Erotic Invitation. Carly Phillips

unexpected flush stained her cheeks. From pale to cherry in a matter of seconds. So warm blood ran through those veins after all. For a brief moment, he wondered just how hot he could get that blood pumping. Until he refocused and realized this was Mallory he was daydreaming about. His staid, uptight, probably repressed colleague.

      He definitely needed to hook up with a woman and soon. Sexual drought. There was no other explanation for the bizarre reactions he was having toward his associate.

      She shook her head. “Sorry. I’m not sure what I was thinking.”

      “Actually I’d say you were on target and thinking clearly. You go ahead and call the private investigator. If Lederman sees we’re investing time and money in him without a guarantee, he’s likely to be impressed. And I’m positive I can sway him before this trip is out.”

      “Really? I mean, great! I’ll get on it.” Her surprise was tangible.

      Given her probable history with the other partners in the firm, he understood. But he wasn’t one to knock a good idea just because it hadn’t come from him. Her ideas were solid and her train of thought followed his. They’d make a good team.

      A good working team, he amended. “You do that.”

      She met his gaze and nodded. She held his stare a minute too long.

      He was unable to break the connection, but she had no problem. As she’d done many times this morning, her intense gaze darted from his, guiltily, as if she were a kid who’d gotten caught doing something naughty.

      What a bundle of contradictions she was. He doubted he’d ever understand her. It was probably best he never did. Because she drove him to distraction, causing him to question himself and his feelings. Why did he care what Mallory thought or felt as long as she did her job and did it well? Why did he have this strong, lingering desire to see if she possessed a feminine side? Why the hell did he need to know she had the emotions and the ability to empathize with a woman Jack would ultimately screw in a divorce settlement?

      His feelings regarding Mallory Sinclair made no sense. Though Jack doubted Lederman was blameless, he was certain Mallory was right. If they dug deep enough, they’d uncover dirt on Mrs. Lederman and probably force her hand—which by implication would win Lederman over.

      But Mallory’s callous disregard of the other woman’s plight stayed with him. And Jack knew why. Her single-minded determination to succeed at all costs reminded him of his mother’s tenacity at taking what she wanted outside her marriage, regardless of the repercussions to his father. A strange analogy, maybe but one that was alive and glaring.

      One that gave him the urge to see how far she would go in the name of her job. He leaned forward. “Mallory.”

      She paused from collecting her things. “Yes?”

      “If you run into Mrs. Lederman and chances are good you will…”

      She rose from her seat. “Don’t worry, Jack. I can handle her.” She paused, then drew a deep breath.

      “Reach out to the tentative vulnerable wife we just saw. Woman-to-woman, you know?”

      Jack closed his eyes. He knew. It was the exact reason she’d been chosen for this case. But hearing her say it so callously, as if she had no empathy at all for Mrs. Lederman, gave him an impression of Mallory he didn’t want to believe. The professional part of him was impressed but the man in him yearned to see she was human, that she felt at least a feminine kinship for Mrs. Lederman even if she couldn’t act on those feelings.

      And he still wanted to know she wasn’t as cold and calculating as she appeared. “You make it sound like you’d hit her up with false sympathy anywhere, including the ladies room.”

      She paused, as if contemplating his words and her delay in answering gave him hope.

      “If that’s what it took to win this client over, then yes. I would,” she said at last.

      So much for hope, he thought, disappointed beyond words. “Geez, lady, you’re cold. Just once on this trip I’d like to see the woman beneath the frigid facade.”

      She stiffened and Jack cursed. He hadn’t meant to speak aloud, nor had he meant to insult her. He just couldn’t understand the conflicting emotions she inspired in him. But it wasn’t an excuse and he doubted she’d understand.

      She held the pad against her chest. “I take it that wasn’t a compliment.”

      That much was obvious. “Look, I meant nothing by it. It was just a thoughtless…”

      “Tactless, male remark. No offense taken.” But her lips trembled as she spoke.

      He didn’t believe her. Though she hadn’t run off in tears and her strength impressed him, he’d finally managed to crack the frigid mask she’d pasted on her face. This time she wasn’t able to hide the pain his words caused her.

      He felt lower than a snake. He’d gotten his wish. He hadn’t seen her feminine side but he knew one existed. Unfortunately getting his wish held little satisfaction right now and not only because he’d hurt her. But because in causing her pain, he’d learned something about himself and Mallory. He cared about her feelings—something that was rare for him when dealing with women.

      He hated phony tears. He hated when a woman played on his sympathy because he’d supposedly hurt her tender feelings. His mother was an expert at playing his father. And Jack had always sworn he’d never be the vulnerable one. To accomplish that goal, he couldn’t let himself care.

      He glanced at Mallory’s face. She’d managed to plaster on a fake smile. One he didn’t buy for a second. And that bothered him. A lot.

      “See you.” She turned and walked away, blue skirt hanging too low around her legs, hair pulled back in an unattractive bun.

      “Shit,” Jack said loud and clear. He glanced around the beach, which had filled up with women. Scantily clad women. Single women.

      If Mallory appealed to him on so many levels there had to be a reason.

      Maybe he just needed to get laid.

      3

      SO HE WANTED to see the woman behind the frigid facade did he? Mallory jerked open and slammed closed the drawers in her room, tossing things on the bed and muttering aloud.

      Cold. He’d had the nerve to call her cold. She picked up her most sinful, decadent teddy and held it in the air. Could she really be cold, frigid, she amended if her taste ran to silk and satin? To warm brandy and smooth sheets? To erotic dreams she couldn’t share with anyone, including the man who inspired them?

      She pushed the pile of lingerie aside and flopped down on the bed. Her fist curled around the bedspread and she swiped at a stray tear that dripped down her face. God, the man had a way of getting to her. Sexually, emotionally, it didn’t matter. She cared what he thought of her and hated, hated that all he saw was Mallory Sinclair, Esq. A woman she’d created to achieve her long-standing goal.

      A goal that suddenly came in second to showing Jack Latham his hunch was right. The man obviously sensed there was more to Mallory than what the world saw. What he saw. Just as she believed there was more to Jack Latham than his Terminator moniker implied.

      But the old double standard had come into play and Jack had actually criticized her for doing her job as well as any man. Mallory might not like her father’s outlook on many things, but her parents had still in-grained her with some values she both admired and lived by. Including loyalty, respect and staying power—in relationships as well as careers. So here she was attempting to do her best for a man who was obviously hurting his wife. His treatment of Mrs. Lederman didn’t, or shouldn’t, matter, not to the professionals hired to represent him in a divorce. And that’s what Mallory was. A professional.

      Jack ought to understand because they were bound by the same ethics. Yet because she was a woman he expected her to act differently. To