Baring It All (Mills & Boon Temptation)

by Sandra Chastain

  “The lessons were a long time ago,” Ryan confessed. “Before I found out what I wanted to do with my money. At a time when I thought appearance was as important as substance. But I found out I like playing. It’s relaxing. What do you do for fun, Sunny Clary?”

  She liked this conversation. It was normal, not sensual. Particularly tonight, after the feel of Ryan’s hands on her breasts and watching the tape of Lord Sin, she could appreciate normal. It was too bad that normal and sensual couldn’t be combined in one man. But she knew enough of the world to know that was unlikely. “I run, and I like the theater.”

  “So do I. I have season tickets to all the shows in town,” Ryan said.

  “Of course you do. But what I meant was that I like being involved in the theater. I’m not very good but I was a volunteer in our little troop before I came here. Mostly I worked with the children.”

  “You should sign up to help out at the Arts Council. They could really use you now that they’re going to have a new theater.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Lord Sin will be signing the papers next week and the committees will swing into action.”

  “Will it be a public signing, with the press present?” she asked, her pulse racing at the thought of seeing her phantom lover in person.

  “I doubt that. He’ll be represented by counsel.”

  “You’d think, now that it’s all over, he wouldn’t object to being seen in person.”

  “He might if he trusted the press.”

  “Why? If he’s never been interviewed, how could he distrust them?”

  Ryan almost told her. He almost said that it was the press who hounded his mother until she couldn’t face life anymore. But he couldn’t do it—not yet. “What did you think of his video?”

  Sunny gasped. “You knew I had it?”

  “I saw Lottie give it to you, in the mirror near the door. You watched it?”

  “The beginning,” she admitted. “He is awesome. I don’t know how he learned to reach out to women like he does.”

  “He practiced. After all, he’s been doing it since he was sixteen.”

  “I still find it hard to believe that he started as a sixteen-year-old,” Sunny said. “What happened to his parents?”

  “I don’t think he ever knew them,” Ryan said.

  “That’s very sad. At least I had a father.”

  In the ensuing silence, Sunny inadvertently yawned, then repeated the yawn, loud enough that even Ryan heard her.

  “Well, it’s getting late,” Ryan said reluctantly, “I’d better let you get some sleep. Maybe I’ll call you later tomorrow. What do you say we give ourselves another chance?” he asked with what she knew was a smile on his face.

  “Another chance at what?”

  “At deciding how we feel about each other. My offer is still good. No conditions. I think you ought to know, I’ve slept with other women but I’ve never brought another woman to my bed.”

  All he had to do was mention his bed and she was wide awake. Forget peaceful tranquillity by the lake. She almost told him that if he’d bring the blanket, she’d bring lunch and a condom. “After that make-out session in Lottie’s driveway, I’m not sure I believe anything you say any more than I’d believe Lord Sin.”

  “Oh, but Lord Sin’s a fantasy. I’m real. And I want to see you before Sunday.”

  She knew that she wanted to see him before Sunday, as well. “You will,” she said, glad that he couldn’t see the smile on her face. “I’ll be at the tournament. I’m covering it for the station. I don’t suppose you called Ted again?”

  “Nope. He did this on his own. Think he’s throwing us together?”

  “I think he’s up to something. Of course you’d know better than I about ulterior motives.”

  “Me? I’m wounded. And I was lying here thinking that tomorrow would be a good time for you to ask me some questions. I mean you still want that interview, in case you don’t find Sin, right?”

  Interview Malone? That had been part of their original deal. While they searched for Lord Sin, she could interview him along the way. She mulled that thought over in her mind. Could he be trusted? What would she ask him if she could be certain he’d tell her the truth? He seemed to be a man who fiercely protected his privacy and she was a reporter. Oil and water, destined to travel separate paths. He’d made a big deal out of getting her into his bed, but she figured that was just his standard line and no matter how much she wanted him, she had no intention of falling for that come-on. With his looks and money, he could have anyone he wanted—probably had.

  And she was an inexperienced nobody. As a trainee at WTRU whatever name she had up to now was coupled with his, not the kind of reputation she wanted. Once he dropped her, she’d lose her audience.

  “What about it, will you share my lunch box tomorrow?” he asked.

  Lunch with Ryan? She’d like an hour of uninterrupted time with the tycoon in a public place. Public would be good. Private would turn into kisses and touching and wanting. “I can’t be sure. I’m covering the tournament, at least Walt is. This is all new to me. I doubt they all stop and go to lunch at the same time.”

  “No, they’ll give us a box lunch to eat along the course. Let Walt keep filming and if something happens you can do a voice-over later.”

  “And how will I be able to eat this lunch with you?”

  “That’s simple. I’ll arrange for you to follow my partner and me. He’s famous enough that WTRU will be happy.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, and who is your partner?”

  “I imagine you’ve heard of Joe Andrews, the Atlanta Braves baseball pitcher.”

  “Sure, and the tournament is going to let me be his shadow? I don’t think so. I’m low man on the totem pole as far as the press is concerned.”

  “They will if I want you,” Ryan said simply. “And I’ve been very honest about that. I do. Now get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  ON THE WAY TO THE FIRST TEE, Walt had a curious grin plastered on his face. “This is going to be very interesting,” he said.

  Sunny followed Walt, surprised at the number of people already gathered. She’d been told that a charity event didn’t usually draw a crowd. “What do you mean, interesting?”

  “Well, the piece on the Mayor’s Awards brought a lot of telephone calls, primarily about Sunny Clary and Ryan Malone. One woman even asked if there was something going on between you two.”

  “I hope you told them no” was Sunny’s caustic reply.

  “I would have but my mama told me I should never tell a lie so I suggested that Melinda tell them if they wanted to find out for themselves they should check you out at the golf tournament.”

  “You did what? There’s nothing going on, Walt,” she argued, wishing her argument was true.

  “Uh-huh, then how come we get the prime photographer’s spot today? Besides, look at this crowd. Why else are they here? Think of all the money you’re raising for charity, not to mention our ratings.”

  He came to a stop and waited for Sunny to notice the players standing on the green.

  “Joe Andrews and, surprise, Ryan Malone. This is no accident, is it? Didn’t you see the reporters at the check-in stand? If looks could kill, we’d be pushing up the daisies. Because of you and Malone, we get preferred treatment and the hospital makes more bucks.”

  She blushed, averting her gaze from Ryan’s casual nod. “Well, I did talk to Mr. Malone. He asked me to have lunch with him.”

  “And in order to do that, we had to be in his group. Oh, lady, I think I may like being your man. How do you feel about football?”

  “Does Malone play football, too?”

  Walt laughed, then touched his finger to his lips. The group was about to tee off. Ryan went first. Sunny watched him position his feet, take a few test swings, then pull back his club and hit the ball. It might have been on target. Only the appreciative sigh of the crowd gave her a clue since she was caught up in watching Malo
ne. Dressed in casual navy trousers and a yellow polo shirt that stretched tight against his chest when he swung, he looked magnificent.

  “What about that?” Walt said. “He could have been a professional.”

  Sunny jerked her gaze from the man and shaded her eyes to search the course. His ball lay about halfway between where he was standing and the flag. At that point Andrews hit his ball which soared through the air, landing within two feet of Ryan’s.

  “You’re probably looking at the two best golfers in the match,” Walt said in a low voice. “And that’s just where they’d want to be.”

  The crowd surged forward, carrying her and Walt along with them. Malone didn’t keep up with Andrews, but he didn’t do badly. By lunchtime, Sunny was hot and her legs were aching. She really had to find a city park with a jogging trail.

  When a golf cart appeared at the edge of the woods, Ryan motioned for Sunny to come with him. “Go on,” Walt urged. “I’ll see you down the green.”

  With what appeared to be half of Atlanta watching, Sunny walked across the green and crawled in. “Could you have made it more obvious?” she asked crossly. “I mean we’re the only ones in a cart. Why’d you do it?”

  “So we’d have time to eat and talk between this hole and the next one. The interview—remember?” He turned, left the fans behind and drove through the wooded area to a special path for carts between the fairways where they couldn’t be seen.

  This morning she was dressed in a pale blue silk T-shirt, navy slacks and blazer. Her hair had been pulled back and threaded through the back of an Atlanta Braves baseball cap. She looked professional and appealing.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To someplace more private.”

  “I was afraid of that,” she said, her voice practically a moan.

  He stopped the cart and turned to her. “I didn’t think you’d want me to kiss you in public.”

  Just as he leaned forward, his lips headed straight for Sunny’s, Sunny let out a cry and jerked back, flapping her shirt like clothes on a wash line in the wind. Then she was out of the cart, dancing around. “Help me, Malone!”

  “Help you do what?” He followed her, confused, helpless to do whatever she was asking.

  “There’s something stinging me, in my shirt. Get it out.” With that, she flipped the shirt up again, exposing her lace-covered breasts to him and the world.

  Sunny Clary might be fearless in the face of danger, but an insect sting was sending her into hysterics. Ryan swallowed his amazement and looked for the bug. A red spot about the size of a dime was obvious. It had already begun to swell. But there was no sign of any creature. Tentatively, he pulled the lacy bra aside, reminding himself that he was on an emergency medical mission.

  “There it is,” he announced, taking the wing of a tiny yellow-and-black honeybee and lifting it from its mortal resting place in the valley of Sunny’s breasts. It wasn’t spring yet. The flowers were budding but there was no reason for a honeybee to have been anywhere around their golf cart. But the evidence was right in front of them.

  A peal of laughter and a clicking sound broke the silence, announcing that they were not alone. Sunny let go of her shirt, whirled around and headed into the woods. Ryan started after her, stopped and looked back in time to see a man with a camera disappearing in the woods on the other side of the trail. Ryan’s indecision cost him. Sunny was gone and so was the mystery man. “Damn!” Malone frowned, climbed in and started the golf cart again. This could be a disaster. He had his hands all over her breasts when the picture was taken. Who would believe that he’d been searching for a bee? Anybody seeing the pictures would only see his fingers inside Sunny’s bra. What in hell would this do to their already shaky, very public, relationship? Sunny would probably never speak to him again. That thought stopped him. For the past five years he’d protected his reputation zealously and suddenly it wasn’t his reputation he was worrying about, it was Sunny’s.

  He left the cart in the woods and caught up with Sunny and Walt walking down the green. Sunny refused to look at him. “You know if that picture gets out, I’m probably going to be the laughingstock of the television industry,” she said in a tight voice. “This little bit could end my career as a serious journalist.”

  “I’m sorry, Sunny,” Ryan said. “I wouldn’t want to be responsible for ruining anyone—ever.”

  Walt kept conspicuously quiet.

  “You didn’t do it, Malone,” she said. “You couldn’t know that I’m scared of little flying creatures. Who was the man with the camera?”

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out. Now, we’re coming up on the next hole. Put a smile on your face and let’s eat our lunch. If you want to physically harm me later, you can do it. But I’d say to hell with whoever he was. I intend to let the world see my interest in you.”

  “That’s easy for you.” Sunny said. “You didn’t expose your—body to that world.”

  Walt cleared his throat. “Sorry. Just forget I’m here.”

  “Don’t worry,” Malone said, ignoring Walt. “If I need to defend your honor, I’m prepared.” He held up the hapless insect. “I have the excuse for my actions.” The honeybee went into the pocket of his shirt and he handed Sunny a box. “Have something to eat.”

  She managed a weak nod in return, snatched the box from his hand and opened it. “Here, Walt,” she said, dividing the sandwich inside and handing him half. “But watch out for bees.”

  Ryan smiled again. Sunny did that to him. She was spunky, this woman he was drawn to in spite of the potential consequences. Joan of Arc had nothing on her. If someone tied her to the stake, she’d stand there and spit in their face.

  He watched her take a big bite of meat and bread and chew it lustily, licking a smear of mayonnaise from her upper lip. The sight of her tongue was as erotic as her breasts had been. If they hadn’t been in public view, he’d have kissed her again. He had to tighten his resolve not to do it anyway. The idea that some zealous fan could cause her harm was more than he could stand. He wouldn’t allow the shots to hurt Sunny. Because of him, Sunny was in the public eye, not professionally but on a much more personal level. And he had to protect her.

  It was Sunny’s reputation that he was concerned about, not his. So what if his past would be dragged out and examined minutely. It simply meant that he had to make certain Sin was gone and that there was no way anyone could tie Ryan Malone to the stripper he’d been.

  Sunny polished off the sandwich and was munching on a pack of chips. She looked worried but in control. Her green eyes sparkled and he couldn’t tell whether it was anger or if it was the best damned job of pretending he’d ever seen. All he knew was, he liked it—and her. And he knew that he wasn’t about to worry about Ryan Malone’s future or stop seeing Sunny Clary, whatever the outcome.

  One fan, walking along the greens inside the roped-off area, called out, “Hey, Sunny, saw you on television the night of the Valentine’s fund-raiser. You were talking to Sam and Nikki. Listen to their show every morning. Loved the dress.”

  “Thanks,” she said and kept walking.

  “Must be nice to have friends give you a hand,” a less kind voice called out. “Did they help you get the job with WTRU? Or was it Mr. Malone?”

  “Help me? Of course not. Nobody helped me. Why would you think that?” Sunny frowned, turned toward the speaker and stopped. “It was you back there in the woods.”

  “Yeah,” he said, flicking the strap of the camera hanging around his neck. “I thought since you seem to have an in with the powers that be, we could work out a deal. Your influence for the pictures. I need a job.”

  “Miss Clary doesn’t and never did need anyone’s influence to get a job,” Ryan snapped, moving to Sunny’s side, next to the photographer. What he wanted to do was snap the weasel’s head from his neck and stomp on it. But he suspected that he was being deliberately goaded into making just such a move. Instead, he said, “If you’ve been watching WTRU for th
e past week, you know that she’s the most incredible new talent Atlanta has to offer. And who are you, anyway?”

  “Edward Hinton,” the man answered with a confident smile. “Here, take my card.” He managed to push a card in Ryan’s hand. “I’m an excellent photographer. I’m sure I have some great shots of the two of you. Would you like copies?”

  Walt, sensing something he didn’t understand, took a spot next to Hinton. “Need some help here, Malone?”

  Sunny shook her head. “It’s nothing, Walt. Let’s just keep going.”

  But Ryan wasn’t ready yet. “What paper do you represent, Mr. Hinton?”

  “Oh, no special paper, at the moment. I freelance. It’s interesting how a person gets lucky every now and then. They wouldn’t give me a press pass to follow the players. I had to buy a ticket. Who could have imagined what I’d see in the woods?”

  Ryan glanced at his watch, and looked around. Andrews and his caddy were still a distance away, walking toward them. He recognized a shakedown when he saw one. “As a freelancer I suppose you sell your work.”

  “Of course. And my photographs, too. I also trade information for profit.”

  “How much?”

  “Oh, no!” Sunny said. “You’re not buying the story and pictures from this man. I don’t approve of blackmail of any kind. If I’ve done something that is newsworthy, it should be printed. So, go ahead, Mr. Hinton. Sell your piece to the highest bidder. But it won’t be me and it won’t be Mr. Malone!”

  Ryan looked at the woman he’d compromised with his attempt to have lunch. She was magnificent when she was angry but this time she might be wrong. Still, this wasn’t the time to argue. He’d take care of the problem later. “She’s right, Hinton, and if you don’t move along, I’m going to call security.”

  “You’ll be sorry about this, Malone,” he said. “I never wanted your money. I just wanted a job.” He whirled and disappeared into the trees.

  Sunny’s full lips were pressed into a thin line as she watched him leave. All Ryan could think about was putting his arms around her and telling her everything would be all right.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to buy him off?” he finally asked.