by Leslie Kelly
Eve frowned. His manner was friendly, his words modest. So far, he was gorgeous, he was successful, and he was charming. God, she wanted to gag. It was a downright shame she had to break this man's heart. Of course, she hadn't found out yet if he had one. It would certainly make her task more difficult if she found out he was as heartless as most American women made him out to be.
"Eve, will you wait here for a minute? I want to talk to Jamie and make sure he got the shots we need," Diana said.
Eve caught the, "You go girl" expression in Diana's eyes as the other woman walked away. Left alone in the corner of the large studio with her quarry, Eve pondered her next move.
The prey, however, had other ideas.
"It was nice meeting you, Miss Barret. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go grab a cup of coffee."
Sam wondered what kind of idiot he was to walk away from the striking vamp staring up at him with a limpid expression in her huge blue eyes. But he just couldn't feign interest. He should never have let Diana introduce him. Eve Barret would have been much better left in his imagination, where he could have dreamed she had a brain to go with the killer body, a personality to match the angel's face. Unfortunately, it appeared, she had neither.
"Wait!" the woman said, clutching his sleeve before he could turn away. Sam paused, but she didn't continue. Her eyes darted around nervously, as if she didn't know what she wanted to say.
Finally, the woman swayed slightly on her feet. Sam instinctively reached out to steady her, and found his palm sliding right between the terrycloth robe and her silk nightgown. His hand came to rest on her hip. He was unable to resist lightly sliding his fingers over the fabric, caressing her before he knew he was going to do it. "Are you all right?"
"I'm a little faint from the heat. Do you think...would you mind helping me into the green room? If I could just sit down, and have a cold drink, I'm sure I'll feel much better. Please, Sam." Her pretty smile told him she was used to getting her own way, and hadn’t even considered the possibility he’d refuse.
Sam glanced across the room and noticed Diana and the photographer were still engaged in a deep conversation. The assistant he'd seen earlier was nowhere around. Sam didn't want to spend any more time with Eve; he was already having too much trouble sorting out the varying signals his body was sending him about the woman. But he couldn't very well abandon her.
"Come on," he said as he turned and led her out of the room. She leaned into him as they walked, and Sam noted the spicy, cinnamon tinged fragrance she wore. It didn't suit her. He would have thought she'd prefer something sweet and flowery. He wondered if the make-up artist had chosen it.
As they entered the empty hall, Eve pointed to a door nearby. Entering, Sam found a large, comfortable lounge area, with several sofas, a coffee machine and a refrigerator with a sign saying, "No Green Food Allowed In The Green Room—clean up after yourself!” Piles of back copies of His World were haphazardly stacked on the surface of the tables. A cart filled with makeup stood near a sink, and half-empty, lipstick smeared water bottles resided on the counter.
Sam led Eve to a couch and helped her sit. “Are you okay?”
“I think so, thank you so much," she said. Sam watched as the woman pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. She leaned her head to one side, resting it on a cushion. "Would you be a love and get me a cold drink?"
Feeling like a harem boy, Sam retrieved a fresh bottle of water from the refrigerator and brought it to her. Her fingers met his on the cold plastic, and he felt sure she intentionally scratched her nails lightly on his knuckles.
"Please, sit with me," she pleaded prettily, pulling her feet in so he could sit on the sofa next to her. He began to shake his head, but she refused to take no for an answer. "You can spare a few minutes. I'm sure Diana will come get you as soon as they're ready."
Unable to do anything else, Sam sat on the cushion next to her, watching, wondering what she'd do next. He couldn't figure her out. She was a study in contradiction, at one moment simpering and flirtatious, then helpless, then demanding. He didn't know what to expect from her. So he did what he'd trained himself to do all his life. He remained silent and watched.
She was ill at ease. Though she tried to behave languid and unconcerned, Sam saw the tightness of her clenched fingers, and the way her foot tapped anxiously against the seat cushion. He found himself staring at her red toenails as she tapped, and wondered if she was mentally humming Bad To The Bone since that seemed to be the beat she followed.
"Are you going to the company cocktail party tomorrow night?" Eve finally blurted out. "I hear it's lovely, outside at the country club."
So that’s her game. She didn't have a date for an important function, and needed a man on her arm. Sam wasn't vain, but he knew women were attracted to him. In his younger years, his family's money had been the lure. Then, it had been his looks. Most recently, it had been his name, his infamous blackened name, that had drawn women like flies to honey. Women always seemed to want to reform guys like him. Or guys like the him they thought they knew...which didn’t much resemble the real one.
Now understanding the situation, Sam smiled, crossed his arms and leaned back in the sofa. "I wasn't planning to. Why?"
He knew better than to expect an honest answer. She'd skirt around, dropping hits, expecting him to figure out what she wanted. Typical dating ritual. So expected. He wondered why he was once again disappointed in her.
"I'm from out of town, you see," she explained haltingly. "I'm staying at the company condo, and don't know many people here in Philadelphia."
Sam didn't say a single word. She caught his eye, and he thought he saw a hint of anger in her gaze. Wishful thinking, he told himself. Eve Barret was a woman of flash, not substance. She probably hadn't even figured out yet that he'd understood what she wanted, and just wasn't going to give it to her. Probably because she wasn’t used to anybody turning her down.
"Well, don't worry," Sam assured her, trying not to laugh. "The company has a contract with a reliable limo service. I'm sure your driver will get you there safe and sound."
He stood, fully intending to leave, but she didn't give up. Before he could reach the door, he heard her stand up behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her shrug off the terrycloth robe and reach one hand up to knead the muscles in the other shoulder. That silky curtain of hair draping over her shoulder begged to be lifted and twined in a man’s hands. His hands. And when she lifted her arm even more, as if to deepen her self-massage, her breasts plumped up invitingly.
“God, I’m sore…I need some TLC.”
Sam couldn’t control it; he suddenly felt the rush of raw desire she'd inspired in him earlier during the shoot. It didn’t make any sense, intellectually. But right now, his hormones had wrested control of him and he was reacting to her in a way he hadn’t reacted to any woman in a very long time. Heat coursed through him, pounding and insistent, and his heart thudded hard enough to echo in his ears. His feet wanted to move, to walk over to her so he could sink his hands into that hair, accept the nonverbal invitation she’d been issuing since the moment they’d met and the verbal one she’d just issued as well.
It was tempting. So damned tempting.
But he didn’t do it. Common sense reared its head as he acknowledged how close he’d come to doing something really stupid. He’d almost swallowed her lure and become her catch of the day, coming close to turning around and playing the dumb panting male she expected. The invitation to the party—and anywhere else she wanted him to take her…or any way else—had been on his lips. Before he’d been able to move an inch, however, he’d seen the triumphant sparkle in her eyes. The knowing glint flashed there before she could subdue it, and it stopped him cold.
She'd known exactly what she was doing, and how it affected him.
Damn, she’s good. Eve Barret might not be smart, but she was crafty. Manipulative. And definitely bad news.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll find
someone to give you what you need,” he told her, somehow managing to keep his voice steady despite the tension that continued to wrack his body.
Then, giving her a tight smile, he turned his head and walked out the door, shutting it with finality behind him.
Chapter 2
“Why can’t women just say what they really mean? They say they like a guy who’s ‘honest about his feelings’ but the minute you admit you feel attracted to another woman, you’re a scumbag.” – from 101 Ways To Avoid Commitment
"This isn't working."
Eve threw herself into a leather chair across from Diana's desk, draping one long, jean-clad leg over the padded arm, swinging a high-heeled foot. She shook her head as she tried not to remember how she'd acted with Sam Kenneman, but it wasn’t easy. Primarily because she was totally disgusted—with herself! What a stupid game, and all for nothing. For the first time in her life, she'd thrown herself at a man, and he'd thrown her back.
"Of course it is," Diana admonished. "The lug couldn't keep his eyes off you."
Diana's office was large, with huge windows overlooking the city, and Eve stared sullenly at the bright blue sky. Finally, though, she muttered, "Well, he sure kept his hands off.”
"I thought that was what you wanted." Diana walked around her desk to stand in front of Eve. "Remember, you told us you'd do it, but only if it was strictly hands-off. If he got touchy feely, you were outta the game."
Eve frowned as Diana threw her words back in her face. Sure she'd meant them. Eve wasn't interested in a quick fling for any reason, and certainly not as part of a stupid scheme with her friends. But she hadn't stopped to consider that Sam the stud might not even try to put the moves on her!
How long had it been since a man she'd actually tried to interest had rejected her? She couldn’t remember. First because there had been so few men she'd ever encouraged, and second because those she had shown an interest in were all too eager to oblige. Unfortunately, once they figured out she was more than a pair of tits on a stick, they usually lost interest. Men could handle brains, it seemed, and personality, and good looks. But only on an individual basis. Put them all together, and most males ran screaming in the other direction.
"All men are scum," Eve muttered sourly. She saw Diana raise one dark eyebrow. "Well, isn't that your motto?"
"Well, yeah, hon, but it isn't yours." Diana slid up to sit on her desk across from Eve. "I thought you were above all the male bashing that Ruthie, Leanne and I so enjoy."
Eve grinned at her friend. "Maybe I'm in the mood for it today. I can think of a few things I'd like to bash into Sam Kenneman...starting with my fist."
"You'd get better results if you hit him with your 34C's," Diana retorted with a sly lift of one perfectly penciled eyebrow.
Eve gave her a sour look. "Very funny. I tell you one thing, Mr. Super-Cool writer had better come around fast. I only have two weeks. Then it's back to the real world."
Diana shrugged. "Two weeks for you to make him fall in love with you, then break his heart? No sweat. But remember, the condo's going to be in use next weekend, so you'll have to crash with me, Leanne or Ruthie. Or the studly Sam."
Eve gave an unladylike snort. "Don't count on it. Flirting with the guy, okay. Seducing him slightly, fine. But sleeping with him...huh-uh. Count me out."
"Why? Personally, I think the jerk is quite good-looking. How long has it been since you've had a physical relationship?"
“Does a vibrator count?”
“Nope,” Diana said with a snort. “That long, huh?”
“It’s been so long I can barely remember what it's like. But I have to draw the line somewhere. I might have the makings of a con artist in my blood, but I do have some scruples. I'm not going to sleep with a man I’m setting up for a fall." No matter how attracted to him I am!
"Your choice," Diana said.
The speculative glance she shot Eve said she hadn't completely given up on the idea, and Eve quickly changed the subject. "The staff photographer was good today."
Diana nodded. "He's terrific. You know, I wish the photo shoot hadn't been bogus. You've still got it, Eve. If you hadn't given up modeling, I can't even imagine where you might be right now. I'd love to print those pictures. They'd sure boost our sales figures."
Eve frowned. "No way. I want all the copies, negatives, and deletion of the digital files. Don't get me wrong, it was fun, pretending for a while. But I am absolutely not interested in getting back into all this. I'm quite happy with my life."
Her friend nodded. “I know, I know. Can’t blame a girl for trying!”
A phone buzzed on Diana's desk, and she quickly picked it up. Eve watched her work, smothering a chuckle as her friend stretched under the telephone cord while she moved back to sit behind her desk. Diana looked the picture of success, with her expensive suit, her short dark hair and her confident expression. But beneath the competent exterior, Eve still saw the wise-cracking loud mouth from Jersey. Diana had lost the accent—mostly—but certainly not the attitude.
Diana had made it. She'd worked her butt off, and had become a senior editor at a major magazine before her thirtieth birthday. What a success story. Then again, they all knew she'd be the successful one.
"He's on his way in," Diana whispered.
Eve didn't quite catch what her friend said, then the door to the office swung open and Sam Kenneman entered. Quickly pulling her leg off the arm of the chair, she sat up straight, trying to remember to look simple and simpering. Ugh.
"Hello, Diana…Eve," Sam said as he entered the office.
“Hi, Sammy,” Eve said with a suggestive lift of her brow.
“Have a seat,” Diana said, gesturing toward an empty chair beside Eve’s.
Sam was a little surprised to find Eve in Diana’s office, especially such a casual-looking, jeans-wearing, too-sexy-for-her-own-good-and-for-his-sanity Eve. The lingerie had been hot. This girl next door thing she had going on—at least, if the girl next door had legs that went on for two-and-a-half-days and wore fuck-me shoes that still looked mighty damn fine with a pair of skinny jeans—was beyond sizzling. The way she’d been draped over the chair, sprawled back, one leg swinging over the side, her hot, high-heeled shoe swinging, had almost made him stumble as he entered. He wondered if she had any idea that she looked a million times better without the pounds of makeup, the big hair—hers was now pulled back in a simple French braid—and the slinky attitude. Considering the way she’d jerked upright and offered him a simpering smile, and that Hi, Sammy nonsense, he thought not.
Sammy. Huh. His half-brother called them that when he was looking to be punched.
As silence descended, Sam finally murmured, "The shoot seemed to go well."
"Yes, it was fine," Diana assured him. "But I asked you up here for another reason. Sam, I hope you can do us a favor. Eve here has been left stranded without a date for tomorrow night's cocktail party. We would like her to attend and I wondered if you could be persuaded to be her escort."
He thought about Diana’s request, not responding for a minute. His eyes narrowed as he glanced at Diana. He didn't know the editor too well, though they'd had a few run-ins over story ideas. He wondered why she was bothering herself with getting an escort for Miss Sexpot. But, then again, maybe he did understand.
Obviously, Diana recognized trouble when she saw it. She was in the business. She knew as well as anyone else that models could get themselves into all kinds of mischief and needed to be watched carefully.
His World had used plenty of stunning female models in the past, supposedly to accompany various articles on important men's issues...in reality to attract readers with the visual lure of pure sex. Eve was the most recent in a long line of them. And she would probably be just as much trouble. So Diana wanted him to babysit.
Sam glanced toward the next chair, where Eve watched him closely. He noticed she chewed on her bottom lip. For some reason, she seemed to care about his response. For a woman with so much reason
to be self-confident, at least physically, she seemed unsure of herself. Sam found himself wanting to protect her feelings. Which, he told himself was the only reason he was going to agree. Yeah, sure, right he silently admitted as his gaze drifted over her long, slim, jean-clad legs. In her casual clothes, with her hair pulled back in a simple French braid, Eve Barret looked much softer, much less sophisticated, and a great deal more interesting.
"Of course," Sam found himself saying. "I'd be glad to escort Miss Barret."
He watched her closely, gauging her reaction. For one brief moment, he thought he noticed a sigh of resignation pull her lips down, then she was all vacant smiles.
"I will certainly try to make sure you don't regret agreeing to spend an evening with me, Sam," Eve purred.
Too late, he thought. He already regretted it.
Eve fumed for several minutes after Sam left Diana's office. Her friend seemed to sense her annoyance and remained quiet. Eve just couldn't believe the nerve of the guy. He'd acted as if he were being asked to donate a kidney instead of escort her to a party.
"Gee, maybe you should have offered to pay him to take me out," she muttered finally.
Diana frowned. "I don't get it. Most male chauvinist pigs would have been drooling all over you. He should have jumped at the chance to be your date."
"Well, maybe you, Ruthie and Leanne don't know quite as much about Mr. Kenneman as you think you do."
Reaching into her desk, Diana pulled out a copy of a financial news magazine. Eve watched as she quickly flipped through the pages, then plopped the magazine down on the desk. "Here. I know a little something about him, it just so happens."
Glancing down, Eve saw a large, glossy magazine photo of Sam standing with two other men, one much older and one about Sam's own age. There was a strong family resemblance between Sam and the older man who, she read, was his father.
