How To Host A Seduction. Jeanie London

I want to tour you around the Big Easy. Show you all the secret places only the locals know.”

      He may have said secret but he meant intimate, and his suggestive tone made her swallow back yet another groan. “I’m not running off. Not right away,” she said.

      “My good fortune, then.” Another roguish smile, this time accompanied by a slight flaring of his nostrils that just screamed testosterone. “You’ll make time for me.”

      No question. No politely asking. Just a you-will-make-time-for-me declaration that jump-started her half-sleeping synapses.

      “I’m sorry, Vittorio. We’re going to need a day planner to keep up with all we’ve got scheduled,” she said, lying so easily it was scary. “Lennon’s Auntie Q has this murder-mystery thing planned. We’ll be leaving New Orleans on Wednesday.”

      That wasn’t a lie. She’d committed to some corporate-training-murder-mystery event for Miss Q’s—Miss Quinevere McDarby’s—latest business venture. Ellen still wasn’t clear on the details, but Lennon and a few of her other authors would be attending, and she figured solving mysteries would provide an interesting diversion.

      She needed a good diversion right now.

      A quizzical lift of dark brows hinted that Vittorio wasn’t turned down very often. Ellen would have felt bad, but the man appeared to have enough women fawning over him. So technically she was saving him from disappointment—because she didn’t fawn. Ever.

      “Right. Okay.” He eyed her as though something had taken place and he hadn’t yet figured out what.

      His groupies obviously recognized the power shift, though, and stopped glaring long enough to console him, enveloping him in a press of bodies and a cloud of expensive perfume. Vittorio took his cue to leave, with a dashing smile and a jauntily delivered “Good night.”

      Ellen watched him go, marveled that not one of those women had objected to him asking her out in their presence. No, they’d glared at her, instead, like she’d forced him to flirt.

      “Why me?” she asked.

      The question had been rhetorical, but Lennon obliged her, anyway. “It’s your hair. That swingy new style.” Her gaze shot straight to the hairstyle in question. “I love it.”

      “My stylist gets the credit.” Ellen sat back down and reached for her mug. “He promised me something different.” She shook her head, still enjoying the way her shorter, fuller style swung around her face when she moved.

      “What made you decide to cut all your hair off?”

      “A change to celebrate my upcoming thirtieth birthday.”

      She wouldn’t admit that he’d been attracted to her long hair, but a line from an old song echoed in her memory.

      I’m gonna wash that man right outta my hair….

      Well, Ellen had cut him right out of hers.

      “Your new style makes your face softer somehow,” Lennon said. “And it’s amazing how the change draws attention to your skin. You’ve got this whole creamy Snow White thing going on. No wonder Vittorio is smitten.”

      “I hope I didn’t put you in an awkward position,” Ellen said, though she didn’t feel the least bit repentant.

      “He doesn’t need my help to get a date. Besides, his ego is rock solid. I don’t think he even realized he was in over his head.” Lennon sank back into her chair and grabbed her latte. “So what didn’t you like about him?”

      “You know my family. Can you see me bringing home a man who uses more cream rinse than I do?”

      Lennon burst into laughter, drawing the attention of a nearby bartender. “That’s not difficult with your new hairstyle. But you’re selling Vittorio short. He may have an ego the size of the Southern Hemisphere but he’s got a heart of pure gold.”

      A heart of pure gold would not make the difference. Her family was already tolerant enough of her foibles. Bringing home a man with whom the media would have a field day would cast doubt on her sanity. She could already see the headline: Senator’s Daughter Plays Fantasy Games with a Hero From a Trashy Romance Novel.

      Her mother, of course, in an effort to help, would likely direct her wayward youngest to the nearest psychiatric facility.

      It’s for the best, Ellen, really. Let’s give you a chance to take a deep breath and clear your head, reassess your priorities and reexamine the objective. We’ll tell the press you’re suffering stress from your bohemian career….

      All for Mr. Muscle-Butt?

      She’d pass, thank you.

      Sometimes Ellen thought that as an infant she must have been left in a basket on the front doorstep. In a family of high achievers, she always seemed to be a step behind. Her siblings had all gone into law, yet she’d chosen publishing. They were all still scratching their heads over that one. Perhaps if she edited more literary fare, or even better, nonfiction…

      Her parents had assured her long ago that she hadn’t been a foundling they’d taken in as a charitable publicity stunt for some campaign. And given that she resembled other family members, Ellen was forced to take them at their word.

      But she still didn’t feel like she’d ever make the cut.

      None of her siblings had ever been questioned about whether they were the “right fit” for the fancy private schools the Talbot children had attended while growing up. But Ellen had.

      She’s very creative, the administrators had said, not sufficiently goal-oriented. Perhaps she’d be better suited to a school with a less ambitious curriculum.

      With the clarity of that twenty-twenty hindsight, Ellen thought the administrators might have been right. Especially after the summer debacle when her older sister Leah had been chosen student ambassador for their school. Their parents had decided the family should accompany Leah on her tour of the continent to support her in her new duties. A great plan that the whole family had quickly embraced.

      Until Ellen’s report card had arrived.

      Her grades had nosedived so much during the previous two semesters that the school had considered retaining her. Of course, her grades had only nosedived because she’d been struggling so hard to grasp pre-algebra and she’d only gotten so far behind because she’d been determined to solve the problem herself….

      The choices had been to leave Ellen home with her grandparents for a stint in summer school or to hire a tutor to travel with the family. Believing in always keeping a united front, her parents had opted for the latter solution and amended their travel arrangements to afford Ellen time to study in the hotel rooms during the mornings.

      That was just one example. Unfortunately, the list went on and on. And after this latest episode with him…

      Lennon peered at her over the rim of her mug. “I want you to have fun while you’re in town. What was it Mr. Bingley said to Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice? ‘I wouldn’t be as fastidious as you are for a kingdom’?”

      “Humph.” Ellen dismissed her with a laugh. “Spoken by a woman who just married a hero straight off the cover of one of her books.”

      “A man you said existed only in books, incidentally.”

      “So you found the only one who didn’t, lucky girl.” Ellen managed to keep a straight face. Josh Eastman was a doll, definitely the perfect man for Lennon—but a hero? Well, Lennon thought so and that was all that counted.

      Lennon’s smile faded. Leaning forward intently, she tapped her manicured nails on the tabletop, and her sudden intensity put Ellen on red alert.

      The subject of romance heroes and whether such beasts actually existed off the written page was a topic much debated, and one that would logically lead to…

      “Auntie