Slow Hands

by Leslie Kelly

  Assignations was more like it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  It was kind of crazy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  They won’t.

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

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

  None of which interested her.

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

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

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

  Oh, God, what a fantasy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  A man for sale.

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

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

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

  “As if that was going to happen.”

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

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

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

  Maddy’s eyebrows went up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “They’re beautiful.”

  “They’re stupid.”

  “Adorable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Did he really see her so differently?

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “And from your sisters.”

  “Who are absolutely merciless.”

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

  “I have one of those.”

  “Sisters?”

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

  “I somehow suspect you can hold your own.”

  “Ditto.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Am I supposed to?”

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

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

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

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

  “What?”

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

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

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

  But one undeniable truth prevented that.

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

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

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

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