My Daring Seduction. Isabel Sharpe

about her how? As a friend? Little sister? Or more…

      All of it scared her. Looking back on her life, on the emotional and physical abuse, the fear running away from the only home she’d known, the stupid things she’d done in fast succession after that, all of which had gone horribly wrong, the terror of exposure from Gina for Ty’s death…all that, and she didn’t think she’d ever felt quite this frightened in her life.

      Denver waved at the trio and turned back to Lindsay. The firelight flickered over his face making him look strong and dangerous. The room felt suddenly hot and way too small. “Seems like everything went great tonight.”

      “Yes. Yes. Amazingly well.” Her voice sounded high and slightly panicked. She suddenly felt as if she had too many hands, and no place to put them. “Thanks for your help.”

      “It’s my job, Lindsay.”

      “I know, but…well, I mean it doesn’t have to be your job and you do it really well and so I wanted you to know that—” Geez. She might be many things, but babbling fool didn’t usually make the list. “—so I appreciate it.”

      “Uh-huh.” He narrowed his eyes, staring unrelentingly. “You okay?”

      “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

      “I have no idea. But you’re acting funny.”

      Yeah, she was a laugh riot. “Sorry to hear that.”

      “Anything happen? With your sisters?”

      Way too much. “Everything’s fine.”

      “I see.” He tightened his lips. “And that’s why you look as if you just lost your best friend.”

      “Honestly, Denver. I’m fine. My half sisters are fine. Everything is fine.” She waved a hand in exasperation, aware that this was not the most auspicious beginning for a seduction. “I have not lost my best friend.”

      But after what had to happen tonight, she was desperately afraid she would.

      3

      “THANKS. YOU CAN JUST PUT them there.” Lindsay pointed to the corner of the living room in her beautiful two-bedroom apartment upstairs from Chassy. A far cry from any living situation she’d ever had. She couldn’t count the number of couches she’d slept on, the roach-infested tiny rooms she’d shared, the basements she’d crashed in after leaving her parents’ home. As much as that life seemed at times to have been lived by someone else, she still had to remind herself frequently that this beautiful place actually belonged to her.

      Scott and Laura Downing, the couple who sold her the building for next to nothing, had been fastidious owners. She hadn’t had to do anything but paint the walls, all of which had been shades of white much too demure for her taste. A strange combination of eagerness and reluctance to put down roots—not to mention spend money—had gotten her about halfway to furnishing the place. Finally she could describe it as spare instead of empty. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

      She had to admit the place looked good with Denver in it. She’d lured him up by asking for help carrying boxes of table lamps and pictures left over from when the bar had belonged to the Downings. The boxes weren’t bothering anyone piled at the back of the storeroom downstairs, but she had to entice Denver up on some pretext and she wasn’t going to suggest etchings.

      Her first plan had been to jump him downstairs and get it over with, but she’d never be able to behave normally at work if the desk or table or chair they were near held such an erotic connotation.

      Better up here or maybe in the guest room, which Scott and Laura had left furnished since their condo in Naples was one bedroom smaller. Or perhaps on the new couch in the living room where she’d ask him to sit. She rarely went into the guest room, which made it a good choice. However, the couch didn’t invite long-term occupancy the way a bed did.

      Okay. The couch.

      So. On with the show. She could fake it, of course, have Denver go back downstairs with nothing more than a friendly g’bye and tell her half sisters and the rest of the girls that they’d been at it all night long, but lying wasn’t her thing. Brooke, Joey and Katie would be on to her in a heartbeat once they started demanding details. In any case, her newfound sense of honor and her enjoyment of the whole Martinis and Bikinis concept wouldn’t let her get away with that for long.

      Best just to go for the kill. Close her eyes and think of Boston. The only way she’d get through the seduction of Denver Langston intact was by not allowing herself to care. Nothing good had ever come from her letting down her guard with men. Nothing.

      “All set.” He straightened, having set the box next to her most recent acquisition, the burgundy microfiber couch. It had cost way too much but made a fabulous accent in front of the dark orangey-yellow wall. The perfect place to get down and dirty for a quick half hour or so.

      “Great, thank you.” Three…two…one… “Would you like a drink, Denver?”

      Blast off.

      Her words—maybe her pointed use of his name—made his eyes jump from the rack of DVDs he’d been examining to hers. “A drink?”

      She took in a breath and forced herself to stay calm. Justin thought she had ice surrounding her? How about Antarctica? “Yes, drink. Glass containing liquid, preferably alcoholic, intended to be consumed orally.”

      He chuckled and put his hands on his hips in that manly-man way he did. “I’d love a drink. Whadya got?”

      “Most everything.”

      He narrowed his eyes, challenging. “Irish whiskey?”

      “Jameson’s?”

      “Damn, you’re good.”

      “Yes.” She held his gaze for a sensual beat. “I am.”

      She knew without looking at him that his eyes followed her to the built-in cabinet that housed her meager supply of rarely touched booze. Already he’d noticed the change and was wondering what was going on.

      Before she opened the cabinet, she kicked out of her shoes and took off her black sweater, exposing a black short-sleeved top that hung just to the waistband of her black pants. The next layer would come off soon. Then the next. After that, no more layers.

      “Water? Ice? Straight up?”

      “Straight up.”

      She poured him two fingers of Jameson’s and one for herself, noting with irony the company’s motto, Sine Metu, which Justin had once explained to her meant “Without Fear.”

      “Cheers.” She handed Denver his drink without fear, clinked with him and took a sip, enjoying the rare treat. She still liked the taste of alcohol, but no longer wanted to tangle with its effects.

      “Want to sit?” She pointed to the couch and sat at one end, leaning back against the arm. “Thanks again for your help tonight.”

      “You’re welcome. How did Natalie like her dare?”

      “She…took it fine. Of course she was embarrassed. I can tell she really wants this guy she works out with. And when a woman wants a man, I think she should go after him.” She tipped her head to one side and took the elastic out of her ponytail so her long hair swung free. “Don’t you think?”

      Again the narrow-eyed gaze. “Depends.”

      She straightened and made a show of tossing the hair back from her face. He was watching every move she made. Intently. She found herself both excited by what she had to do and dismayed by how it could affect their friendship. She tried as hard as she could to suppress any signs of that conflict. Keep it easy, purely sexual. She’d done that routine many times before. Too many to be proud of. “Depends on what?”

      “What she’s up to.” He gestured slightly toward her with his