Slow Hands. Leslie Kelly

sometimes us plain old trout can be entertaining.”

      Maddy couldn’t help chuckling again. The man was just cute. As if he could be plain old anything. “You know, lately, I’ve been sticking to the shallows.”

      “Double yawn. Come on, take a chance.”

      Uh-uh. The shallows suited her fine. Here she could safely ignore any thoughts of her personal life. Along with working insane hours, she’d been dealing with the usual family crises, including Tabby’s upcoming wedding. The social functions she attended were more a matter of courtesy and professionalism than pleasure and the men she met at them always fell into two camps—the boring and proper, or the greedy, who saw dollar signs on her forehead.

      The first type could never catch her interest. The second made her skin crawl. None of them could ever make her consider swimming out into those romance waters again. She just wasn’t interested.

       Until now.

      Yes. Until now. This man had slowed her down, made her think, made her aware of herself for the first time in ages. For that, at least, she owed him thanks. Because though she still had no intention of letting anything happen between her and a paid companion, she had at least begun to wonder if she should accept a few more invitations, get out more and perhaps meet someone else who could get her heart tripping and her palms damp. And maybe even her panties.

      She’d guard her heart, set out for some physical satisfaction and never let herself be hurt. As long as she went into it with that in mind, it could be possible for her to have some kind of sex life again.

       With him.

      “No,” she whispered. Not with him. Because, while his career might actually be a benefit, given the no-strings, pleasure-only kind of affair she suddenly had in mind, her reaction to him was already way too personal, too strong and intimate for her to feel comfortable. He made her laugh, he made her blush, he made her palms sweat. And she could not be one hundred percent sure his feelings were genuine and not merely evidence of how good he was at what he did.

      Ergo, he was out of the question as a potential easy, sex-and-go fling.

      “No?” he said, obviously hearing her whisper. “You really mean that?” Before she could say yes, he quickly continued. “Because even if you didn’t set out to buy a date and you were only supporting the charity,” he said, sounding as though he only half believed that, “I did not go into it that way. I agreed to a date and I’m trying to live up to my end of the bargain here.”

      “Your bargain…”

      “I made a promise to the organizers of the auction and my promise is like my handshake. My dad would clobber me if I didn’t stand by either one of them. So that’s what I am going to do.”

      Whether you like it or not. He didn’t say the words. But she heard them just the same.

      Maddy noted the challenge, realized he was throwing down a gauntlet, daring her to not live up to her end of the bargain. And her competitive spirit rose. She might have been raised in a mansion, but the owner of that mansion had been Jason Turner, who had his financial hands spread over half the city and his fingers touching the other half. He kept them there by shrewdness and sheer will. Something else she’d inherited from her dad.

      She suspected their fathers would get along well.

      “All right then,” she said, meeting his stare, “so will I.”

      “You won’t regret it,” he said, his eyes darkening even further as he stared at her, raking his gaze from her hair to her cheek, then to her mouth and her throat in a look more appreciative than predatory.

      She already regretted it. How had she let herself be dared into saying yes?

      She opened her mouth to lay down a few ground rules for their “date.” It would be brief, platonic and completely romance-free, without question. She fully intended to meet him at the ball field and leave immediately after the last out of the night. And that would be the end of it.

      No touching. No sexy looks. None of those cute jokes that made the stupid dimples on her face put in an appearance. And from here on out, her palms were staying dry. So were her private parts.

      Before she could say anything, however, they were both startled by the sudden opening of Maddy’s office door.

      “Maddy, I need to talk to you about…oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had an appointment. Your secretary’s not outside and your calendar was clear.”

      Maddy leaped from her seat so quickly her chair went sliding backward against the wall. Her father had just entered the room, carrying a folder and wearing his “We have a problem” look that usually meant they were skipping lunch.

      He quickly forgot his problem though, as he stared curiously at Jake Wallace. Maybe because nobody had been on her electronic appointment calendar. Maybe because the dark-haired man was smiling too intimately to be a client looking for a loan. Maybe because Maddy was so flustered. Or maybe because the heated tension in her office was about as thick as the stack of her father’s prenups and divorce notices.

      Which was pretty damn thick.

      “Dad!” she said, wondering how her day could have gone downhill so rapidly. No more words came out of her mouth. Her brain had just emptied, probably because the whole reason she’d attended the bachelor auction was to keep her father’s wife out of this man’s bed.

      Jake stood, saving her from having to say anything. But when he spoke, Maddy wondered whether he’d done her any favors at all.

      “I’m not an appointment,” he said, smiling at her father, comfortable and at ease as he rose to extend his hand. “I’m Madeline’s date, and I’m here to take her to lunch.”

      “I THINK your father likes me.”

      Jake didn’t have to hear the annoyed, huffy little sound Madeline Turner made to know she wasn’t happy about that. He could still picture the mortification on her face when her father, the very well-known Jason Turner, had practically pushed her out the door with her lunch “date” after offering Jake a hearty handshake and a broad smile.

      Funny, he’d have thought coming face-to-face with one of the wealthiest men in Chicago would have been at least slightly intimidating. Jason Turner might not be known nationwide, but there wasn’t a person in Chicago who hadn’t heard of the rich philanthropist, a man who was as well-known for his charitable works as for his stormy love life.

      Jake hadn’t been intimidated, though. Maybe it was because he’d seen enough accident scenes, helped enough crime victims, responded to enough tragedies, that he realized all the money in the world didn’t mean a damn thing when it came to stopping a bullet or avoiding flying through the windshield of a car.

      Everyone bled the same—red. There was no such thing as blue blood. Which was, perhaps, why he also felt entirely at ease in his pursuit of Madeline Turner, who the society pages liked to call the Ice Queen of the Financial District. He’d found that out in the two days since the auction. He’d been doing some research.

      Personally, she wasn’t a bit icy. Confident and a little unreachable? Sure. But not cold.

      Professionally? Well, he really didn’t give a damn what she was like behind that fancy desk at work. He didn’t want her for her connections to a major Chicago bank. He wanted her for the excitement he’d felt in his gut from the moment he’d peered at her from behind the black drapes at the auction the other night. And he wanted to know what had been behind her tension and her determination, which hadn’t been able to disguise her innate earthy sensuality.

      “Don’t let it go to your head,” she said as they reached the corner of Madison and State, heading for the closest lunch café. “Despite his business reputation, my father is a hopeless romantic, who’d love to see me settle down. He’d be happy if an intoxicated mime in full makeup came to take me to lunch, as long as he was single and