Slow Hands. Leslie Kelly

      She nodded. “And she’s also pretty merciless. Especially about getting her own way.”

      “I somehow suspect you can hold your own.”

      “Ditto.”

      “I always found that hanging their bras out their bedroom windows was an effective deterrent to future harassment.”

      Maddy couldn’t help chuckling again, unable to keep a smile off her face, dimple exposure or not. “I don’t know that Tabitha’s ever owned one,” she replied, thinking of her sister’s willowy, graceful figure. Tabby was Gwyneth Paltrow slender all the way. While Maddy was more on the Catherine Zeta Jones side.

      He glanced down, probably not even aware he was doing it. The glance was quick, not offensive, probably almost reflex considering the need to check out a woman’s breasts seemed inbred into male genes.

      His gaze rose to her face, but not so quickly that she didn’t see the way his jaw flexed and his eyes narrowed, shining with dark intensity and appreciation, all traces of that easygoing good humor disappearing.

      Hers disappeared, as well. Not to be replaced by anger…but by pure physical awareness. The roam of his stare over her body affected her just as thoroughly as a real touch from anyone else would have.

      Sometimes, she didn’t mind so much being the more curvaceous of the Turner sisters. Tabitha had the runway model shape and maintained it by eating as much as a three-day-old sparrow. Maddy, meanwhile, bordered on voluptuous, from her more than ample breasts to her small waist and downright generous hips, and fought every potato chip and cheesecake urge to keep it that way.

      Her body might play hell with her wardrobe, ruling out any cute little backless sundress or strapless gowns, which Tabby had by the roomful. But right now, at this moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care. And it was all because of the heat in this sexy man’s eyes and the almost audible quality of his next, slowly indrawn breath.

      That was lust she saw there. Pure and undisguised, unhidden by social demands or proper breeding that insisted it wasn’t polite to visibly covet a woman.

      He was coveting. She was being coveted. They were both caught in the tension of it.

      Though her mind knew better, her body couldn’t help responding. Beneath the silky dress, her skin puckered, tiny goose bumps rising on the deep V of her cleavage, her nipples tightening to jut against the lace of her bra. Her pulse fluttered in her throat, and the breaths she managed to inhale were shallow. Each was filled with the warmth of him and the dark, masculine scent of his body, which had edged to within inches of her own.

      All from a look. What in God’s name might happen to her if he ever laid a hand on her?

      “Please say yes,” he murmured. “For no other reason than that you want to.”

      His tone remained light, not demanding, not intense, despite the look in his eyes and the static in the air between them. As if he knew that coming on too strong might scare her off.

      And suddenly, it was working. Her verbal defenses had been firmly in place at the start, but now…well, now she’d actually allowed herself to see him as a person—a very sexy person—rather than just the instrument her stepmother had intended to use to hurt her father.

      If he’d played the lothario, Maddy would already have been out of here. But he hadn’t. He’d merely sounded friendly, engaging, and oh so tempting. While he spoke of polite things like his family, his eyes did all the more intimate talking. He wanted her, yet managed to remain genuine and self-deprecating. Not at all like the male prostitute he was.

      Suddenly remembering what else Tabby had told her about the man, and the glimpse she’d had at the auction program, she said, “You don’t have an accent!”

      “Am I supposed to?”

      She clenched her lips shut, wishing she’d thought to learn a bit more about what she was up against tonight. Tabitha had given her the bare bones and Maddy had raced into the plan. Typical story. Just the way it was when they were kids and Tabby had been Lucy holding the ball while Charlie Brown Maddy ran down the field to kick it, knowing she was going to end up on her ass.

      “I should have made her do it herself,” Maddy muttered, though she knew that would have been a very bad idea. Even Tabitha had known better.

      Maddy could be trusted to avoid a sexy gigolo. Hopefully. Her sister could not. And Tabby seemed truly determined to make her next marriage—which was scheduled for its high society kickoff in a few weeks—work. She would never have been able to keep her perfectly manicured fingers off this hunk.

      But Maddy could. And she would. Any moment now. As soon as her heart slowed down and her body came off orange alert and went back down to at least yellow.

      “What?”

      “Nothing.” Maddy stared at him, searching for something in his expression, a hint that a predator lurked beneath his oh-sosexy, laid-back, nice-guy appearance. There must be something—malice, greed, or lasciviousness—behind the open, honest interest in his stare. Just because she hadn’t seen it, didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

      There had to be more to him than she was seeing. And she almost wished she had time to find it.

      Maybe if she’d been introduced to him at a cocktail party or met him at the bank, she’d allow herself to fall for the sexy, charming, friendly demeanor and let herself be seduced by the want in his eyes. She would try to get to know him better, and let him know his physical interest was most definitely reciprocated.

      But one undeniable truth prevented that.

      If she had not been tipped off and come here tonight to prevent it, the man standing in front of her would probably be upstairs having sex with her father’s wife right this minute.

      And that was the end of her waffling. Again repulsed by the very idea, Maddy took a step away, removing her arm from his touch, and the rest of her from the force field of sexiness encompassing the man like a cloak. She was immune, damn it. Mentally and, now, because of the harsh truth she’d just forced herself to acknowledge, physically.

      Maddy pasted the cordial but not exactly friendly, expression on her face she used daily when running interference between her father and the sycophants constantly hitting him up. “Really, Mr. Wallace, there’s no wrong foot. You don’t owe me a thing. I’m glad I was able to keep you from the ridicule of your sisters.” With a deliberately rueful smile, she thought of how she’d ended up here tonight and admitted, “They can definitely be annoying.”

      “Okay then. So we’ll have a drink while we compare our crazy families, make our plans and check out the sports page for the next home game.” Frowning, he added, “You are a Cubs fan, aren’t you?”

      “I think it’s illegal not to be around here.”

      “Meaning there’s nothing stopping us from going out.”

      “If I told you I liked the Cardinals, would that get this ridiculous idea out of your head?” He lifted a hand to his chest, his jaw opening in horror. Which made her laugh again. “Kidding.”

      “You’d go that far to avoid going out with me?” he asked, his voice growing quiet, his smile fading. As if her answer really mattered to him…as if he cared.

      Shaking her head, Maddy stepped around him, taking that first all-important step toward the door. And away from Mr. Superstud. “It’s not about going out with you. I had my own reasons for being here tonight, and they didn’t include a date. So you are completely off the hook.”

      “But the money…”

      “Was for the children.” And for my father. “There’s no quid pro quo in this.” Even if five minutes ago all her most feminine parts had been demanding that she get at least a little bit of quid and a whole lot of quo for being so…awakened by him.

      That