A Dash of Temptation. Jo Leigh

seconds.

      Not a good train of thought, given her situation. She still couldn’t figure out why he’d asked her to go with him. Pity, probably.

      She could handle that.

      She went back to the rack of dresses, most of which were here for a reason. Every once in a while, however, she found a gem. Please, let it be today. So much was riding on this one Saturday night, not the least of which was showing Brad that she didn’t miss him at all. That other men, fabulous men, wanted her.

      Well, maybe not wanted her, but Brad didn’t have to know that. Dash would treat her like a queen. Because that’s how he treated every woman. She just prayed she wouldn’t turn into a frog. Do something stupid, say the wrong thing, act like a fool. Her usual.

      “Well, if it isn’t fabulous Tess Norton.”

      Tess grinned at the haughty voice behind her. It was Mary, her friend, neighbor, partner in crime. She turned and waggled her brows. “Mary Neal. I never.”

      “Like hell, you never.”

      “Such language.”

      “I’m not even warmed up yet.”

      Tess eyed Mary’s outfit du jour. Doc Martens, jeans that rode low on her impossibly slim hips, a sweater circa the 1960s, and a furry coat that might have belonged to Attila the Hun. On her, it worked. “I’m desperate, girlfriend.”

      “Tell Aunt Mary all about it.”

      The store, close packed, a little too warm, was one of their usual haunts, not just for the occasional finds, but because there was this great coffee shop next door that served the best apple strudel in the universe.

      “I will. In aching detail. But first, I need something fabulous. Something transcendent. Something that will give every male above eighteen an instant erection.”

      Mary glanced at the dress in her hand. “That won’t even get you a slap on the ass.” She spread the clothes on the rack like Moses parting the sea. “Let’s rock.”

      Two hours later, after having tried on everything from Versace to Polo, Tess cried uncle. She grabbed Mary’s hand and pulled her outside into the balmy spring air. Her gaze moved automatically toward the downtown skyline, and, as always, her breath hitched when she saw what was missing. Turning back to Mary, who had pulled out a compact and was busy dusting her perfect little nose, Tess pointed to the café, with the improbable name of Frog and Thistle. “Food. Now.”

      “Okay. Jeez.” Mary slipped the cloisonné powder case into her Kate Spade pocketbook, then smiled. “But you have to tell me what this mad search is all about.”

      “I will. Come on,” she said, dodging a guy on a skateboard as she headed toward the Frog. “I have to find a dress today. Tomorrow, latest. I need it by Saturday night.”

      “Don’t keep me waiting. It’s mean.”

      Tess slipped inside the café and told the scrumptious young man at the counter that she wanted a table for two. She followed his tightly clad butt across the crowded restaurant, past the tables with their gingham cloths and fresh carnations, to a snug booth in the back. Mary shrugged out of her coat, then sat down. “Well?”

      “Okay, okay. No need to get all huffy.”

      “Tess…”

      Tess didn’t smile. She was pretty sure she didn’t look smug. And she kept her voice low, so only Mary would hear. “I have a date with Dash Black.”

      Mary screamed so loudly a waiter dropped his tray, all chatter came to an immediate stop, and every eye in the place zeroed in on their booth. Mary finally closed her mouth, then seemed to realize they were the center of attention. She turned to the stunned restaurant patrons. “She has a date with Dash Black.”

      Tess couldn’t hold back her grin as she saw utter understanding come over the mostly female crowd. Several women nodded. More than a few stared at her with awe. He was, after all, Dash Black. And he was hers, hers, hers for one whole night.

      She felt like she might throw up.

      WHEN DASH WALKED INTO HIS brother’s office, Patrick was already studying the glossy photos spread out before him. His expression was serious, his focus sharp. It was time to pick the September centerfold. Dash had made his choice. Although a whole editorial team helped narrow the field, the family—himself, Patrick and their father—had the final word.

      Dash headed over to Patrick’s bookshelves and gave them a cursory glance. The only new entries were a James Patterson book, a biography of Napoleon, and the latest bestseller on business communication. Slim pickings.

      With nothing to keep him occupied, he gave in and settled himself on one of Patrick’s leather chairs. Sprawled with legs out, he waited for his half brother to look at him, but clearly Patrick wasn’t going to budge until he was damn good and ready.

      The office was too similar to his own to be of interest. Lots of square footage decorated in masculine colors, mostly hunter green, with bits and pieces of their various enterprises represented in knickknacks, photographs, logo promotions, and, inevitably, stacks of the magazine.

      Noir’s circulation was at an all-time high. Millions of men bought the magazine each month, and some of them probably read the articles. His father had set out to make Noir a household name, and he’d succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. In the old days, Black had been the front man. Suave, sophisticated, charming as hell, he’d been the driving force behind Noir, but he was done now. Tired. He had every right to be. He’d worked his ass off most of his life. Dash had been his ace in the hole. He could hand over the keys to the kingdom with little fear. With every expectation that their success would continue, that the companies would grow. That Dash would be as enthusiastic and tireless as his father.

      The flesh was willing, but the mind was weak. Dash stared at his future with a kind of stunned resolve. The world on a string, and he didn’t like yo-yos. He’d better damn well get to like yo-yos. There was no way he was going to spend the next thirty years dissatisfied and resentful.

      Actually, that wasn’t fair. It’s not that he hated running the show, he simply wasn’t his father. Dash was a private man thrust into the spotlight. He envied Patrick, with his focus on the real guts of the operation. The money.

      Dash jumped a bit when he realized he was staring at Patrick, and that his brother was staring back. “How long have you been watching me?”

      Pat shrugged. “Long enough to wonder what’s bothering you.”

      Dash waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing a lobotomy wouldn’t fix.”

      “Ah, well. We do have that excellent health insurance plan. I’m sure we could work something out.”

      “Gee, thanks.”

      “Come on, Dash. What’s up?”

      “I like Marie, what’s her last name? Clymer? The redhead on the second row.”

      Patrick looked at his proofs. “Yeah, that’s who I was leaning toward, but don’t change the subject. What’s wrong?”

      “Nothing.”

      Patrick’s right brow arched. “Fine. Have it your way. Why did you come to see me?”

      “I’m going to that party in the Hamptons this weekend. I was thinking we should send a photographer out.”

      “To the Nicklebys’ place?”

      Dash nodded.

      “Already taken care of.”

      Now it was Dash’s turn to raise his eyebrow. “Efficient little sucker, aren’t you?”

      “I strive for excellence in all areas.”

      Dash gave him the old raspberry. “Excellence, my ass.”

      “No wonder you’re the heir apparent,”