9½ Days. Mia Zachary

and desirable, she could convince David to try again. Six weeks ago he had gently suggested some time apart to think about what they wanted. Jordan thought that time apart was at the heart of their problems but hadn’t argued, believing the fault lay with her and her inexperience.

      But she had to win David back. Fast.

      Pretend to be a pirate’s wench or a sexy dominatrix? The very idea was daunting. She had never imagined herself going to this kind of extreme, but desperate times required drastic actions. At this point she would do almost anything to convince David to grant her this favor. Anything to have him look at her with something more than kindness in his gaze.

      Maybe then the little voice in the back of her head that whispered she was making a mistake would shut up.

      “Huh. Ah. Tuh. Hot. I know that word!” Jordan looked down to see a rosy-cheeked cherub gazing at her with innocent blue eyes. “And the next word is Ss. Eh—”

      Jordan moved her book out of sight before the little girl could figure out how to pronounce the letter X. She contorted her stiff features into a brief smile. “Isn’t your mommy looking for you, sweetie?”

      “Nope. She’s right over there.” The girl skipped toward the woman by the dictionaries. “Mama, what does ‘sex’ mean?”

      Jordan backed away from the heat of the woman’s glare and fled the Reference section. She was never shopping at this Barnes & Noble again.

      As she moved through the store, the bright covers of the fashion and gossip magazines caught her attention. She averted her eyes, but it was too late. The jolt of ugly emotions stabbed her in the gut. She wouldn’t look. She wouldn’t. Jordan shoved her guilty secret to the back of her mind and kept walking.

      Waiting her turn near the checkout, the latest issue of Baltimore Today caught her eye. David was on the front beneath a headline that read, Legal Eagles: The Best 30 Lawyers In The City. He looked tall and confident in his charcoal pin-striped suit. The cream-colored shirt and red paisley tie complemented the rich cappuccino tones of his skin. Sunlight from his large office window shone on his dark curls and rivaled the brightness of his wide smile.

      David was perfect. He was handsome, successful, intelligent and considerate. What more could a woman ask for?

      How about a man who actually lights your fire instead of blowing it out? How about hot, sheet-soaking sex instead of chaste kisses and friendly hugs?

      David had ambitions to be the youngest Partner at Chase, Behr & Lily, the law firm where they both worked. He put in a lot of hours at the office and often traveled. When he was available, they’d gone out to firm dinners, client parties or charity functions. Rarely had they spent time alone.

      Jordan raised her left hand, angling the back until the fluorescent light caught the half-karat solitaire on her third finger. Everyone in her family had been delighted when she started a promising relationship with such a perfect guy. They were downright ecstatic when she’d bragged to her cousin that David had proposed.

      Too bad she’d lied about the whole thing.

      Her fiancé was actually her ex-boyfriend and the solitaire was only a “friendship ring.” She’d bought it herself with David’s credit card. He hated shopping and told her it was the only way she was certain of getting exactly what she wanted.

      What she wanted was a real relationship in her life, instead of a lie that was guaranteed to ambush her at some point.

      She glanced at her watch and winced. She had to get back to the office to meet with her client, Susan Brandywine. The local news anchor wanted Jordan to handle a wrongful-discharge lawsuit.

      Clutching Fifty Fast Fantasies a little tighter in her damp grasp, she hurried over to the checkout before she changed her mind. That little voice was whispering to her again, warning that her seduction plan was not a good idea. Jordan ignored it.

      TWO DAYS LATER, Jordan just wanted to go back upstairs and put on her clothes. Instead, she was parading around in a red silk nightgown and an ankle-length lace cover-up. Underneath, she wore a pair of red bikini panties. How could anyone feel sexy with these little scraps of silk creeping into places they didn’t belong?

      While she hoped the peignoir set made her appear sexy and provocative, she was afraid she only looked awkward and overweight. And she couldn’t leave. She was trapped by family obligation and a crush of people in the Belle Fleur Atrium of Baltimore’s esteemed St. Charles Hotel.

      She still couldn’t figure out how her older sister had talked her into playing an active role in this lingerie show. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She remembered a lot of pleading, begging and low-balance checkbook waving.

      Camryn had recently ended her career as a haute couture supermodel. A chance meeting with Mason Rowling-Shays, III, heir to the department-store chain, had led to creating her own line of intimate wear, Boudoir Allure Designs. But she’d used what little money she had saved over the years to get the fledgling business off the ground.

      Jordan had been more than happy to help her sister coordinate this all-important first presentation. Camryn’s future depended on the success of the show. Then one of the models had to back out at the last minute and her sister was frantic for a replacement.

      But Jordan wasn’t about to have her soft curves measured against the willowy size-six mannequins her sister had recruited. She’d compromised by agreeing to circulate through the after-show reception in the modest red peignoir set—modest by comparison with some of Camryn’s other designs.

      She still felt exposed in the audacious gown with its low-cut bodice and thigh-high split. Only the hot flush of embarrassment kept her from getting frostbite as she wandered about the Atrium. But she’d never been able to refuse her family anything. So here she was, half-clothed and completely uncomfortable.

      Jordan shivered as goose bumps marched along her arms. To counter the record-high temperatures outside, the hotel’s overeager ventilation system blasted air in frigid gusts. The burbling of the indoor fountain mingled with the din of a hundred voices, making it impossible to do more than smile and nod as she moved about the room.

      Several magazine editors stopped to admire her outfit. She obediently turned in a tight circle, allowing yet another group of fashionistas to coo over the delicate lace embroidery of her gown. One man wore a press pass and a leering smirk, not bothering to hide the fact that he’d noticed the cold air’s effect through the delicate material.

      Jordan tried to pull the edges of the robe across her hardened nipples, but the little cover-up wouldn’t cover a damned thing. With a faltering smile, she settled for crossing her arms over her breasts. The group moved on to critique another outfit and she continued to fulfill her promise to Camryn.

      Her sister was, and always would be, the golden ideal she could never attain. Growing up in Camryn’s svelte shadow hadn’t been easy. Chubby and shy, she’d wanted so badly to be included in her sister’s charmed circle but, knowing she could never fit in, had found solace in food.

      Any kind of food. Every kind of food.

      She often wondered if there’d been a switch at the hospital where she was born. Her parents, sister and two brothers were all attractive, outgoing, charismatic. And then there was her. The ugly duckling in the middle…

      Enough was enough. She had to go and put on a real pair of panties. The noise level and the glass of champagne she had drunk for courage had given her a slight headache. The reception didn’t look as if it would be winding down any time soon, but she doubted she’d be missed.

      She judged the distance to the makeshift dressing rooms and decided the exit would be closer. With one last glance at her sister, Jordan slipped through the crowd toward the bank of elevators just beyond the doors. The concourse level of the hotel was deserted. Her sequined sandals clicked like castanets as she strode across the marble floor.

      Jordan ignored the open stares of two men leaving the one available elevator and stepped inside, shoulders hunched and arms across her cleavage. Though