Wickedly Hot. Leslie Kelly

      Can’t, however, was among Jade’s least favorite words. It always had been. Nothing made her give something her all as much as being told she couldn’t do it.

      She would do it. Would leave Mr. Smooth quaking and humiliated by the time she got through with him.

      Or she’d go down trying.

      Go down. The image hit the wicked half of her brain with a vengeance and her legs started to shake again.

      Stop it, Jade. Get your mind out of his pants!

      All the muscles in her body tensed as she strove for control.

      “You’re stiff again,” he said.

      “Stiff. Yes,” she murmured, still more than a little unsettled with the undeniably erotic direction her thoughts had taken. Pretty bad to have those kind of thoughts about a man she’d hated before laying eyes on him. It had obviously been way too long since she’d had sex.

      “Relax. You’re all tense because of silly Mrs. Brandywine.”

      “She deserves to be taken down a peg.”

      “Wasn’t it enough for her to be told that her dress looked like a dead bird?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye.

      Jade bit her lip, still unable to believe she’d given in and done exactly what she’d sworn to Tally she wouldn’t do. The cutting insult had just fallen off her lips, as naturally as could be. She hadn’t given it a moment’s thought.

      “I guess I do have a bit of my mother in me.” Then, remembering what Mamie had said, went on to add, “Mrs. Brandywine hates my mother because Mama’s first husband was Mamie’s high school boyfriend.”

      “High school. Long time to hold a grudge.”

      Jade shrugged. “Long grudges aren’t unusual down here. Go bring up the Civil War to some of the old-timers.”

      “No, I’m not that daring,” he said with a laugh.

      The small band segued into yet another slow, dreamy melody. As they moved together, his leg slid between hers in a move too perfectly aimed to be accidental. She gasped at the contact, not expecting him to be so deliberately bold again so soon.

      He tried to claim otherwise. “I’m not the best dancer.”

      She sucked in a shaky breath. “You’re doing okay.” Then she repositioned herself and shot him a warning look, telling him she knew he’d done it intentionally. “But don’t try it again.”

      He didn’t even apologize. Not that she’d expected him to. Instead he remained just out of reach, a breath separating them, so only the fronts of their bodies touched from shoulder to hip. The near-contact was driving her out of her mind. Her earlier curiosity returned in full force.

      Long. Thick. Hard. And more…hot.

      He radiated heat and energy, from the intensity in his green eyes to the strength in his hands to the breadth of his impossibly wide shoulders. The man screamed masculine, sexual, powerful and untamed.

      And she was really going to try to tame him? No, not tame him, punish him?

      Yet another feeling of uncustomary uncertainty flashed in her brain, which really irked her. She hadn’t been uncertain about anything related to sex for a long time. Not since deciding to lose her virginity to her college-age neighbor when she’d been in high school.

      “Where are you?” he asked softly.

      She shook her head and forced a smile and a trill of light laughter. “Right here. Can’t you feel me?”

      He nodded, slowly, and pulled her tighter. A little too tight for propriety’s sake. Warmth built inside her. She felt a trickle of moisture on her upper lip. And elsewhere.

      “Has this happened to you before?” He nearly whispered in her ear, his voice husky.

      “What?”

      “Something this instant?”

      He didn’t have to elaborate. They both knew what he was talking about.

      She answered with complete honesty. “No.” Then, because she didn’t want him getting too cocky, added, “Not this quickly, anyway. I think it usually takes at least a half hour and a glass of wine for me to determine compatibility.”

      “So, should I be scared or glad that you’re drinking soda?”

      “How did you know that?” she asked in surprise.

      “I’ve been watching you very closely. All evening. Now, answer the question. Am I not worthy of wine yet?”

      She chuckled, unable to resist his teasing expression, though she did worry about how observant he was. “I haven’t quite decided yet,” she said, needing to regroup and remind herself that the man was a pig and a creep and a despoiler of innocent young girls. Supposedly.

      Jenny wouldn’t lie.

      No, her sister wouldn’t outright lie. But she was something of a drama queen, which suited her desire to be an actress. Her tendency to exaggerate was well-known in the family, as well as to the Savannah police. Jade had gotten her sibling out of several scrapes, even stepping in to keep Mama in the dark when Jenny’s outrageous behavior got her into serious trouble.

      But she couldn’t have lied about this. Jade had even seen a picture of them together. Though it had been poor quality, so his face was slightly blurred, she believed this was the man who’d been in the picture. He’d had his arm laid casually over Jenny’s shoulders, she looking exquisitely happy—as any woman would when being held by a man who looked like pure sex wrapped in an Armani suit.

      Jenny hadn’t lied. Maybe he hadn’t meant to hurt her. Probably he hadn’t, given that even during their very brief acquaintance, she’d already realized that though he was a flirtatious, sexy playboy who turned on the charm with anyone female and breathing, he didn’t seem the type to abuse his power over women.

      Unfortunately, he’d turned that charm on a young woman unable to handle it, and broken her heart. He was a grown man, thirty at least. Old enough to know better than to mess with a twenty-one-year-old kid. So whether he’d done it intentionally or not, Ryan Stoddard had to pay.

      He would pay. And he would definitely know better by the time Jade finished with him.

      “Now, we haven’t been properly introduced, have we?” he whispered, his breaths brushing her hair and tickling her ear. “Your name is Jade?”

      She cleared her throat and replied, “Yes. Jade.” She didn’t offer her last name.

      “I’m Ryan Stoddard.”

      Definitely no mistake then. A stab of regret dashed through her as an unspoken wish that he might not be the rotten man she’d thought he was—that she’d made some colossal mistake and some other amazing architect had shown up at the party tonight—disappeared. She looked into his eyes, so clear and honest-looking. Any woman could get lost in them. Including a very young, impressionable woman.

      She was once again forcibly reminded of the reason for tonight’s interaction. Revenge.

      The crazy, sexy spell she’d been under dissipated. She finally managed to dig deep and reinforce her wavering determination by picturing Jenny in this man’s arms. That mental picture hurt. Badly. Maybe not for the right reasons, but it worked anyway. She didn’t pause to evaluate those reasons, sensing they could be based more on jealousy than family loyalty.

      Family loyalty. It was all that really mattered when one grew up as she had. The name Dupré was associated with both power and loss, sadness and ancient scandal. The family had become adept at dealing with whispers and innuendo, envy and tragedy, until the Duprés had become almost a world unto themselves. That world was a safe haven where loyalty and love were valued above all. It was especially comforting to Jade that she was related to so many people here in Savannah.