The Longest Night. Kathleen O'Reilly

can be hot.” She drew a hand over her forehead for effect. “I’m going to check in the back for the order form.”

      “His name is Mark,” grumbled Kimberly.

      “Oh, yes.” Cassandra glowed in Mark’s general direction. “Suck up some air-conditioning, Mark,” she said, and then disappeared. “I have to work.”

      She plastered herself to the door and then listened to Kimberly’s monosyllabic tones, shaking her head. The conversation was about as scintillating as the stock market report. Eventually Mark disappeared—a less sensitive woman would have said “ran”—the electric door beeping behind him.

      Kimberly slunk into the back room, shoulders drooping, traditional rejection pose.

      For a second, only one short second, Cassandra identified with Kimberly. Women could be such suckers for men.

      Finally, she sighed. What would it hurt? “You know, we could make a deal,” said Cassandra.

      “What sort of deal?”

      “You want Mark?”

      “No,” the girl said, lying through her teeth.

      “I can help you there, if you’ll help me.”

      “I don’t need your help.”

      Cassandra knew that laughing wouldn’t advance her cause, so she choked it down her throat. “Can I tell you something, woman to woman?”

      Kimberly shrugged her shoulders, an ungainly move that accentuated her bad posture.

      “You could have him eating right out of your hand.”

      “Not in this lifetime,” said Kimberly, dripping sarcasm.

      “I’m serious.”

      “Uh, no. I don’t look like you, Miss Ward.”

      And how it must have pained her to admit that. Cassandra shook her head again. “It’s all about the illusion, Kimberly. How you look has very little to do with it.”

      “I don’t want your help.”

      Cassandra went on, “Do you know how many people have asked me my secret? Tons. I could have my own infomercial and make a mint, but it’s no good if you tell everyone what it is. But here I am, offering you a gesture of friendship, offering to share my most valuable insights regarding the weaker sex, and you’re turning them down. I think that’s rude, Kimberly.”

      “I don’t want to be rude,” muttered Kimberly.

      “I didn’t think so. You’re not the type. Let me help you.”

      “You just feel sorry for me.”

      “Maybe. But I need your help this summer, and I don’t want to have to tippy-toe around the store, trying to figure out what to say, what not to say, it’d be très awkward. This is my first summer in the store alone, and I need to keep things in order while Dad is gone. You can understand that, can’t you?”

      Kimberly shrugged.

      “We’ll start with the basics today. Flirting and Body Language 101. Tomorrow I’ll bring in some clothes and makeup.”

      “You really think you could turn me into something else?”

      Cassandra dragged Kimberly over to the mirror and planted her in front. “Smile.

      “Now pull up your chin—

      “Shoulders back—

      “One foot in front of the other—

      “Hand on hip, fingers splayed—

      “Now what do you see?” Cassandra asked.

      “I do look better.”

      “It’s nothing but confidence. It’s the most potent weapon in a woman’s arsenal, so don’t leave home without it. Now go out to the front and find the order from Mr. Amesworth.”

      “But I don’t know where it is!” Cassandra shook her fingers. “Nuh-uh-uh. Shoulders back, chin up. Just remember, confidence.”

      DIAMONDS by Ward & Ward was on Wabash Street right in the middle of Jeweler’s Row. It was Chicago’s very own version of 47th Street. Window after window was filled with fiery gold and diamonds. Diamonds that could fill a woman’s eyes with tears just as fast as they could empty a man’s bank account.

      Noah walked in, expecting, hoping to see Cassandra; instead he found a frumpy female digging through papers.

      “Is Cassandra here?”

      She held up a hand and pulled out a document from the bottom of the pile. “Aha! Got it. Wait a minute. I’ll get her.”

      Noah didn’t quite follow that, but he stayed silent as the girl disappeared into the back.

      While he waited, he looked in the display cases, noticing the myriad stones that winked back at him. Most were set in rings or bracelets, but some had been scattered loosely on velvet-covered trays. White diamonds, red diamonds and yellow diamonds.

      When he lifted his head, she was there, framed in the doorway.

      Noah had to hand it to her—the woman could make an entrance. Her low-slung jeans were just a hair shy of decency, hugging centerfold curves. She wore a simple long-sleeved shirt. If any garment that hugged that magnificent chest could be considered simple. They were clothes you’d see every day on the streets of Chicago, but no other clothes sent him from flaccid to rock-hard in under three seconds flat.

      He coughed.

      “Mr. Barclay. I’m surprised you remembered the invitation.”

      “Surely we’ve progressed beyond last names?”

      “Noah.”

      He liked the way she said it, almost a whisper, her perfect mouth caressing his name. Her eyes looked softer today. The anger was gone. It was a good sign.

      “Do a man a favor?” he asked.

      The perfect mouth pulled into a tight line and the eyes grew sharp. He had a feeling that Cassandra Ward, society-page sex kitten, had taken his comment the wrong way. Oops. He was ready to apologize, but just as he opened his mouth, the sharpness was gone—like it’d never been there at all.

      Her laugh was throaty and full, and her nails raked his hand—a teasing touch. “Hold that thought. I need to write something down before I forget.” Then she pulled a pen from the drawer and leaned down on the counter, and Noah found himself staring in the valley of her breasts. A man could lose his soul there if he wasn’t careful.

      She scribbled down some notes. There was a name he couldn’t read. Then she straightened, pen in one hand.

      “Now. What sort of favor were you thinking of?” she asked, capping the pen and pointing it at him.

      Noah swallowed. He had been ready to ask her to lunch, but she was fogging his brain.

      “Something with just the two of us?” she asked, her eyes focused directly on his mouth, and he wondered where that girl was and why she wasn’t rescuing him. He knew this was a bad idea, but he couldn’t think rationally. All he could focus on was the liquid plumpness of her mouth and the thousand years of sin that were reflected in her eyes. Already he had a hard-on, a couple more seconds and he was going to explode.

      She smiled at him, reading his thoughts, and leaned a hip against the counter, which meant six inches closer to him. And six inches closer to touching him. Then she slid the pen deep into the V of her shirt and he watched as it disappeared between sun-kissed skin. He licked his lips, and just when he was ready to go diving for the pen, she pulled it back out, tilted her head back and laughed.