Baring It All. Sandra Chastain

started? On what?”

      “On getting you into my bed.”

      The man had a one-track mind. “That is not a done deal. I told you, you can try.”

      “But you’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you?”

      She squirmed and held her breath. She’d thought about little else. Even caught up in his fantasy, a tiny grain of logic still held. How could she be so acutely responsive to two men? Lord Sin was the fantasy, the unknown dream lover. But Ryan Malone was real. Thinking about him? If he could see her, the color of her cheeks would be a dead giveaway. “No. I’ve been busy,” she lied.

      “I don’t believe you.”

      “Then you must be the most conceited man in the state. Besides, I’m beginning to wonder if you really can get me close to Lord Sin.”

      “I can get you close.”

      “When?”

      Ryan let the seconds tick away as if he were formulating his answer. “When you prove yourself trustworthy.”

      That stopped her. She wasn’t prepared for the seriousness of his answer. That was the second time he’d mentioned being trustworthy. What had happened to Lord Sin to make truth the most important thing in his life? Or was it Ryan who was so cautious? Finally, she answered. “You don’t know me, Malone, but if you did you’d understand that no one puts a higher value on trust than I do. It comes second only to commitment to the truth.”

      “I hope you’re right, Sunny Clary. I’ll pick you up at the television station at three o’clock tomorrow.”

      “Where are we going?”

      “To get you one of those inside stories, at a birthday party.”

      “Whose birthday party?”

      “You ask too many questions,” he said.

      “I’m a reporter,” she argued, “a good one. Or I will be. Asking questions is what I do best.”

      “I don’t know who licked the red off your candy,” Ryan said in exasperation, “but I wish you’d stop bristling and go along with me. It will be worth it.”

      Licked the red off your candy? That didn’t sound like a sophisticated business tycoon. To elicit that kind of reaction, she knew she’d gone too far. But she couldn’t let the man run over her. “You forget, Mr. Malone, even if I did agree to go to a party, I have a job.”

      “The party will be part of your job. I called Fields.”

      “You did what?” He’d said he’d give her stories, but this wasn’t what she’d expected. And to call her boss before he’d discussed it with her was inexcusable. “Malone, I’ll decide what stories I cover.”

      “You don’t have to bring a gift,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “That’s already been taken care of. One hundred red roses.”

      Sunny couldn’t resist. “Were they wrapped in a check?”

      “Well, yes, they were.”

      “From you or Lord Sin?”

      “Does it matter?”

      It mattered, she told herself. Attending a party with Malone was much too disturbing. But if it would get her closer to Lord Sin, she couldn’t afford to pass it up. “Just checking the facts, WTRU’s first rule of journalism,” she said. “The second is to tell the truth.”

      “Is it? I don’t think I believe that,” he said dryly.

      Malone’s conversation was taking a serious turn she hadn’t expected. “It is for me.”

      “As a reporter, do you always tell the truth?”

      This time it was Sunny’s time to hesitate. “When I’m allowed.”

      “Good. Tell me, what are you wearing?”

      She glanced down at her body and watched her nipples turn into dusky rose-colored berries. “Excuse me?”

      “I said, tell me what you’re wearing.”

      “Perfume and a smile,” she replied and hung up the phone.

      Ten seconds later it rang. He was laughing. “What kind? And where do you put it?”

      Before Sunny could throw the phone across the room, it went dead. Ryan Malone was obviously taking lessons from Lord Sin. Excite, titillate and leave the object of your attention panting in the dark.

      It was working. Every part of her seemed to be shivering, pulling in a different direction. She pulled on a faded Miami Dolphins T-shirt, hoping to erase the tingling sensation of her bare body against her sheets. It didn’t work. She ought to just sleep in the green satin dinner gown. There’d be no friction there. The infamous dress lay puddled on the floor like a melted lollipop. Melted. She’d got that right. Still flushed and totally frustrated, she grabbed the dress, hung it in her closet out of sight and climbed into her bed. Switching off the light, she lay in the darkness.

      Back home, as she unwound, she’d have heard the night birds calling, or the occasional wail of a coon dog hot on the trail of a wild animal. She felt a little like that animal. Winded, out of breath and being pursued.

      Overstimulated from the excitement of the evening, she felt as if she were hurtling through the darkness in fast forward. Facing down hardened criminals or politicians under fire couldn’t be as difficult as the emotional turmoil she’d been through tonight, first as the object of Lord Sin’s attention, then Ryan Malone’s, the two sexiest men in Atlanta.

      She came to her feet and moved to the window. Here she only heard the sound of traffic, an occasional car horn and the scrape of a branch against her windowpane. She leaned her forehead on the glass and wished she could pick up the phone and call…whom? There was no one she could talk to about this. She was alone, just as she’d been ever since her father had gone to jail. She’d lost him for a time to depression and despair. Even now that they were past that, things were not the same. She was still his daughter, but she wasn’t his little girl anymore.

      The phone rang again.

      Sunny grabbed the receiver. “Now listen to me. If you don’t let me get some sleep I’ll spend the next two weeks in my own bed—alone.”

      It was Ted Fields’s amused voice that said, “I’d say that’s the smart thing to do. But I need you at the station tomorrow and I think Walt’s going to have a hard time pushing your bed up Peachtree Street.”

      She closed her eyes and counted to ten before she said, “Malone called you.”

      “He did. But you don’t have to go. I could always send you and Walt to cover the Southlake Mall beauty contest instead. They’ll be crowning a Sweetheart of Love in three age groups, starting with the toddlers.”

      Sunny groaned. “First a stripper, then a beauty contest for rug rats. Please, Ted, give me something with teeth.”

      “Sorry. If you’re looking for teeth, I don’t think this birthday party will qualify. Unless you’re willing to accept the false kind. The youngest guests will probably be in their sixties.”

      “Senior citizens?” Sunny groaned. “Why are you doing this to me?”

      “Because Malone asked for you and Malone is good news. I’ll see you in the morning, Sunny, but I’m sending you to the retirement home tomorrow afternoon—with Walt. If you want to go home with Malone, it’s up to you.”

      “It’s a conspiracy. I came here to expose corruption and you’re shipping me off to an old folks’ home for tea and crumpets. I suppose you have instructions on what I should wear?”

      “No. You made a good choice the last time, I’ll leave your wardrobe up to you.”

      “Fine.