Temptation on His Terms

by Robyn Grady

  Moving toward the gleaming stretch, his thoughts were far from fun. His mind was still reeling at Teagan’s news. The rat wasn’t finished playing games, trying to get to him via his sister now. He needed to warn her.

  And Tate?

  He couldn’t return to Australia. Wynn would have Tate stay with him in New York in a heartbeat. But if Teagan had been contacted, other family members, including Wynn, might be, too.

  He didn’t have any option.

  It was up to him to keep his brother close and safe, and in the meantime pull out all stops to defuse this blackmail situation. Tomorrow he’d put a private detective on the job and organize security measures here and in Seattle for Teagan in case she needed it. In the meantime…he would make the most of this evening with Shelby.

  She slid out of the car as if she were stepping out of an A-list movie poster. Her hair cascaded in shiny loose waves all the way down her back. Whatever smoky effect the makeup artist had used to accentuate her eyes left him bewitched. And that gown… His jaw must be hanging.

  Her long legs angled out from beneath a midnight-purple satin dream of a dress as he helped her onto the pavement. He smiled into her glittering gaze. When she blew out a breath and smiled back, he tucked her arm beneath his and—placing those darker thoughts in another box for now—escorted her to the entrance.

  “You know you’ll leave every woman here for dead,” he said. “Guests will want the name of this new Hollywood beauty.”

  “Just so you know,” she told him as they wound between groups on their way to the ballroom, “I was angry you organized a ticket and dress and everything else.”

  “Still angry?”

  With a small smile, she shook her head and those big glossy waves bounced around her shoulders. “Honestly, I feel like a princess.”

  “You carry yourself like one, too. Maybe you were abducted at birth from a little-known European royal family.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Your imagination is something else.”

  Still, it wasn’t difficult to imagine her in haute couture full-time, turning heads as she breezed by. Shelby didn’t have a clue how stunning she looked. Then again, she’d looked amazing in this morning’s pussycat pajamas, too.

  In the ballroom, Shelby’s eyes rounded at the elaborate chandeliers, towering swag curtains and exquisitely dressed tables. Amid the noise of chatter, crystal champagne flutes pinging and background music courtesy of a twelve-piece band, they were ushered to a prime location near the stage. Five other couples seated at the table nodded and introductions were exchanged. After seating Shelby, as he pulled in his chair and turned to ask more about Shelby’s day—Had the staff at the hotel treated her well? Had she found any other dresses she wanted put on the tab?—he felt a tap on his shoulder and edged around.

  Dressed in a tux with a bright orange bow tie, Rance Loggins stood beaming—but not at Dex. At Shelby.

  Rance addressed Dex first. “Should have known I’d find you here.”

  “If you’d made this morning’s meeting,” Dex returned, “I’d have mentioned it.”

  Rance hunkered down. “Shelby, you look stunning.”

  The glossy bows of her lips parted, most likely to downplay the compliment. But then she seemed to rethink.

  Smiling graciously, she replied, “Thank you.”

  “The meeting slipped your mind?” Dex persisted. He didn’t like the way Rance was looking at his date, like a bear pondering a pot of honey.

  “Not as if you haven’t rescheduled in the past,” Rance replied. “There’s plenty of time to work on this new project.”

  Dex sat back. Oh, now, there was plenty of time for scripts. He shuddered to think how much Rance would get done if Shelby took up his job offer.

  Rance spoke to Shelby again. “After dinner and formalities, would you join me for a dance?”

  Holding back a growl, Dex pushed to his feet. “The evening’s getting underway. You need to return to your own company.”

  Rance rose to his full height, too, which brought his nose up to Dex’s chin.

  “I only ask because you’d rather catch the flu than fox-trot,” Rance said. “And looking like she does tonight, Shelby deserves at least one spin around the floor.”

  “You don’t think others will ask?” Dex pointed out.

  The corners of Rance’s mouth crimped up. “Friend, I’m certain of it.”

  Shelby cut in. “The lights are dimming. Someone’s at the podium. I’ll catch up with you later, Rance?”

  Rance’s focus shifted to Shelby and the tension steaming his glasses eased. “I look forward to it.”

  Dex sat down heavily and scooted in his chair.

  “You okay?” Shelby asked.

  His lips drew back from his teeth. It was meant to be a smile but, yeah, he was pissed. What kind of game was Rance playing? Did he want to continue to work with Hunter Productions? Because no matter how smitten Rance was, tonight Shelby was with him. Sure, Dex understood the appeal and Rance was a friend, but some people didn’t know when to quit.

  Like that freaking firebug who’d contacted Teagan pretending to be an insurance salesman. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow to get started on straightening out that problem once and for all.

  * * *

  “Dex, darling, wonderful to see you. I don’t believe I’ve met this young lady.”

  Dex explained the babysitting situation while the female visitor to their table listened, absorbed.

  Despite her earlier reservations—and Dex’s scowl when Rance had proposed a dance—Shelby was surprised and pleased with how the evening had turned out. Everyone at their table, as well as those who’d wandered over to catch up, were inquisitive about Dex Hunter’s quiet but also polite and welcoming companion. Their most recent visitor, Minerva Vine, wore a galaxy of sapphires, which complemented a gown that belonged in the pages of Vogue.

  “You’ve no modeling experience then?” Minerva asked Shelby. “And yet I sat glued to my seat as you entered the room. You move like you were born to own the catwalk.”

  Shelby managed a limp smile. “Can’t be all those years I spent in a saddle.”

  “I was thinking more bathing suits than Stetsons.” Minerva clicked opened her sequined pocketbook. “I head a modeling agency here in L.A. I’d love for you to stop by to discuss opportunities.”

  Dex smoothed the napkin on his lap. “I’m afraid Shelby’s not interested in modeling.”

  And certainly not swimsuits.

  “Thank you,” Shelby said, “but my dad would keel over if he thought I was parading around half naked for all the world to see.”

  She couldn’t imagine the rest of Mountain Ridge’s reaction.

  “Sweetie, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Minerva said, “that dress leaves little to the imagination, and what is left could compel every man in this room to crawl over cut glass to see more.”

  Shelby flushed down to the deep vee in her gown and probably to her knees.

  Sure, this gown fit well. And, given the fabric and style, the boutique assistant had recommended that she forget the bra. Admittedly, at first she’d felt as if she were walking around in nothing more than a sexy slip of a petticoat. But she’d never meant to outright tease. Other than her arms, she was mostly covered. This gown wasn’t that revealing.

  Was it?

  Minerva’s manicured fingers tapped her bare shoulder. “Think about my offer. Take as long as you need.”

  When Shelby reached for the card Minerva had left beside her glass, Dex’s hand enveloped hers. As he leaned close, his lighthearted words warmed her ear.

  “It’s a good thing I have you under contract.”

  That wouldn’t have made a difference.

  “I don’t want to be a model,” she said as his thumb skimmed ac
ross her jumping pulse before drawing away. “I can’t think of anything more…not me.”

  “Still, Minerva’s right. The camera would love you.”

  She drank in her glittering surroundings, their high-society company, and wondered at the ease with which she’d been accepted here tonight—a far cry from how she’d felt on that last horrible evening in Mountain Ridge. Then she’d been humiliated. A pariah. She loathed the thought of ever facing those people again. If it wasn’t for her father, she’d never go back.

  Although she’d had her reasons for choosing L.A., of course she had been anxious about such a big move. But had she truly found her new home? A place where others seemed to support her rather than speak in whispers behind her back? She could have lived in Mountain Ridge all her life; she’d had friends there. But juicy stories like hers lived on. So did the shame.

  Between courses, various persons associated with the charity spoke about military families and how they remained close to their loved ones during times of illness or injury or disease after they’d returned from war. Shelby learned about marathons, galas, auctions, scholarships as well as individual fund-raising programs. Throughout each address to the audience, Dex’s expression remained somber. She’d never seen him look more absorbed, or more handsome. Everything about Dex Hunter always seemed so polished, and the way he filled out that tuxedo…

  Well, he ought to be a movie star himself.

  When the last round of applause went up and the formalities were done, she asked him, “How did you get involved with this cause?”

  “We all know someone who’s sacrificed in one way or another. We’re all affected—past, present. Future, too.”

  He sounded so sincere—so committed—she wanted to hug him. Far safer to rib.

  “So, run any marathons for charity lately?”

  “Oh, you should see me rip it out on a treadmill. Ten, even twenty, yards at a time.”

  He chuckled but she wasn’t fooled. “You do it automatically.”

  He reached for his glass. “What’s that?”

  “Shrug off who you really are.”

  “I promise you, I don’t run marathons.”

  Of course she hadn’t meant that. “Beneath all the razzle-dazzle,” she pointed out, “you’re a sensitive guy.”

  He genuinely cared, and about things that counted. Social responsibility. Family, in all its guises.

  Music was playing again and pinpricks of light had begun to revolve around the darkened room. Noticing couples filling up the dance floor, Shelby’s thoughts veered toward Rance Loggins again. She adored dancing, but she was here with Dex—and, giddy as the notion made her feel, Dex was here with her.

  As if reading her mind, his attention slid over to the dance floor, too. Beneath the cool facade, was he waiting for Rance to make his move? She didn’t want to be the cause of trouble between friends—but she could fix that, for tonight, at least.

  “Do you mind if we leave?” she asked. “I’ve had too much wine. My head’s beginning to spin.”

  But before her excuse was fully out, someone else appeared at their table.

  “May I steal this lovely lady away for a twirl around the floor, Dex?” The man spoke with an unmistakable Texan drawl. “I promise to return her.” His lips twitched. “Or I promise I’ll try.”

  Shelby replied before Dex could.

  “We were about to leave.”

  The man, whom she recognized from more than one blockbuster, gave an easy shrug. “I’ll look forward to next time.”

  As the man sauntered away, Dex turned toward her. “I’m pooping your party.”

  “You’re not at all.”

  “Go have a dance. Let me bring Owen back.”

  But when he pushed out of his chair, she held his forearm. The question slipped out before she’d thought it through.

  “Would you like to dance with me, Dex?” She arched a playful brow. “I could lead.”

  Those tawny eyes gleamed. “Now, that does sound tempting.”

  But he made no move to help her up from her chair. Deep down, she hadn’t expected that he would. But, however flattering, neither did she want to be asked by anyone else. It was definitely time to go. She collected her pocketbook.

  “Head still spinning?” he asked.

  “I’m not used to all this.”

  “Do you think you could get used to it?”

  When his lips hooked faintly up on one side, a thousand butterflies were released in her tummy. She wanted to tell him no, she couldn’t possibly get used to this kind of life. But not because she couldn’t wear gorgeous dresses, listen to wonderful music, drink exquisite wine every other night. As those lights spun around the room and Dex continued to smile into her eyes, suddenly she was overcome with a rather scary realization. The fact was she could get very used to all this, especially being with Dex this way, as if they were an item.

  A true-life couple.

  But soon Tate would return and her days would revert to having at least one foot set in reality.

  * * *

  Later, however, when they returned to the hotel suite in Beverly Hills, Dex explained that Teagan had called. It sounded as if Tate was having such a good time in Seattle, he might not want to come back to L.A.

  Dropping his jacket over the back of the sofa, Dex added, “I told Teagan she couldn’t keep him.”

  Shelby grinned. “What did she say to that?”

  “Actually, I’ll go up to collect him tomorrow.”

  For a moment, his brows knitted together. He looked so preoccupied, even worried, she wanted to ask what was wrong. But then his slanted smile returned. He strolled over and his masculine scent began to seep in as it had when he’d sat next to her in the ballroom and during the drive home. Shelby had to steel herself against gravitating closer.

  As his gaze skimmed her lips, her heartbeat skipped then began to race. Suddenly she was tingling all over, inside and out. He was letting her know again how he felt about her and this situation. Now was her opportunity to let him know she had started to feel the same way. Past tempted.

  Beyond ready.

  But her brain was all scrambled. The right words wouldn’t come. Could this be as simple as coiling her arms around his neck and showing rather than telling? Because she longed to do just that. Press herself up against him…kiss those lips…make love all night.

  And possibly get hurt?

  Was she capable of having a purely sexual affair, an intimate relationship that kept the physical to the fore and shouted down emotions? How would she feel in the morning?

  Confused, breaking away, she crossed to the balcony doors. She needed fresh air. He was right behind her.

  “If it’s the wine…” he said as she leaned against the rail and filled her lungs.

  She couldn’t meet his gaze. “It’s not the wine,” she murmured.

  “Would you like me to leave you alone?”

  Still staring at the lights below, she shook her head. After a trip-wire-tight silence, he spoke.

  “You know how I feel about you, don’t you, Shell?”

  His low, deep voice… The way he’d said her name…

  Shivering with longing, she held her nervy stomach.

  She wanted this, but memories of that incident in Mountain Ridge kept slamming her in the face. Telling her to stop and be smarter than this.

  “I’ll be honest,” he said, and as he angled closer, she sensed his grin. “This is serious. In fact, if serious had a big brother, this would be it. If I don’t kiss you soon, it’ll happen. I’ll go stark, raving, loony-tunes mad.”

  That made her smile. Then his fingers trailed the back of her hand and blood rushed to the spot. At the same time, the tips of her breasts came alive and her legs turned to rubber bands. The ach
e low at her core was so sweet—so pure—she almost moaned.

  “When I came to L.A.,” she told him, “I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved with anyone.”

  “Because of Reese and Kurt.”

  Her gaze shot up and fused with his. But she’d spilled enough the night they’d worked with Rance on that script. Of course, given his job, Dex would have put some pieces of her story together. Only the way she’d told it…

  Her ending hadn’t worked out that well at all.

  “It’s a long ugly tale,” she said.

  “If you ever need to talk about it…”

  His hot palm was sailing up her arm. When he stepped into the space separating them—when her chin tilted up and she found his lips touching, brushing hers—the floor swayed beneath her feet. Everything around her seemed to slide and tip on its side. Unsteady, she held on to his dinner-shirt front.

  “Maybe…” Her throat convulsed and she tried again. “Maybe we both have things we could share.”

  His palms cupped her bare shoulders. He searched her eyes for what seemed like an eternity before he pulled her close and, at last, his mouth captured hers.

  The tenderness combined with intense heat left her blood steaming, her thoughts reeling. When the tip of his tongue slipped over the seam, her lips automatically parted. Still he kept the caress light, meaningful but also teasing. While time hung suspended around them, she soaked up the feelings of his fingers gripping her flesh, of her breasts brushing his shirt.

  When he slowly broke away, she was buzzing, limp with longing.

  “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” he told her.

  Breathless, she cupped his scratchy jaw. “Well, don’t stop now.”

  Her arms wound around his neck as his mouth covered hers again. A rumbling of satisfaction vibrated through his chest before the big palm on her back slid lower. His tongue swept over her lips, pushed past her teeth at the same time strong fingers filed up through the back of her hair, then lightly tugged. Her mouth opened wider, his head angled more, and a series of effervescent streams sailed like an angel’s song through her veins.

  This wasn’t a kiss. It was a revelation. This man knew things others didn’t. How to mesmerize. How to drug.