“Now there’s a rather backhanded compliment if I ever heard one.”
“Something tells me you’ve heard more than your share of those, too.”
Rather than be turned off by her dry humor, he was only further intrigued. It had been some time since a woman looked at him as something other than potential orgasm provision material. Much less talked to him the way she was talking to him. He’d be the first to admit he was probably overdue. Okay, way overdue.
He let his grin be his answer. “So, if it wasn’t the hubby or the boyfriend who got you into this mess, who did? I know we only just met, but I sense you’re not generally pushed around much.”
“Generally, you would be correct,” she said. She sighed and slumped back in her seat again. “Sibling guilt.”
“Ah. I wouldn’t know much about that. My parents wisely gave up reproduction after I popped out.”
For the first time, the slightest quirk tugged at the corners of her mouth. A mouth he was just now noticing. And what a mouth it was. It was wider than the norm, with a clearly defined upper lip, but a sensuously fuller lower one. He wondered if she had any idea how clearly and with what great detail he could fantasize about making love to a mouth like hers. Given the arch look she was directing at him, he guessed not. Something told him Cinderella here had no idea what power she packed with those lips.
Tantalized now, and enjoying it immensely, he angled his head just slightly, curious about the rest of the package.
Then the driver popped up and looked over the roof of the car. “Sir?”
Shane acted impulsively. Some things, after all, never change. He opened the side door of the limo. “Your guest has invited me to ride in the back and keep her company.”
The driver shot him a dubious look. He wasn’t sure if he simply doubted Cinderella would be interested in spending even a limo ride with a guy like him. Or was worried that Shane would somehow corrupt her on the ride in. Again, it was probably a little of both. Smart man, Shane thought with a grin.
Before either of them could refuse, he slid into the limo as easily as if he’d been born to ride in one. Which, technically, he had. He just tried not to mention it much.
“Very smooth,” she said as he settled himself across from her. The expanse of carpet between them was wide enough for both of them to stretch out their legs. Which was a good thing, because hers were easily as long as his. And he topped six feet by a few inches. He openly sized her up and decided she was flirting with the six-foot mark herself. Amazon Cinderella. Then he took in the rest of her. The strong, tanned arms, the unprepossessing white T-shirt that he’d bet was more likely to sport a Fruit of the Loom label than Calvin’s or Ralph’s. Her lanky legs were sheathed in loose jeans that had to have come by their faded, battered look honestly. Equally battered western boots completed the ensemble. All she lacked was the sweat-stained Stetson and a bandanna around her neck. And he’d bet there was at least one of each back wherever she called home.
And damn if that didn’t turn him on.
The whole Cinderella in Chaps fantasy, sitting not three feet away from him. Funny how he hadn’t known he had one of those until just this minute.
“Assessment through?” she asked. “I had to change when I got off the plane. These are my carry-on clothes.” That smile teased the corner of her mouth again. “Which, amazingly, look a lot like my what-I-wear-on-airplanes clothes.”
He lifted his gaze easily to hers, not remotely abashed at being caught staring. Their verbal sparring had brought the color back to her cheeks. And that hollow, airsickness-bag look began to recede.
“Not much on flying, huh?”
“Gee, what gave me away?”
He managed a smile, though there was nothing cocky or arrogant about it now. “You’re not the only one here under duress.”
“Really.” She folded her arms, never once glancing at the crystal slipper she’d tossed on the leather seat next to her.
Cinderella in Chaps, indeed.
He shifted his full attention back to her. “My grandmother passed away a few weeks ago. I had to come back to settle the estate.”
She immediately looked contrite. “I’m so sorry.”
For some reason, he liked her better when she was snarky. Maybe he really was overdue for a little turbulence of his own. “Don’t be. We weren’t close. And she wasn’t that nice of a lady.”
Now her lips threatened to actually curve all the way into a smile, albeit a dry one. “Unlike her grandson, I’m guessing.”
He grinned. “Oh definitely. Her grandson is engaging, amusing, an all-around beacon of lightness. Hell of a guy.”
“Oh, she had more than one grandchild, then?”
“Nope, just the one.”
“Ah. Funny how I missed all that, then.”
“Bright, flashing smile probably blinded you to the rest of my shining attributes.”
“Oh, something blinded me all right.”
He laughed. “I’m glad I met you, Darby Landon of the East Coast Landons. I’ve been dreading this trip for two weeks, five hours and”—he checked his diving watch—“twenty-three minutes. Not that I was counting.”
“And I thought I had it bad with three days, six hours and”—she checked her own nonexistent watch—“four freckles past the hair.”
“Not much on schedules as a rule I take it?”
“My schedule is usually ruled by sun up, sun down, and how much daylight I get between the two. Everything else sort of comes along at its own pace.”
“My kind of schedule.”
She said nothing letting her gaze travel over him instead. And she made no effort to hide the fact that she was checking him out, either.
“Conclusions?” he asked, after she’d finished her casual perusal. And damn if that didn’t make him stir a bit, too. He wished he had a Stetson of his own at the moment. He made do with casually propping one ankle on the opposite knee. It idly occurred to him that his hiking boots had seen almost as much wear and tear as her western ones.
“Not sure,” she replied. “I read horses better than I do people.”
“It’s been my experience that horses read people better than people read people.”
“You ride?” she asked, obviously surprised.
He could have told her that Morgans were to the saddle born. Only said saddle was generally on the back of a polo pony. He’d tried polo. Unlike his father and uncle, he’d never been much for it. He’d had a lot more fun the two seasons he’d spent on the bronc busting circuit. As a rodeo clown, not a rider. “Let’s just say I know which end of a horse to steer clear of.”
Now she smiled. And it was a thing to behold, really. “That would be both ends, on occasion. The trick is knowing which end to avoid at which time.”
“Yeah. I figured that out early on. And that being under the horse at any time was always a no-no.”
“Hey, you do learn fast.”
“I try.”
“I bet,” she said, half under her breath.
He thought about calling her on it, but the dry sentiment was too on target for him to do much with. And he suspected she knew as much.
“So, how many siblings are there in the East Coast Landon clan? Was it an older one or a younger one that put the bamboo shoots under your nails?” He held up a hand. “Wait, let me guess. The only people older than you that can usually wrack you with guilt are your parents. So I’m guessing younger.”
“I only have one sibling. And yes, you’d be right. She’s younger.”
“Oh, baby sisters. Say no more.”
“You speak with great authority, O single child.”
“No, I speak with great authority, O single male who has dated his fair share of both younger and older sisters.”
She arched a brow. Natural, unwaxed and unsculpted—and he’d seen enough to know the difference. Hers was all the sexier because of it. “That lived under the same roof?” she asked.
“Oh heavens no,” he sai
d with mock savoir faire. Then he grinned. “They both had their own places by then.”
She just rolled her eyes, but he saw the tell-tale twitch of the lips.
“So what has baby sister conned you into?”
She didn’t answer right off, then sighed and said, “Playing chauffeur, hostess and all-around social ladder climber to a Swedish financier. He’s doing some deal with my father and I have to make nice.”
Shane’s brows lifted. “Sounds—”
“About as much fun as having skin peeled off my body in strips,” she finished. “I know. But baby sis needs her trust fund back and is currently out of the country, so I’m helping her out of a jam.” She shook her head, let out a little sigh. “I shouldn’t. I do it too often. But I can’t seem to say no.”
Shane grinned. “A handy piece of information to have.”
She merely gave him a look.
The car slowed as it pulled into a long, semicircular drive.
“Looks like we’re here.” He glanced out the window at the aging Victorian mansion that Aurora’s state’s attorney husband had left her when he died, some twenty years back. Shane had assumed, back when they started this venture, that they’d eventually move when the going got good. Something big and glitzy. But now that he looked at the place, with the fancy shutters, turrets and balustrades, all in a fresh coat of white, the deep front porch cloaked in a lush jungle of azaleas, the pristine and immaculately kept grounds, the sweeping old oaks and aging hickory trees . . . he realized that this place was meant to be Glass Slipper, Inc. And it suited Mercedes, Aurora and Vivian better than any pile of chrome and glass ever would.
An unexpected wave of longing washed over him, surprising him. Shocking him, really. But suddenly he was dying to see them, to listen to them take him to task for his renegade ways. To be enveloped by their elegant perfumes and bountiful bosoms—well, Vivian’s anyway—and made to feel . . . well, welcome. He didn’t realize how much that was going to mean to him. But it did. Because this was likely the only homecoming he was going to get.
Darby’s rustling as she pulled herself together dragged his attention from the window. “You can always walk away, you know,” he told her. “I’m sure this Scandinavian dude will be suitably impressed with you as is.” Hell, she’d blown him away, hadn’t she?
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, however sorely misplaced.” She stared out the window. “But the god’s honest truth is, I’m not sure I can pull this off. I’ve been gone from this world for a very long time.” She looked back at him. “And it’s important.”
“Not to you.”
“Yes, it is important to me.”
“The deal you’re supposed to seal is that big?”
She shook her head. “My sister is. I wasn’t always there for her.” A brief smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Hence the guilt. But I can be there for her now. Or, at least, I want to be.”
Shane slid off his seat and angled his body onto the seat next to her. She lifted her eyebrows at the move, but didn’t react otherwise to his shift into her personal space.
“All you can do is what you can do,” he told her. “If it fails, you can say you gave it your best shot. And if your dad or sister bitches about the outcome, well, then next time they’ll have to clean up their own messes, won’t they?”
Darby smiled lightly. “I seem to recall having a similar conversation with my sister just—”
“Three days, seven hours and two freckles past a hair ago?”
“Something like that,” she murmured, her smile warm this time. Inviting.
And that’s when he knew he was going to do something rash. And here she’d made it all the way to the driveway uncorrupted, too. Oh well, there was nothing for it now. Unless she said no, of course.
“I’ve always been a firm believer in having no regrets,” he told her. “Which is why I’m going to apologize up front.”
“For what?”
“Kissing you.”
Her eyes widened, but to her credit, her lips twisted in a wry smile. “Oh really?”
“Oh yeah, definitely really.”
“So why bother to apologize? You’re clearly not going to be sorry, right?”
“Oh, I don’t believe so, no.”
Her eyes flashed then, and where he’d expected to see a bit of vulnerability, perhaps some sort of distaste or discomfort that would make him back off . . . instead he saw interest. Blatant, direct interest. Which honestly surprised him. And, god knows, aroused the hell out of him.
“Does any woman say no to you?” she asked.
“About kissing them? Or generally speaking?”
“Anytime speaking.”
“Not usually. No.”
“Did you ever think maybe it was time a woman did?”
“Past time, definitely.” He smiled. “Don’t look so surprised. Women aren’t the only ones who get by for far too long on good looks and a bit of charm.”
“So why don’t you stop allowing it to happen?”
“I find life tends to be easier when I let my natural talents lead the way.”
She shook her head with a sigh, but the smile came all too readily to that full lower lip now.
He spoke without thinking, not that thinking would have stopped him. “If I said you were absolutely stunning when you smiled, would you—”
“Be flattered?” she interrupted.
“I was going to say punch me,” he finished with a grin. “But flattered would be much better.”
“Well, I’ll hate myself for admitting it,” she said with a small sigh, “but probably, yes.” She gave him a look. “Your charm wins again.”
“Does it?”
Now she snorted. “Don’t push it.”
He reached out and pushed a stray knotted piece of hair away from her face. To his surprise, she didn’t pull away. Or knee him in the balls. “You are stunning, you know,” he said, a great deal more seriously than he’d intended. “Smiling or not.”
“Now you’re definitely pushing it. Or just full of it. Or both.”
“It’s my greatest downfall.” He stroked his fingers along her cheek, across her lips. She inhaled with the slightest of gasps. His body tightened almost painfully. “I’m dying to taste you,” he told her, and thought it was highly probable he’d never been more sincere about anything in his life.
“Then I suppose you’d better just take your chances,” she said, her voice just the tiniest bit shaky. “You can tell me later if you regret it.”
Challenged, and loving the hell out of it, he leaned in closer. She remained just as she was. Unmoving, and unmoved, or that’s what she’d have him believe. He saw otherwise in those brackish eyes of hers. She wasn’t afraid of him. And wasn’t—he hoped anyway—planning to hurt him in any way.
She was waiting.
The driver killed the engine. He knew their time together was almost over. “Definitely no regrets,” he said, and lowered his mouth to hers.
THE BIG BAD WOLF TELLS ALL
A Bantam Book / June 2003
Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2003 by Donna Jean
Visit our website at www.bantamdell.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Bantam Books is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Kauffman, Donna.
The big bad wolf tells all / Donna Kauffman.
p. cm.
1. Advice columnists—Fiction. 2. Stalking victims—Fiction. 3. Housesitting—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3561 .A816 B54 2003
813′.6—dc21 2002034479
eISBN: 978-0-553-89765-4
v3.0
The Big Bad Wolf Tells All Page 34