Risqué Business. Tawny Weber

      Delaney swallowed, sure the zap of sexual energy was just some weird reaction to the camera and lights. Or maybe an allergic reaction to the makeup. Did gel bras have a toxic effect when the skin got overheated?

      “Well, well.” With a quick look at the producer, Sean gave a little nod, then said, “We have an unexpected guest joining us today. Ladies and gentlemen, Nick Angel.”

      Delaney barely kept her jaw from dropping. Her gaze shot back to the hunk joining them onstage. She stifled a little gasp as his eyes met hers, energy zinging between them like lightning.

      No, she assured herself. Not between them. It had to be just her reaction. Men never got zingy around her.

      When he joined them her stomach took a nosedive. All the zing on her side or not, it still scared the hell out of her. She had no idea how to channel this level of sexual attraction.

      So she fell back on the tried and true, and pretended her body didn’t exist. Shifting into brainiac mode, she processed his appearance, which consisted of jeans, a dress shirt and a black leather jacket, his attitude—defiance wrapped in charm—and his body language, which suggested “watch out, someone’s gonna get it.”

      Damned if she didn’t wish it were her.

      3

      DELANEY MENTALLY RECITED the works of early American poets to keep from drooling at the sight of Nick Angel, master of erotic suspense, just inches from her. If she’d thought he looked hot across the room, he was an inferno now. The pure masculine sexuality called to her like nothing she’d ever felt before. She wanted to peel his clothes off with her teeth. An image flashed through her mind of the two of them, a few feet of rope and a tub of double chocolate fudge ice cream.

      “Nick, I’d like you to meet the newest addition to Wake Up California, Delaney Madison. Delaney, I believe you’ve read Nick’s work.”

      Visions of ice cream melted as Delaney met Nick’s piercing blue gaze. She froze at the look in those intense depths, then reminded herself this was the new Delaney. The made-over, sophisticated, worthy-of-attention Delaney.

      Even if his gaze said he knew what she looked like naked, she was only imagining that he knew how nervous she was. Don’t let them see you sweat, Mindy had lectured. Delaney recalled all her friend’s advice on handling the on-air nerves and figured it applied even more now. As long as she kept her polished mask in place, she’d be fine.

      For a woman who worshiped the written word, meeting an author was always a pleasure. To meet the author responsible for her last orgasm was both fabulous and a little embarrassing. Especially since the look in his eyes, that dark and sexy consideration, made her wonder if he knew he’d given her such pleasure. Probably. He had that much self-assurance.

      The old Delaney would have been humiliated to face that considering look. She’d have run, no question about it. But the new Delaney? Delaney Madison, Super Reviewer? She drew back her shoulders, showing her gel-lifted breasts to their best advantage in her red silk blouse, and lifted a brow in challenge.

      “It’s a pleasure,” she said, proud of her smooth tone. “I’ve read all of your books.”

      “Have you, now?” He arched one perfect brow, his smile predatory. Like a sexy, charming shark…ready to take one huge bite out of her ass. “And what did you think of them? Oh, wait, I think I’ve read your opinions already, haven’t I?”

      Not sure how to respond, Delaney licked her lips, disconcerted to see his eyes narrow as he followed the movement of her tongue. After a heartbeat, he raised his gaze to meet hers again. The dark heat of his look made her stomach clench.

      “From the look on your face, Nick, you’re not a fan of reviews?” she commented, falling back on her debate training to hide her nerves. “Or is it just reviewers who say things you don’t want to hear?”

      She watched with fascination the expressions shift on Nick’s gorgeous face, from shock to amusement to appreciation.

      “I have no problem with reviewers, or their reviews,” Nick said, his voice rich and deep. Delaney knew she’d be hearing it in her sleep. “It’s when they interject their unfounded prejudices into the review that I take issue.”

      “Such as asking for emotional depth from your stories?”

      “That’d be a good example.”

      “But that’s what your readers are asking for.”

      “They weren’t until you stirred them up,” he pointed out.

      “Oh, please,” she scoffed, nerves forgotten. “You’re giving me credit for the readers’ demanding emotions in your books? You think my one comment turned the opinion of thousands of readers?”

      “Thousands?”

      “I get mail.”

      “So do I.”

      “Did you want to compare sizes or something?”

      Sean visibly choked back a laugh. Delaney saw him and the producer sending subtle, off-camera hand signals back and forth. Sean waved his hand to indicate heat, the producer indicating he wanted it fanned higher. Delaney smothered her panicked giggle. Higher, her ass, if things got any hotter in here, she’d melt all over Nick Angel’s very muscular thighs.

      Nick snagged her attention again, his grin quick and appreciative. She couldn’t stop her answering smile.

      “Seriously,” Delaney said, leaning forward to emphasize her point. His gaze dropped, just for a second, to the view highlighted by her V-necked blouse. She gave a brief thanks for gel-bra enhanced cleavage and pretended she wasn’t turned-on when his gaze returned to hers. “Don’t you feel an obligation to your readers? So many I’ve heard from are clamoring for emotions to go with the wild ride you take them on. Doesn’t that influence you at all?”

      “I give them plenty of emotions. Fear, adrenaline, lust. Until you’d stirred this up, my fans were plenty satisfied. Especially with the sex,” Nick declared. He paused and considered, then added, “A review before yours once said the only way someone could be dissatisfied reading my work was if they were sexually dysfunctional.”

      “So you’re saying the only way someone would hate your work is if they had a sexual dysfunction?” Delaney let out a baffled laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

      “Of course not. I never kid about sex.” His words were teasing, but the underlying intensity proclaimed that he did, indeed, take sex very, very seriously. Delaney shifted in the hard chair, trying to ignore the damp warmth in her panties.

      “That’s why I stopped by,” Nick continued. “Since I happen to disagree, strongly, with your view of how I handle sex, I figured we’d discuss the matter.”

      “You mean you’re here to try and change my mind?”

      “Or you can try and change mine.”

      She pursed her lips, trying to see the trap. There was one, she was sure of it.

      “Chicken?” he murmured in a low, husky tone.

      Hell, yeah. Delaney stared into his cocky face. He’d known she’d be intimidated. He’d come here with his sexy self, his arrogant attitude and his challenge, all with one intention. To intimidate her, make her look stupid.

      She narrowed her eyes. He probably figured if he made her look dumb, he’d be able to refute her comments from the Risqué interview.

      “Actually, no,” she said slowly. “I’ve complete confidence in my evaluations. After years of reviewing, I believe the opinions I share generally reflect the public consensus.”

      “You’re claiming to speak for the average reader?”

      She considered that. She’d never been average anything, so the concept was intriguing. But she had consistently seen her reviews reflected in sales