No Holding Back. Isabel Sharpe

not that she’d given him much of a chance, and that he had no problem giving orders. “Wait here” was not the most charming way she’d ever been asked to linger. Though for all he knew she was a lying con-artist thief, so maybe a lapse in manners was forgivable.

      She had also observed that he was the kind of male eye candy she liked best. Thick dark hair, none of this California surfer-dude stuff for her. A strong face, very masculine, stopping short of head-clubbing-caveman. Tall. Dark brown eyes that sent out a shock of attraction on contact, and that indicated copious brainpower behind them.

      And—gravy on her stuffing—the man obviously worked out. Good shoulders, flat stomach and that great sculpted butt that—

      “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

      “Oh. Well. That’s okay.” He’d put jeans over the great sculpted butt, which was disappointing because while she liked him naked just fine, she always thought of Jack Brattle in a tuxedo, kind of James Bondish. Were they thousand-dollar designer denim? Looked like Lees to her. “You certainly don’t need to apologize. I’m the one who intruded on your—”

      “I saw your car out my window. Impressive.”

      “I do things thoroughly.”

      “Uh-huh.” He moved forward unexpectedly and took hold of her wrist—not very gently. “So what are you really here for?”

      She gasped at his harsh tone, which took her completely by surprise after his initial pleasantness. “To keep from freezing to death?”

      “You’re sure that’s all?”

      “Yes.” In spite of her shock over his Jekyll-Hyde act, she felt a crazy pang of sympathy and a dose of guilt. Guys like Jack Brattle probably had people with ulterior motives surrounding them 24-7. Including her at the moment. “Why else would I be here?”

      “You’re not a reporter, are you?”

      She laughed nervously, unable to lie to this man’s face. “Of course I am. Breaking into strangers’ houses on major holidays is how I work.”

      “I see.” His lips half smiled, and she realized with more guilt and a twinge of satisfaction that he thought she was joking. Advantage Hannah. Except then he started looking her leisurely up and down in the short clingy sequined dress and she didn’t feel like she had an advantage anymore. At all. “You didn’t come here with…other ideas?”

      “What? Why would I do that? I didn’t even know you were going to be home.” Oops. Because I thought you’d be in Europe, Jack Brattle. “I mean here.”

      His brow went up. “Where did you think I’d be?”

      “I have no idea. I thought the house was empty, then I found out it wasn’t. You left your door unlocked, so I—”

      “You told me. I’m sorry if I insulted you. Women have—It’s happened before, though not at this house.”

      “You have others?”

      “Yes.” He started looking her over again, and she got all flustered and a little heated up, when she really wanted to be annoyed and insulted. “And that is a very seductive dress.”

      “I was at a party.”

      “Where?”

      “Malvern.”

      “You live in Philly?”

      “Yes.”

      “Strange way of heading back to the city from there.”

      “I got lost, I told you.”

      “Yes, you did.” He held her eyes and she controlled her hot and flustered self enough to look back fairly steadily.

      Except the second she relaxed her guard, she started thinking about how much she wanted him to kiss her, and how sexy and romantic it would be right here in his twilit hallway. He could back her up against the wall and have his multibillion-dollar way with her.

       Mmm.

      What would he do if she leaned forward right now and—

      Stop it. Just stop. Had she learned nothing about herself and about men in the years since puberty? Not to mention she’d just become outraged when he suggested she was thinking exactly what she was thinking.

      “Sorry about that.” He relaxed his interrogation-stare, so apparently she’d passed the test. “I just have to be careful.”

      “Why?”

      He winked. “Double-O-Seven stuff.”

      “Seriously?” She nearly swallowed her tongue. Had she not just been thinking James Bond? And here he was, the legend come to life, though she doubted he was actually doing anything but running his late father’s business. A business, of course, she knew nothing about as far as he was concerned, so she’d play along. “You’re a spy?”

      “Not even close. What are we going to do with you?”

      She had many ideas by now, none of which she could say out loud. But his abrupt change of subject away from the personal meant this could be a tough interview. “If you’ll point me to a phone I can call Triple A and have my car towed.”

       Say no, say no, say no.

      “Why don’t you wait until this weather clears? I’m sure Triple A will have its hands full rescuing motorists who couldn’t find conveniently unlocked, apparently deserted houses.”

      “If you’re sure…” Stranded in a mansion with a hot über-rich playboy who could make her career? A miracle. Though she had no idea if Jack Brattle actually was a playboy. She could rule out gay now that she’d met him and had been on the receiving end of those eyes. If he was a playboy, he certainly kept his conquests as thoroughly out of the press as he kept himself. Maybe he sold his discarded women into slavery to ensure their silence.

      She did think it was odd he wasn’t more disconcerted about his door being left unlocked.

      “Are you hungry?” He put a hand to his sadly now-covered stomach. “I’m starved. Hardly got a thing to eat tonight.”

      “Were you out?”

      “For a while. The forecast convinced me to ring in the New Year at home.”

      “Considering the state of my car, you made the right choice. Home would have been a lot simpler.”

       And one-eighth the fun.

      “Where in Philly is home?”

      “Ah.” She glanced pointedly at her surroundings. “A stunning three-room estate above a shoe-repair shop.”

      “Location, location, location.”

      “So they say. Did you grow up in this…hut?”

      “Yes. You never did tell me if you were hungry.”

      “Famished.” Another abrupt change of subject. He wasn’t going to make this easy by volunteering long tales of his childhood, was he.

      “This way to the kitchen.” He pointed down the hall and curved his other arm behind her as if he were going to touch her, but ohh, not quite. “Or maybe you’ve already been there.”

      “I…took a peek, yes. Couldn’t resist. This is so not my life.”

      “Don’t assume that’s a bad thing.”

      “No?” She turned at the top of the stairs to see his face. Reserved as usual. “Why? Most people would die to—”

      “Most people have no idea.”

      Billionaire’s Bitter Secret. “Tell me then.”

      “It’s not what you think.”

      “What