges family were ecstatic. It meant more notice to their small nonprofit, which hopefully would translate into more donations, more interest and more work being done for the children they helped place in loving and safe homes.
As assistant executive director, in addition to her regular duties, Diana had to also be her single boss’s “work wife.” That included supporting Nora at events like this. She brushed a bit of lint from Nora’s shoulder, then sat down at the table they shared with Trish and two other members of the Building Bridges staff.
The round table was set up with a beautiful floral centerpiece, full water glasses in front of each of the five chairs and the proper utensils for the meal to come. They were seated near the middle of the room, not so far to the front as the Gates Foundation but definitely not by the kitchen, either. Diana knew Nora would care about that. She nervously touched the back of her ear, then forced her hand to her lap.
“How was the dance?” Trish appeared at Diana’s side. She sat down at the table, sliding both their purses near the table’s centerpiece. Her amused whisper was for Diana’s ears only.
She bit the inside of her lips to prevent a smile. Her friend was always trying to save her love life, usually with mixed results. “It went well,” she said. “He’s a good dancer.”
“Who’s a good dancer?” Nora looked up from her prepared speech, tapping the index cards briefly against the table.
“A man Diana just met.” Trish grinned wickedly. “He took her off to the dance floor earlier. I thought he was coming my way, but when he latched on to our sweet girl, I was tickled.” The look on her face suggested she wanted to say much more, but she contented herself with making kissing faces when Nora wasn’t looking. Diana rolled her eyes, hiding a smile.
“What’s his name?” Nora asked.
When Trish told her, Nora’s brow furrowed.
“That name sounds familiar.” Nora adjusted her pearls at her throat, eyes looking into the middle distance as she thought about who Marcus was. “Ah, yes. That most enterprising young man who owns the boat my friends and I always see sailing the bay early Sunday mornings. The Dirty Diana, I think it’s called.”
Trish chuckled. “Sounds like a match made in heaven.” She winked at Diana.
Diana kicked her friend under the table, then deliberately turned to Nora. “He seems interesting,” she said.
Nora laughed. “Of course, dear. Even I can see what a lovely piece of man candy that is.”
Trish guffawed. “Man candy, for sure. Something for you to suck on, Di?”
Nora cleared her throat, subtly letting Trish know she had gone a little too far. Trish only grinned, unrepentant.
As the women talked, the room quickly filled with some of the wealthiest and most influential citizens of Miami. Their voices rose and fell in conversation and in laughter as they found their seats. Then the clink of water and wineglasses. The faint strains of Tchaikovsky leaked from the speakers overhead while the host from the Prism Foundation, Sheila Beck, stood at the podium, checked the microphone, then gestured to someone Diana couldn’t see. Before long, everyone was seated at their respective tables, the conversation and music lulling. Unable to help herself, Diana stretched her neck, looking for Marcus. But she didn’t see him.
* * *
Marcus stood at the entrance to the ballroom, watching the crowd settle into their seats. From across the room, he saw Diana at the table with her friend, Trish, and three other women. He shook the hands of several men and women he’d done business with over the years and congratulated them on the good work they had been doing.
Although he was supposed to be at the table with Reynaldo and representing his company and his father at the award ceremony, an event where a bunch of rich men and women congratulated each other on the amount of money they were able to write off by tossing peanuts to one cause or another, Marcus was exactly where he wanted to be: watching Diana.
Why did he find her so damn interesting? Marcus asked himself the question as he took in the slender shape of her inclined in a listening pose toward the older woman seated at her table. It could have been that air of innocence about her. The way it made him want to pull her into a dark corner and find out if her lips were as soft as they looked.
“Marcus!”
Reynaldo’s voice pulled him from his reverie. The slender, dark-haired man appeared at Marcus’s side in his tuxedo, black bow tie against his gleaming white shirt. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”
Marcus hadn’t been sure he’d make it either. After a long night and morning at a party in Coconut Grove, he hadn’t been in the mood for anything more than his bed. But responsibility had kicked in. He shrugged off his exhaustion, showered and looked over his secretary’s notes about what was supposed to happen at the event. The Prism Gala was a good PR opportunity for Sacrum Holdings. His donations to their various charities made his company look good and made him look good.
“The committee appreciates your presence,” Reynaldo said. “And I do as well.”
“Of course.” Marcus nodded and shook the man’s hand. “Where are we sitting?”
The VP showed him to a table near the front of the room, a brief walk through the large ballroom that felt like a parade. How many CEOs had shown up to see one of their executives honored? Marcus knew he was one of the few and was being looked at positively as a result. The members of the Prism committee may be a tight-assed lot, but they were also very powerful. You never know when you might need a favor, Marcus thought as he unbuttoned his blazer and sank into the plush chair at Reynaldo’s side.
The ceremony began shortly after they sat, with the music winding all the way down and the conversations tapering off as the host, an excited-looking woman in her mid-forties, Sheila Beck, made her way to the stage and took the microphone. Marcus relaxed in his seat, bracing his elbows on top of the table as he looked around the crowded ballroom.
It was a sea of sameness. Tuxedos, gray dresses and black dresses, pearls, jewels, the occasional flare of a pale blue or green dress, the women for the most part keeping to the traditional muted tones, even though this was Miami. Marcus had no respect for such boring presentation.
Instead of traditional black tie, he wore what he wanted. A red handkerchief in the pocket of his black blazer, the white button-down shirt open at the collar. Black jeans and high-top Jordans. Needlessly rebellious, he knew, but it made him feel better about being trapped indoors for something like this when he’d rather be out making money or playing on his boat.
His eyes found Diana a few tables back. She was watching him. He grinned but she quickly looked away, fiddling with her earring. When he failed to compel her to look at him again through the power of his stare alone, he turned his attention back to the ceremony.
Sheila Beck and her fellow committee members put on a good show. Lively and fast. Reynaldo received his award to much applause while Sacrum Holdings was unexpectedly honored as one of the most environmentally sound companies in Miami. Instead of leaving like he’d originally planned, Marcus sat in his seat, held prisoner by the slim possibility that Diana would go somewhere with him after the ceremony.
Applause. Speeches. The apparent surprise award to one of the women sitting at Diana’s table—a gray-haired woman with more style than half the women in the room, although she did wear the least offensive color imaginable. Marcus took note of the organization, the woman’s name and the fact that she took her time as she grasped the crystal statuette in hands that shook. The woman was gracious on the stage, and brief. She thanked each of her staff by name, including Diana Hobbes, who was apparently the assistant executive director of Building Bridges. Interesting.
Building Bridges was one of the nonprofits he donated to every year. Small world.
As soon as the ceremony was over, Marcus made his way over to Diana’s table. Most of the gala’s attendees still lingered in the ballroom, grabbing one last drink from the open bar or rabidly shaking as many well-connected hands as they could.
Diana was still seated and talking quietly with her boss. As Marcus moved toward her, he was struck again by how delicate and delicious she looked. His imagination easily conjured what it would be like to walk up to her and kiss the back of her neck, inhale the evocative scent of her perfume, peel that ice-blue dress from her body. He stopped just behind her chair and greeted the other women around the table with a nod and smile.
“How about that midnight walk on the beach?” he asked, resting his hands on the back of her chair.
Diana drew in a breath of surprise but did not bother to look at him. She glanced instead at her boss and then at her friend Trish, who smirked up at Marcus.
“I can’t,” Diana said. “I have to wrap things up here with Nora,” she said.
Her boss waved a dismissive hand. “No, you don’t. Take a little time to yourself this evening. It’s been a long and hard road to get here. Enjoy yourself.” She gave a naughty grin of her own.
“Yes, please do,” Trish said, staring pointedly at her friend.
“Well, Diana, it looks like the only resistance is you,” he said, finally able to meet her eyes, which were a deep, velvet brown. “I would really enjoy your company tonight.”
“Go ahead, Di,” Trish said. “A night with this one won’t bring an end to your carefully constructed world, I promise.”
Diana flinched as if her friend had touched a nerve. She bit her lip. “Okay,” she said. “But I don’t do the beach.” She allowed him to grasp her hand and help her to her feet.
Marcus smiled at Diana’s boss and at her friend. “Thank you for the encouragement, ladies. Have a wonderful night.”
“You, too,” Trish said with a wink.
Diana made a strangled noise. “I’ll see you on Monday, Nora. I’ll be in early to make sure the photos from tonight are up on the website and the copy is ready for the newsletter and press release.”
Her boss waved her off. “Of course you will.”
Trish stood up and slapped Diana on the butt. “I’ll expect you to give me all the details tonight.”
Marcus laughed. “You ready?”
“Yes,” Diana said, giving her friend the side eye.
He offered her his arm and, after a moment’s hesitation, she took it. With her purse clutched in her hand, she walked out of the ballroom with him.
Plums, he realized after a few moments walking at her side through the thinning crowd. She smelled like rosemary and plums. A delicious and fresh sweetness that he had the sudden urge to sink his teeth into. Marcus licked his lips.
“So,” he said to distract himself from her scent and the imagined flavor she would leave behind on his tongue. “Why don’t you do the beach? You can’t swim?”
“I can swim,” she said. “I just choose not to.”
“Why?”
“I think it’s too early yet for that kind of conversation, don’t you?” She looked at him sideways.
“Not at all,” Marcus said. “The sooner I know what you don’t like and why, the better I can plan our next date. So now I know not to plan a romantic dinner for you on my boat.”
“Oh, God, no!”
A man and a young woman who looked like his mistress were already waiting for the elevator when they got there. The woman was beautifully put together in her tight white dress and red heels, her shoulder-length brown hair the same shade as her skin. But there was something almost desperate in the way she clung to him. Marcus nodded in greeting to both while Diana exchanged smiles with them.
“What about an afternoon on the sand?” Marcus asked, continuing their conversation. “No water, just a picnic and a bottle of wine.”
“No.”
He tipped his head to look down at her in curiosity. “Really?”
When the elevator arrived, Marcus held the door open and waited for both women to get into the car ahead of him. After the other man got in behind him, he pressed the button for the lobby. Classical music played as the car descended toward the main floor. The elevator’s mirrored surfaces reflected the two couples studiously avoiding each other’s eyes.
“So what do you like?” Marcus asked.
“Simple things,” Diana said after a brief glance at the other occupants of the elevator.
Marcus took the opportunity of the silent ride to properly look his fill of Diana Hobbes. The skin like silk. Her large eyes, high cheekbones and sensuous mouth in the face that was straight from his boyhood dreams. Angelic. Kind. But Diana seemed serious. More serious than anyone he ever thought he’d be interested in. But there was something about her wide mouth, about the way she seemed to want him but didn’t want to want him.
The elevator bell announced their floor just before the doors slid open. Marcus guided her toward the front of the hotel and the valet. He gave the blue-jacketed boy his valet ticket and stood aside to wait with Diana while his car was brought around.
It was another warm Miami night. Already, Marcus felt like shrugging off the blazer, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and getting comfortable. In her pale blue dress, Diana already looked comfortable in the heat, even relieved to be out in it.
Inside the hotel, she had been cold. It had been impossible for him not to notice her tight nipples under the thin dress. The hard points had drawn his eyes more than once. And he had hoped she wouldn’t think him rude or a complete pervert for staring at her breasts when he should have been meeting her eyes. His initial impulse had been to give her his blazer, but the primitively male part of him didn’t want to deny himself the sight of her, an ice queen in her glacier-blue dress, with her vulnerable nipples pressing against the cloth.
“So why no water?” he finally asked after they waited in silence for a moment.
“I’ll tell you when we know each other better,” she said with a faint smile.
“Fair enough,” he said. “I look forward to that deepening relationship.”
She looked up at him, meeting his eyes with her cool brown gaze. Something moved in his chest, but he forced himself not to look away.
“Here you are, sir.” The valet appeared beside them, eager and smiling.
“Thank you.” Marcus slipped him a twenty-dollar bill.
He guided Diana toward the passenger side of the silver Mercedes SLR, which already had both doors open. She climbed in with barely a glance at the car, and he shut her door before getting behind the wheel.
“Thank you for coming out with me tonight,” he said. “You won’t regret it.”
She looked at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling faintly. “Is that a promise?”
“Absolutely.” The car started with a delicate purr and slid away from the curb.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_66bfd662-fb25-52e7-b964-929d05645348)
It was late. After the light dinner she’d barely touched at the award ceremony, and after not eating anything prior to the ceremony because she’d been too busy preparing for it, Diana was starving. She snuck a peek at her watch and saw it was already past eleven. Much later than when she would normally eat, but that didn’t make her hunger any less urgent.
In the seat next to her, Marcus looked like the kind of man who lived most of his life after dark. He seemed all energy and sophistication. One of those men she’d heard about who populated Miami like sand on the beach. But despite living in Miami all her life, this was her first chance to meet one of his breed.
“Are we going out for food?” she asked with a touch of eagerness.
“Yes,” he said, briefly moving his eyes from the road to flash her a smile. “A simple place.”
She raised an eyebrow, remembering the words she had said to him while at the hotel. Yes, she liked simple things. But she sensed a man like Marcus did not. His money afforded him the world—what could he know about the plain ways to make a woman like her happy?
She was counting on that to kill her attraction to him even though, as she sat in his car rich with the smell of new leather, her skin felt nearly electric at his presence. She watched him without him being aware of it, noting again his luscious deep-brown complexion, sculpted mouth, golden eyes that were narrow and short-lashed beneath his prominent brow. His hair was neatly cut, an attractive and undoubtedly expensive style, and his clothes screamed money.
And he was going to take her somewhere simple? Diana’s mouth twitched as she wondered if he even knew what simple was.
Marcus skillfully navigated the car through the streets of downtown Miami, across the bridge that afforded an incredible view of the water lit with lights. Diana sighed. Although she hated the water, the view of Miami at night never ceased to awe her. It was one of the most beautiful cities she’d ever seen, packed with gorgeous people, good food and wine and incredible experiences just waiting to be sampled.
The car pulled up in front of a restaurant that had a line of people waiting to get in that extended halfway down the block. A valet approached the car, opening Marcus’s door and then Diana’s. They got out and he gave the slim woman in a fitted tuxedo outfit the keys to the Mercedes.
Marcus slid the valet ticket into his pants pocket. Then, almost as an afterthought, he shrugged off his blazer and threw it in the backseat of the car. He thanked the valet, then walked with Diana to the back of the long line.
* * *
As Marcus joined her in line, Diana looked at him in surprise and admiration. She’d expected him to approach the front of the line and demand to be seated immediately. Her estimation of him rose.
“What is this place?” she asked
“This is Gillespie’s,” he said. “A nice and simple lounge where we can have a bite to eat, get to know each other and spend the evening together without being on the water.”
She didn’t rise to the teasing bait in his voice. “Sounds nice,” she murmured, amused despite herself.
“I hope you’ll think so when we get in.”
As they waited in line, Diana noticed that a few newcomers left their expensive cars and headed directly to the door, expecting star treatment. But they didn’t get it. People already waiting gave each other knowing looks as the newcomers were directed to the back of the line.
A couple of D-list movie stars were up ahead of her and Marcus. A musician whose song was on rotation on Top 40 stations. And many women who looked like models, tall and haughty with beautifully applied makeup and rich-looking men on their arms.
The line moved quickly, and it wasn’t long before they were inside. Gillespie’s turned out to be more than a restaurant; it was also a lounge and jazz bar. A moody piano played over the speakers, audible through the voices riding the air, setting a sophisticated and mellow mood. Diana liked it right away. The hostess, a gorgeous brown-skinned woman with her long hair twisted in a bun, showed them to a table upstairs that overlooked the stage.
The delicious smell of food wove through the restaurant. As Diana opened her menu, a waiter walked past with a cast-iron skillet sizzling with a mixture of green peppers, onions and shrimp. Diana’s stomach growled. She blushed and looked up at Marcus. He was watching her.
“You’re not looking at the menu,” she said.
“I already know what I want.” His steady look made it clear exactly what he was talking about.
The heat in her face burned even hotter, but she kept her voice level. “The only thing you’ll have in your mouth tonight is listed right there.” She dipped her head toward the closed menu in front of him.
“That sounds very discouraging,” he said with a low laugh.
“I’m just letting you know not to expect anything more than dinner tonight.”
He shrugged. “The pleasure of your company is all I need.”
She rolled her eyes and lifted the menu to look at the offerings. It wasn’t long before their waitress appeared. Marcus placed his order still without looking at the menu. After a hesitating moment, Diana ordered something that looked decent but wasn’t too expensive.
She didn’t want him thinking that just because he paid for a fifty-dollar steak, he was entitled to lay her on her back at the end of the night. Although she worked in the nonprofit world and often relied on rich men and women to keep the good work of the foundation going, she knew all too well that most of them would commodify any woman if given the chance. If they wanted her, those rich people assumed she had a price. Granted, she’d never felt the delicate thrums of attraction for one of them before.
“Why don’t you trust me?” he asked.
“Who said I don’t trust you?” She looked at him with studied innocence.
He chuckled, tilting his head to look at her with his brilliant eyes. “I like you, Diana. I enjoy your company. If at any point you don’t like what’s going on tonight, you can just get up and go. I’ll call you a taxi and that will be that.”
His kindness suddenly made her feel ridiculous. She took a sip of the champagne he’d ordered for them and looked around the restaurant. On stage, a woman had joined the pianist, singing a soulful version of Nina Simone’s “My Baby Just Cares for Me.”
Looking down at the performance, she realized that most of the crowd was actually paying attention to the music, pausing their conversations and their meals to watch the woman with a head of blazing red hair vamp it up while her husky and sensual voice made an invitation out of the song.
“I like it here,” she said after a few minutes watching the singer. “Thank you for bringing me.”
“You’re welcome.”
After their meal came, they sat in a comfortable quiet, allowing the music to fill the spaces between them. The food—a creamy onion soup rich with the taste of butter and garlic, and seared scallops simmered in orange butter and served on a bed of edamame and quinoa—was delicious, probably one of the best meals she’d ever eaten.
Marcus offered to share his braised lamb shank served with red cabbage and gorgeous golden polenta. She declined but watched him eat his meal with obvious pleasure, slowly savoring each bite and licking his lips before taking a sip of the wine.
After the waitress took their dinner plates away, they sat back with drinks to enjoy the performances on the stage. Diana sipped her champagne, sweetly relaxed in her chair as she turned her head to listen to the delicate, intertwined voices of the twin girls, no older than teenagers, who were singing now. She felt Marcus’s eyes on her, a gentle weight, but she did not look up.
“Dance with me,” he said.
In that moment, she couldn’t imagine saying no to him. He guided her to the dance floor near the main stage, where there were only a dozen or so people already dancing. Marcus opened his arms, and she stepped into them.
The twins sang a slow and lulling version of “Blue Gardenia,” one of them sitting on the edge of the stage with her cordless microphone while the other swayed on her feet in front of the corded mic, her voice wrapping the room in a velvet curtain of sound. Their voices were low and deep, surprising for such small girls. Diana tried to focus on them instead of the man whose arms were wrapped around her.
Unlike the last time they danced, she felt an intimacy between them, their bodies moving in slow communion to the strains of the jazz song. He smelled solid and warm, spicy, like cedar and sandalwood.
She pulled his scent into her, unable to help herself. He didn’t pull her into him and force his crotch into hers, only held her delicately, allowing their bodies to come close during the song, then drift back apart. They swayed, and she smelled him. They turned, and his warmth flowed over her. His hand pressed into the small of her back while his thighs brushed against hers during the dance. A whisper of his breath moved at her ear.
“You are beautiful,” he murmured.
And God help her, she believed him.
She slipped her arms around his neck and moved closer, a little horrified that she was so susceptible to flattery. But it felt good that this handsome man thought she was beautiful and wanted to spend time with her. She was enjoying his company. When the song ended, they kept dancing by silent agreement, moving even more slowly as the singers took on a Sade song, “Lover’s Rock.”
Their hips swayed together. Flutters of arousal moved through Diana’s belly, made her skin tingle whenever it touched his. She knew she should be worried, that she should move away from him and regain control of herself, but it felt too good. His touch. The music. The desire winding around them like a silken ribbon.
The song ended and Marcus slid his hands around her waist, pressed his mouth to her forehead.
“I want to kiss you,” he murmured.
She trembled at the urgency in his voice. Her hands tightened for a moment on his shoulders. Her body was hot with the need for that kiss. “Not here,” she said, not sure how she would react to his touch in front of all those people.
He pulled back, took her hand and drew her through the thin crowd of dancers. Down a quiet, wood-paneled hallway. The smell of cigars and wood smoke. Emptiness. He pressed her against the wall, hips against hers, hands planted on either side of her head. His mouth swooped down, lightly touching hers and sweetly asking permission.
Diana parted her lips with a sigh. A sound of pure masculine pleasure rumbled through him as they kissed. Mouths fiercely joined, tongues twining together. He touched her hips, hands hard and warm on her. Arousal rippled through her. She sank her nails into his back through the thin shirt and he made another rough sound, then shoved his hips into hers.
What are you doing?
A part of her rebelled against what she was falling into. But the rest of her rejoiced. She squeezed her thighs together as the arousal built. He licked her mouth, sucking on her tongue, sending a molten feeling straight into her lap. She wanted his hands on her. She wanted him inside her. But...but that couldn’t happen. She wasn’t that kind of girl.
Diana forced herself to pull away from him, palms pressed to his chest, easing away to dim the fires of the sudden and consuming desire.
“Christ! You’re so damn sexy....” He breathed the words against her mouth.
“You’re not so bad yourself.” She bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from inviting him home with her. It had been so long since she’d been with a man she was attracted to like this, a man who was attracted to her in return. Diana dug her fingers into his biceps.
“I want to spend the night with you,” he rasped.
She shook her head, but before the words could pass her lips, he squeezed her waist. “Not like that. Well, I’d like that, but I would settle for seeing the sunrise with you.” He said it as if surprised by the desire. By her. “I want to make the night last.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “Yes. I want that, too.”
He looked relieved. “Good.”
As they walked back to the table, her phone vibrated through her purse. She thought about ignoring it, but the years of being the responsible one in her family wore her down. She took out the phone.
It was a text from her brother, Jason. She already had a missed call from him. His car had broken down somewhere in Coconut Grove, and he wanted her to come get him.
Diana’s jaw tightened as she read her brother’s message. There was no way she could ignore it. But with the fires of possibility burning between her and Marcus, she was tempted to. She bit back a groan of disappointment.
“I have to go,” she said as they got to their table.
Marcus looked at her in surprise, and she winced. Why tonight, of all nights, did Jason need her? If she didn’t know any better, she’d think her brother knew she was this close to finally getting some and wanted to screw things up for her.
Marcus put money on the table for their bill. “I’ll take you back to your car.” She saw disappointment on his face, a naked and vulnerable look, but he didn’t say anything else.
“It’s my brother,” she said softly, feeling the need to explain about her sudden exit. Diana shrugged. “I have to go to him.”
“Family is important,” Marcus said. He pulled her into him, kissed her lightly on the mouth, then pressed briefly into her as if he wanted and needed more. “You don’t have to explain.”
She was glad for his understanding, but she wanted to scream. Her brother knew he could count on her for so much that he often turned to her instead of taking care of the simplest things himself. Like this. Why hadn’t he called AAA and used the membership she had gotten him a couple of years ago when he’d first gone off to college? She sighed quietly and wrapped a hand around Marcus’s solid arm, compelled to touch him even if it was in the most innocuous way.
“Thank you,” she said.
“No. Thank you for coming out with me tonight. I know you had other plans.”
“This is much better than the night I had planned. There definitely was no unlimited champagne at the office.”
He smiled. “If you want, I can take care of that for you. I can arrange for a Dom Perignon fountain at your desk so you can think of me every time the bubbles hit your tongue.”
His words made her flush with reaction. They made her recall the recent taste of him on her tongue. The twisting shaft of heat that had flared into her as his tongue stroked her mouth. She lifted a hand to toy with her earring, a distraction from reaching out to touch him, to pull him back to that dark corner of the restaurant for more kisses. More everything.
“That’s a little too decadent for me,” she said when she could finally speak again.
“I’m sure you’d get used to it fast.” He was talking about something else, seducing her, and she was allowing it to happen.
Diana grabbed her purse more tightly, cleared her throat. If she stayed in his presence any longer, she just might let her brother fend for himself. “Are you ready?”
At her car in the hotel parking garage, Diana fought the feeling of regret. She didn’t want to leave Marcus. But instead of dwelling on what could not happen, she got on her tiptoes to share a good-night kiss with him. A sweet, lingering kiss.
“I want to see you again,” he said, his arms wrapped tightly around her.
A warmth grew in her belly at his tone. It was a heady feeling, knowing that he wanted her. No other man had ever been that passionate about being in her company; none had shown such urgency and desire for her. It was flattering. And sexy beyond belief.
Diana gave him her number. “Call me,” she said.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” He slipped his cell phone back into his pocket. “Or maybe later on tonight.”
Diana kissed his mouth again, pulling back before he could deepen their contact, then she opened her car door. “Talk with you soon.”
“Count on it.” Marcus stepped back, sliding his hands in his pants pockets.
Under the bright lights of the garage, he was even more handsome. Golden-brown skin. The top lip of his full mouth thinner than the lower. His face sculpted and regal like the statue of an Egyptian pharaoh she’d once seen on the History channel.
Diana forced her gaze away from him. She climbed into her Nissan SUV before she could change her mind, started her car with trembling hands and drove away.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_8d73bbd6-27ff-594f-9632-94d8706ea538)
Diana rolled over in bed, her short yellow nightgown twisting around her torso, tugging at her breasts. Still mostly asleep, she bit her lip and kept her eyes closed as the sensation of being bound in her clothes meshed with the fantasies playing behind her eyelids. Marcus kissing her. His body pinning hers to the bed while his hand slipped between her thighs.
Her lashes fluttered open, her lips parted, her thighs pressed together as she conjured Marcus. His golden eyes. His kiss. How she had not wanted the previous night to end. As she remembered how he had caressed her sensitive nape during their slow and intense kiss, she squirmed against the sheets.
Another movie flickered behind her eyelids. Marcus sliding his hands under her dress as he pressed her against the wall at Gillespie’s. His masculinity hot and hard against her belly, his tongue sweet in her mouth.
The phone rang then, jolting her against the bed. At first, she ignored it, savoring the remnants of the dream. Then her eyes flew open.
What if it was Marcus calling?
She jumped up and ran toward the urgent ringing from the kitchen counter. But by the time she got to the phone, the ringer stopped. She looked at the screen.
It had been her mother. She didn’t even think about calling her back.
With a drag to her step, she walked through her bedroom to the bathroom. There, she used the toilet, washed her hands and stared at her lips in the mirror, imagining they were still swollen from last night’s passionate kisses.
Last night. Marcus. Her brother’s interruption.
She sighed, abruptly feeling her body’s exhaustion.
Diana leaned heavily against the sink. Between her brother’s call for help, his rambling conversation afterward and her preoccupation with her date with Marcus, she should be dead to the waking world. But she was wide awake, eagerly anticipating Marcus’s call.
Last night, in more ways than one, she had not been pleased. After driving through the congested streets of Coconut Grove, she found her brother with his foot propped against a fire hydrant, the blinkers of his rusty old Buick flashing, the hood up. But he was talking to a woman. Some pretty young thing in a short skirt and with a glint of gold in her mouth.
Diana waited with Jason until the tow truck came, followed the truck to the mechanic’s, then drove her brother home to his little one-bedroom apartment in the middle of the Black Grove. And, of course, she hadn’t been able to simply drop him off. He wanted her to come in for a drink, to take a seat on his ratty sofa and talk about their mother, about life, even the field trip he and other budding marine biologists at the university had taken earlier that week. By the time Diana had staggered home, it was after five o’clock in the morning.
Barely three hours later, she was, unfortunately, very awake. With her cell phone in hand—she could almost convince herself she wasn’t waiting for Marcus’s call—she walked through her small house, the tiles cool under her bare feet. In the kitchen, she put the ingredients for her morning smoothie in the blender.
She was swallowing a second mouthful when the phone rang. A surge of anticipation darted through her as she grabbed the phone.
But it wasn’t Marcus. It was her mother. Again.
“Good morning, Mama.” She tried her best not to sound disappointed as she sagged against the counter.
“Diana, what were you thinking?” Cheryl Hobbes-Freeman’s angry voice snapped at her through the phone.
“What?”
“I’m looking at you in the paper. How could you?”
“How could I what?” She set her glass on the kitchen counter, confused. What was her mother talking about now? “Slow down and explain yourself, Mama. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Although she didn’t know what this latest problem was, Diana could easily picture her mother’s ruffled state. Hands wildly gesturing as she walked the circular path of her backyard garden. Surrounded by her tall hibiscus bushes and towering bright red ginger plants, her slender figure already dressed in a T-shirt and cropped pants despite the early hour. The only concession to the morning would be that her always neatly pressed silver hair was still wrapped in a silk scarf from the night before.
“The newspaper!” her mother said shrilly, her voice rising through the phone. She lived all the way in Hialeah, but the way her tone cut, she might as well have been standing in Diana’s kitchen. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it.”
She heaved a sigh, even after all this time not fully able to deal with her mother’s dramatics. Jason got a B in Chemistry—complain to the principal! Her sister, Luna, was five minutes late from school—call the police! Diana looked around her brightly lit kitchen, the pristine cream countertops, the curtains open to let in the brilliant sunshine. She silently fought against the infection of her mother’s mania.
“My paper just came, but I haven’t read it,” she said.
“Get the paper,” her mother commanded. “Open it to the society page.”
Society page? Her mother only bought the Sunday Herald for the mountains of coupons she could get her hands on. Remarried to a man who happily supported her, she didn’t need to clip coupons. But it gave her something to do with her days aside from gardening and talking on the phone to each of her three children at least once a week. Children she only saw every six months or so by mutual agreement.
Diana opened the paper. As she turned to the page, her mother practically shouted into her ear.
“Do you see it? Do you?”
The paper had photos from the previous night’s party. The headline read Prism Luminaries Shine at Annual Miami Philanthropists’ Gala.
The headline said just about the same thing every year. The photos and article about the gala took up all the first page of the society section. It had pictures of the women’s dresses, their jewelry, a rundown of who was who, which man was single and which couples looked radiant that night. Diana skimmed over the words to the photos. And froze.
Someone had taken a photo of her and Marcus. To be fair, it wasn’t just of them, there were four other couples, too, because the paper seemed to be especially focused on speculating about the marriage situation of each pair pictured. The camera had caught her after the party, of course. She was in front of the hotel and in midstep, Marcus’s hand on the small of her back as he guided her into his gleaming silver car.
It was a lucky shot. The photographer had caught her looking up at Marcus, a half smile on her lips while his face was seriousness itself, filled with a suave confidence that she’d fought against nearly the entire night. Nothing was scandalous about their pose, although it was obvious they were leaving the gala and heading somewhere together. Under their photo, a suggestive caption showed the newspaper had done its research: Miami billionaire playboy and business mogul Marcus Stanfield escorts Diana Hobbes, assistant executive director of local nonprofit Building Bridges, from the gala and off to a night on the town.
Diana touched the grainy surface of the paper that memorialized what had happened between her and Marcus last night. She didn’t see what was wrong with the photograph. It wasn’t as if the papers had speculated that she and Marcus were dashing off from the party to have a wild night of sex.
“Mother—” She made her voice placating.
“You don’t know who he is, do you?”
“He’s just Marcus, Mama. I met him last night.” Diana was getting irritated at her mother’s suggestion that she had done something wrong, that she should already know what that thing was and be groveling on her knees because of it.
“Turn the page,” her mother snapped.
On the next page, the reporters were done with the frivolous details of the Prism Gala and now talked about the powerful people there, their money and their business deals. There was another photo of Marcus, this time taken with another man. The two men had been caught side by side, in mid-conversation at what could have been a cocktail party. Marcus had a glass of dark liquor in his hand while the other man was caught in midgesture, his empty hands chopping the air. The other man was older, a couple of inches shorter than Marcus and wore power like his own skin. He was handsome but coldly so—his harder face was all too familiar to Diana. Her eyes dipped lower on the page to read the caption under the photograph: Power runs in the family. Multibillionaire businessman Quentin Stanfield and his son, Marcus.
She sagged against the counter. Marcus was Quentin Stanfield’s son? Diana made a strangled noise. “But—but...”
“But nothing!” her mother shouted. “That man who had his hands all over you last night is his son. That bastard who ruined your father and drove him to shove that gun in his mouth.”
Diana shook her head in denial. No, he couldn’t be. Their night had been too perfect. He had been perfect.
“You can’t see him again,” her mother said.
Something caught in Diana’s throat. “No, I...I won’t.” She swallowed. “Listen, Mama. I have to go now. I have something I need to do.”
Her mother’s tone instantly changed. “Are you all right?” She abruptly swung from manic to reasonable in a head-spinning moment, something else Diana had never gotten used to.
“It’s not because of what I said, is it?” Her voice was muffled, as if she was pressing her mouth too close to the phone. “If that’s what it is, you only met him last night. It should be easy to toss this one back.” Her mother paused. “He’s a bad seed, baby. Just like Quentin Stanfield. You don’t have to end up like your father because of him.”
Diana wanted to tell her mother how ridiculous and unlikely it was for her to end up like her father. Suicide at the age of forty-two had left behind three children and a mentally precarious wife. No one could do that to her, but because of what his father had done, she couldn’t see Marcus again. She just couldn’t.
Her fingers curled into the edge of the kitchen counter. “I’m fine, Mama. I just woke up too soon, that’s all. I’m going to get off the phone now. I’ll talk with you later, okay?”
“Okay. But call me. Otherwise I’m coming over.”
But they both knew how idle that threat was. Her mother had created a stable life with her second husband and rarely left her house.
Diana could only nod as she clutched the phone to her ear. She stared down at the newspaper with the photo of Marcus and his father. The two men looked nothing alike. Nothing. But that didn’t prevent the truth from being what it was. Quentin Stanfield had killed her father as surely as if he had put the gun in Washington Hobbes’s mouth and pulled the trigger himself.
She slowly put the phone down, seeing in her mind’s eye her clinically depressed and suicidal father walk out of their house for the last time. Cheated out of his pension and unable to work, Washington Hobbes had only seen one route to escape his troubles. And it was a route Quentin Stanfield had shown him.
Because of this, Diana couldn’t have anything to do with his son.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_d987f9af-e9ac-5ac8-8c51-850b0b061f35)
Marcus woke late for his own party. By the time he roused himself from his bed, practiced his tai chi and made it outside for the brunch festivities, it was well past two in the afternoon. But his efficient staff had worked their usual miracle, creating a shaded oasis on the grass with tables, tents to shade his fifty plus guests from the sun and more food and drinks than they could reasonably consume while a DJ played smooth R&B from the raised stage. Maxwell, fresh from his recent European tour, stood by the side of the pool, shades over his face, while a few groupies and members of his entourage gathered around him. He was set to perform after brunch.
Biscayne Bay glimmered in the afternoon brightness, its waters splashing with a soft and soothing sound against his tethered yacht and the dock. A small boat floated past the house in the water, its sails a sharp whiteness against the Miami cityscape.
Marcus was chill—mellow and relaxed from his night with Diana. And although his body had been primed to have sex with her, in the light of morning, he still felt satisfied. Refreshed. Her effect on him was damn near miraculous.
But he knew he should leave her alone. She was nothing like the cotton-candy women who floated in and out of his bed, glad for a taste of the luxurious life before they went on to something else. Diana was serious and passionate, and eventually she would want something from him. Something he couldn’t give.
For now, though, he ached to get his hands on her again.
Standing on the pool deck, Marcus stretched under the bright sun, felt the thick muscles in his back flex and release under his shirt and his abs tighten, pecs leaping and settling with his movements. He released a long breath. It was already a good day.
“Are you showing off that sexy manliness just for us?” A vaguely familiar voice broke into his thoughts. He turned from his view of the bay to see a woman he’d once spent a long weekend with. Cassandra something. Or was it Christina?
She was a pretty girl with long, loose black hair, wearing a red bikini top and tiny shorts. She had a friend with her—a blonde with a short, asymmetrical haircut but otherwise similar to his former playmate. Her white bikini showed off well-augmented breasts and a flat stomach decorated with a diamond belly ring.
Marcus knew he once thought Cassandra/Christina was gorgeous, definitely sexy enough to invite into his bed, but compared to Diana’s understated elegance, both women looked like they were trying too hard.
“Not this time,” he said in response to the question.
“Why, honey? We’d love to see what you’ve got to show.” She approached him with a bold look on her face, wetting her lips.
Her friend was a little more cautious, but he could see from the way they were looking at him what was on their mind. Not long ago he would have taken them up on their offer, but he wasn’t interested. Marcus stepped back and jerked his head toward Maxwell, who was laughing with a couple of guys from the band.
“I’m not feeling that today,” Marcus said. “But maybe the star could use some love.”
The friend shook her head, bangs fluttering down over one eye. “We already tried. We’d have to get in line.” The woman’s eyes drifted over Marcus’s body, then settled for a long moment at his crotch before meeting his eyes. “The line is shorter over here.”
Marcus was instantly repelled. “Sounds like a nice offer,” he said sardonically. “But I’m not taking any applications today. It’s all about the party and Maxwell.”
She bit her lip, still looking him over. “That’s too bad.”
Cassandra/Christina pressed her luck, too. “Come on, Marcus.” She stepped close to him, slid a hand under his shirt and touched his bare stomach. “We can spend some time in the pool house, all three of us. Then maybe go shopping in the morning.” The muscles of his belly clenched at her touch, and he just barely stopped himself from shoving her hand away.
“Like I said before, no, thanks.” Then he removed her hand from under his shirt and walked away.
* * *
By six he was ready for everyone to leave. But, of course, they were just getting started. Women were already swimming naked in the pool while half the party danced on the long patio to the DJ’s sounds. All Marcus wanted to do was talk to Diana.
When he finally got a free moment, he took his phone from his pocket, walked away from the sounds of the party and dialed Diana’s number. But Marcus got her voice mail. He called her three more times throughout the evening but never reached her.
By the time the party ended at nearly six in the morning, he was half wondering if she’d given him the right number. But it was her voice that greeted him each time.
Bleary from alcohol and not enough sleep, he called the private detective he kept on retainer and asked for everything about Diana. Her address, all her phone numbers, where she worked, even her parents’ information. Tomorrow, he would find her.
* * *
Marcus pulled up to the large, white, two-story Craftsman house that looked newly built, a graceful building that stood out like a swan among the older, weathered ugly-duckling houses on the street. The house’s only resemblance to its neighbors was the presence of black “burglar” bars over every one of its wide windows. A sign nearly as tall as the house itself with the words Building Bridges stenciled across it in dark blue stood proudly in the front yard.
The neighborhood held the quiet of late morning. It was too early for the kids to be out of school, too early even for the lunch crowd that would walk the streets to the nearby corner store. Not far from the building, a group of boys leaned against a front gate. Their pants sagged and hair was knotted up in dreadlocks, and most of them wore the uniform of backward baseball cap, white undershirt and oversize shorts.
Marcus gave them a nod as he strode toward Building Bridges, pocketing the keys to his car. Three empty rocking chairs waited to be filled on the front porch of the immaculate house. The wooden floors of the porch gleamed with polish, and a bronze mailbox sat just above the doorbell. Marcus rang the bell and waited. A young woman appeared in the doorway.
She was slender and short with skin the soft brown of the outside of a coconut. The girl had her hair pulled back in a ponytail that emphasized her doe eyes and rounded cheeks. Wearing a white blouse, black skirt and sensible shoes, she looked like she belonged in a Catholic high school. Or maybe middle school.
“Good morning.” She greeted him with a smile, pushing wide the screen door. Marcus caught the edge of the door and held it open.
“Good morning.” He smiled back at her. “Is Diana Hobbes working today?”
“Of course!” The girl looked even more pleased, as if she was glad he had asked for Diana in particular. “She’s always working.” She shoved the screen door wider for him to step through. “Come in.”
She introduced herself as Carla as he followed her inside. He gave her his name in return.
Marcus stepped into an open hallway with stairs on the right leading to the second level of the building. Whereas the exterior of the building was a crisp white, the interior was an explosion of color. Each wall was painted a different shade, and the tile floors gleamed black.
The house buzzed with activity and conversation, excited and urgent. A pair of women rushed past him and up the stairs as they volleyed words. Their heels clacked against the stairs. From behind the pastel-green wall, he heard the whispering of printers and fingers tapping against keyboards. Very faintly, a radio or stereo played smooth jazz.
“Sorry!” Carla said as she sat behind the reception desk in the wide hallway. She scooted her chair closer to the desk. “It’s been a little crazy since Prism this weekend. We didn’t expect to win at all, and now we barely know what to do with ourselves.” She grinned.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He knew that a Prism award also came with ten thousand dollars donated toward the winning foundation’s operating costs.
“We’re very excited!” Carla clapped her hands. “Are you here to take Diana out to celebrate?”
“That wasn’t the plan, but I’m open to that.” He returned the young woman’s grin. “The company of a beautiful woman like Diana would make my day even better.”
“It would!” The young woman leaned toward him and filled their shared space with the scent of bubble gum and hot chocolate. “She is such an amazing person,” Carla said. “Always working long hours, even after everyone else is gone. She’s tireless. If you ask me, I think she’s the person bringing in most of our donations.” She said all these things as if confessing a secret. “And she deserves a nice lunch.”
Just then, he caught a glimpse of Diana upstairs. A flash of her long legs in pale green high heels, the swish of a black skirt. A ruffled blouse the same color as her shoes. Her high heels tapped against the tiled floor as she walked across the wide space and disappeared into an office. She looked busy and professional. Like temptation itself. He wanted to pull her into his arms to kiss her breathless.
“There she is,” he said, inclining his head in Diana’s direction.
“Just give me a few minutes while I call her down. I’m sure she’d love to talk with you.”
He abruptly made a decision. “No, no. Don’t disturb her. It was a personal matter. I can reach her at home where she’ll have a little more time.” Diana, unlike other women he was used to dealing with, had important things to do, a job she loved. He didn’t want to be selfish and pull her away from that, even for a moment. His pursuit could wait until the evening. “You don’t have to tell her that I stopped by.”
“Are you sure?” Carla asked. “I’m sure she could use a break. She’s been here since seven this morning.”
“No, it’s fine.” Decision made, Marcus reached out to shake the young woman’s hand. “Thank you for your time, Carla. I appreciate you taking a few moments out of your day to talk with me.”
“You’re welcome.” Her smile was just about blinding.
He felt her eyes on his back as he let himself out. Marcus turned to look back at the building’s plain facade that was not at all indicative of its interior, not unlike Diana. Then he turned to walk back to his car. As he closed the gate behind him, one of the young men gathered a couple of houses away called out to him.
“Nice car, man.”
“Thanks.” Marcus tipped his head in the young man’s direction, then after looking again at Diana’s building, got in the Mercedes and drove away.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_03e3f470-ce11-5b5f-b2db-62c96194deba)
Diana unlocked her front door and walked inside, briefcase and mail in hand. She was emotionally exhausted. The day at work had been long—not because of the actual work but because the entire time she had fielded speculating looks and questions about Marcus Stanfield. It seemed as if the entire office knew she had left the Prism party with him. Or maybe they read the society pages, like her mother.
But no matter how much she’d told her boss, her secretary, even Trish, that the night with Marcus would lead to nothing, they didn’t seem to believe her.
She dropped her briefcase on the couch and the mail on the coffee table and kicked off her shoes. In the kitchen, her eyes went to the newspaper she’d left on the counter. It was open to the photograph of Marcus and his father. A reminder.
She passed the paper and grabbed a pitcher of juice instead of the margarita she really wanted. Marcus. Even though she was determined to dismiss him from her mind, he crept into her consciousness again and again.
At work, as she sat at her desk going over the financial reports, the memory of his kiss had nearly overwhelmed her. His full mouth on hers. The hot crush of his body pressing her into the wall at Gillespie’s. During lunch, while she sprinkled the packet of dried cranberries and almonds over her salad, she remembered the sound of his voice in her ear. How he had said her name. And the night. The night before had been plagued by dreams of what might have been. Hotter kisses. The cool sheets at her back and his muscled body at her front as he made love to her.
Diana drew a quick breath. The universe was a cruel place, she thought. Why else would the only man she’d been interested in in months also be the same one whose father had driven hers to suicide? Her hand tightened around the glass as she thought of her father, a powerfully built but emotionally delicate man who had left his family more wrecked after his suicide than Quentin Stanfield had with his trickery and lies.
The sound of the doorbell jolted her from her thoughts. She put down her half-finished juice and went to see who it was.
“Damn, I’ve been out here forever!” Her brother stood on her front step, hands in his pockets, a crooked smile on his handsome face that looked so much like their father’s. “You have a man in there?”
In faded jeans and a T-shirt with a drawing of Darwin’s ape-to-man evolution as stick figures, Jason looked very much as she’d seen him a few hours before. Full of energy. In complete possession of their father’s wide-shouldered, copper-skinned masculine beauty. Unconquerable. Like he’d just woken up from spending the night with the gold-toothed girl he’d met in Coconut Grove.
Diana briefly wondered if she had been so optimistic about the world when she was in college. As quickly as the thought came, she dismissed it. In college, she had been worried about her family. About providing for them and making sure that her mother’s emotional health remained strong. About the regret she had for going to a Miami college instead of the university in Madrid.
Diana opened the door wider for her brother and invited him in. “What’s up, Jason?” She didn’t even bother to address his comment about her having a man in her house. He’d only rung the bell once.
“Can I borrow your car for a while?” He passed her at the door, dropping a kiss on her cheek before flopping down on her couch and throwing his feet up on her coffee table. Right on top of her mail.
She looked at him. After a brief staring contest, he took his feet from the coffee table and dropped them to the floor with a solid thump.
“So can you lend me the car?” He gave her his puppy-dog face. “You walk to work every day, and the grocery store is just down the street.”
Her house was on the very edge of a neighborhood that had been gentrified only a few years before. The explosion of high-rent condos, gourmet markets, eateries, dry cleaners and accompanying high taxes hadn’t completely pushed out the original residents. At least not yet.
“That’s not the point, Jason. What if I need to go to South Beach or something? It’s not like I only go to work and the grocery store. My life is a little bigger than that.” But not by much.

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