Baring It All (Mills & Boon Temptation)

by Sandra Chastain

  He could picture her now, in her white robe, drying her magnificently wild mane of red hair. He’d bet it wasn’t just her height that brought an end to her career as a gymnast, those breasts had to have interfered with her performance. Training to be an athlete and then being forced to give it up must not have been easy. He liked making money in real estate but Lord Sin’s last performance had been surprisingly satisfying.

  Becoming a reporter had to have been Sunny’s way of making it up to her father for the terrible thing that had happened to him. She’d had a goal and she’d thrown herself into reaching it. Now Edward Hinton had threatened to sell the photographs to one of the national exposé magazines. She was right to worry about her credibility. He also had his own to worry about.

  For now, he just had to keep his name out of the news until after the dedication of the hospital wing next week. Then he’d allow Sunny to learn the story he’d created to explain Lord Sin’s disappearance. The photo he’d set up last year would be the proof of Sin’s presence on the Riviera. She’d report it as a small human interest story that, once aired, would soon be forgotten. Then he could move on with his life.

  Except now there was Sunny. He could move on with his life, but he couldn’t leave her behind. And if he didn’t find Hinton, Sunny’s career might be at risk.

  For now, he had to prepare a meal. Cooking lessons had been another area he’d spent money in during what he called his formative years. Golf, to be able to keep up with the young executives on the go, and the preparation of food because as a child he’d been hungry more often than not.

  A simple salad with a dressing made from Georgia’s famous Vidalia onions would start the meal. Without knowing the Reverend Clary’s tastes, he’d elected to go with the average man’s preference for pork, preparing medallions of tenderloin marinated in his own special blend of herbs, broiled new potatoes, green beans and another of his specialties, skillet-baked cornbread. Filling his thoughts with the preparation of food would keep him from thinking about Sunny. At least that’s what he told himself.

  The beans were snapped. The pork and the potatoes were in the pan, ready to be broiled. And the cornbread ingredients were mixed, except for the liquids. For dessert, fresh fruit and ice cream with a raspberry sauce. At five-thirty the cooking would begin. He glanced around, pleased with his kitchen and the adjacent dining area.

  The table was set. Candles were ready to be lit. He flipped on the wraparound stereo system that fed music throughout the house and headed for the shower. Fifteen minutes later he sat on his bed, tugged on his socks and stood, automatically smoothing out the wrinkles in his comforter. Knit sheets. She’d removed them from her bed so she wouldn’t picture him in it. Replacing them with cotton sheets hadn’t kept that from happening. He studied his king-size bed and felt its emptiness without Sunny.

  The next CD clicked into place. The singer was Celine Dion. Where had that CD come from?

  When the doorbell rang, Ryan headed toward it, barefoot and still buttoning his shirt. Behind the door was Lottie, beaming brightly. “Am I the first?”

  “It’s only five-thirty. You know you’re the first.”

  Lottie took a long look at Ryan’s shirt and trousers. “Don’t you think you ought to wear a tie—and shoes?” She followed him inside.

  “Why? This isn’t a formal dinner. My apron is about as dressed up as I get,” he said, lifting a green apron from a hook inside the pantry door and tying it around his waist.

  “Green?” Lottie said with a grin.

  “Green,” he said.

  “And no slits. Shoot, she’s going to be disappointed.”

  “Lottie, behave yourself. We don’t know Mr. Clary. He might not be a man who appreciates levity.”

  “Then I’ll become Mother Teresa. Where’s my habit?”

  “Lottie! If the subject of Lord Sin comes up, it’s time for us to start setting up our story. If it doesn’t, don’t mention him.”

  “Yes, sir. Something smells good. What are we having?”

  “Pork and beans and potatoes,” he said and waited for the question in her eyes.

  “Pork and beans? Pooh. I was hoping for oysters. Want me to give you a hand?”

  “I do not. You can light the candles, if you want. And change that CD.”

  “Celine Dion? I like her. What’s wrong with her music? She sings like an angel.”

  “Yeah, and she’s looking for love.”

  “Ain’t we all.”

  “SO, TELL ME ABOUT your fella,” Byron Clary said as Sunny drove down the drive past the big columned house and accelerated out into Peachtree Street.

  “He’s not my fella. He’s just a man I keep running into.”

  “Yeah, I can see that from your speed.”

  Sunny glanced down at her speed and let her foot off the gas. “Sorry, Pop. I’m just a little out of kilter here. So much has happened so fast.”

  “You mean with Mr. Malone, or with the job?”

  “At the moment they seem to be the same thing. You’ve heard of the Kevin Bacon theory on six degrees of separation?”

  Her father looked confused. “No, can’t say that I have.”

  “It’s based on the idea that you can bring up any actor and by naming six movies, he can be connected to the actor Kevin Bacon.”

  She could tell that her explanation was creating more questions than answers. “Never mind, let’s just say that every story I’ve covered has in some way involved Ryan Malone.”

  “Is he some important person?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  Mr. Clary looked down at his casual shoes and jacket. “Are you sure I’m dressed up enough for a VIP?”

  Sunny glanced at her own jeans and grinned. “Look at me, Pop. Do I look dressed up?”

  “No, but when I see those folks at the Country Music Awards going up to collect their honors in jeans and a tuxedo jacket, I know that I’m completely out of style.”

  “You look great,” Sunny said, reaching out and squeezing his hand. They shared a new closeness since he’d found his church. Gone was the tired, work-driven man who had little time for a little girl. “I’m so glad you’re here, and you’re going to love Lottie.”

  Mr. Clary cut a sharp glance at his daughter. “Lottie? Who is Lottie?”

  “She’s a friend of…” she started to say Lord Sin, then changed it to “…a very good friend of Ryan Malone.” She knew her father was an open-minded man but explaining Lord Sin and the attraction women had for him was more than she could manage right now. “Help me watch for the number, Pop. It should be along here somewhere.”

  “But these are office buildings,” he said.

  “Exactly. We’re looking for the Malone Building. It will be on your side.”

  “The Malone Building?” he questioned. “As in our host Malone?”

  “That’s him. He has a penthouse on the top floor.”

  Byron Clary laughed. “A penthouse in the sky. My, my. Your mother would have been so pleased.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you, Pop.”

  “But you did, Sunny. And you shouldn’t have had to.”

  Then she spotted the building, slowed her speed and turned into the parking area beneath where she was met by a security guard. “Miss Clary,” he said. “Mr. Malone is expecting you. If you’ll just pull into that reserved spot, ma’am. Take the elevator to the lobby and someone will unlock the elevator to the penthouse.”

  “Thank you,” she said, trying to fight off the blush of embarrassment. The guard acted as if she did this frequently.

  “And ma’am,” he added, “I saw you dancing with Mr. Malone at that nursing home. You two sure looked good.”

  Sunny groaned and gave the car too much gas, eliciting a squeal from her tires and a smothered grin from her father. “It was a story, Pop. I went to cover a birthday party Mr. Malone was hosting for a…lady who turned one hundred.”

  “Uh-huh. Since when do reporters dance with the host? Isn�
��t that considered a no-no?”

  “It is. I shouldn’t have done it. And that’s what I need your advice on. First it was a fund-raiser for a new community theater arranged by Mr. Malone. Then the birthday party. Next I was sent to cover the mayor’s Inner City Awards dinner, and guess who was receiving a humanitarian award? Ryan Malone. Then yesterday, I had a real assignment, a charity golf tournament in which Mr. Malone was playing. The viewers think he’s my sponsor.”

  “Is he?”

  Sunny parked the car and turned off the engine. “No. Though he seems to think he is. Every time I’m with him, I end up on camera. Let’s go.”

  Her father followed, a curious look on his face. “Does this mean that we’ll be videotaped at dinner?”

  “No!” Her voice was firm, but given the situation, she wasn’t sure. In fact, it wouldn’t hurt for her to go home and check her bedroom for hidden cameras.

  “You going to tell me why you accepted this dinner invitation?” her father asked as they stepped into the elevator and the doors closed.

  “It started out because I’m working on a story that I thought Mr. Malone and Lottie could help me with.”

  “And now?”

  “Now? Uh, Pop, I don’t know.”

  “What you really want is to know what I think about him, isn’t it?” her father asked. “Why, you never asked what I thought before. What’s happened to all that fierce independence?”

  That stopped her. Was he right? In her attempt to survive her mother’s death, had she closed him out? “I don’t know. I don’t seem to be so sure about things now.”

  The doors opened onto a black marble lobby, bathed in a golden glow of light.

  “Over here, Ms. Clary,” the guard said. “I’ve unlocked the elevator to the penthouse. Mr. Malone is expecting you.”

  As they moved into the new elevator, Byron Clary cleared his throat. “I’m surprised he didn’t just send a chariot and six bearers to pick you up and carry you. I’ve never felt quite so much out of place.”

  “I know exactly what you mean.”

  The elevator moved smoothly up and its doors whispered open directly into a marble foyer outside an ornate brass door. The door was standing open, revealing a large living room decorated in shades of cream and gray with a touch of navy. Brass accessories and lamps gave a feel of warmth to the room. That, and the smell of something wonderful.

  “Hello?” Sunny called out, uncertain how to react when an elevator delivered you to an open foyer and an empty room.

  “Ryan,” Lottie’s excited voice called out, “they’re here.”

  Moments later, Sunny was enfolded in Lottie’s arms. “Good! You came. I was afraid you’d get cold feet.”

  “Cold feet?” Sunny questioned.

  Lottie drew back and studied Sunny. “Never mind, that’s never going to happen, is it?” The silver-haired woman gave Sunny a wink and turned to her father. “I’m Lottie,” she said, “and you must be Byron. Bedroom eyes and a romantic name. Must cause you a lot of trouble as a minister.” She slid her arm through his and looked up at him with a smile that seemed to stop Reverend Clary where he stood.

  “Well, doesn’t it?” she asked. “Never mind. Your being a minister won’t bother me so long as you’re romantic when you’re with me. Deal?”

  Sunny stared in amazement as her father tilted his head, smiled and put his rough hand over Lottie’s. “Deal,” he said.

  “Fine,” Lottie said, “I’ll introduce you to Ryan in a minute, but first, let me show you around while those two say hello.”

  In seconds, they’d disappeared from sight, Lottie chattering and Byron Clary with an expression that clearly said he’d been transported.

  “Sorry, Sunny,” Ryan’s voice said from the doorway across the room. “There, I’m doing it again, apologizing. I told Lottie to behave. I knew she wouldn’t listen, but I’ll admit, I never expected…this.”

  “Neither did I,” Sunny agreed and started toward him. Her expression must be a reflection of her father’s. All she had to do was look at Ryan and she felt like warm caramel inside. She hadn’t known what to expect either, but Ryan shoeless and wearing an apron wasn’t what she might have envisioned. For one brief moment, she could even see him with a baby in his arms. Brief, for as she got closer, she envisioned him in a different way—heading with her to his bedroom.

  “I’m glad you came,” he said, taking her hand to draw her into the hallway. He leaned against the royal-blue patterned paper and pulled her close. “I missed you. You are so beautiful.”

  She gazed up at him, drinking in the dangerous look of his dark hair and eyes. “So are you,” she said and knew she should back away, but couldn’t. Instead, she lifted her mouth to his.

  His kiss started out soft, almost shy, and she melted into him as he claimed her mouth completely. And the kiss was a million times more than she’d imagined. Finally, he pulled back. “If you hadn’t come, I’d have been knocking on your door, papa or not.”

  “Pop! Oh my goodness.” She blushed. Realization of where they were and how easily she’d given herself to his touch took away her poise. “What must he think?”

  “If I know Lottie,” he answered, “and if what I saw was any indication of her interest, I suspect he’s thinking about the same thing I am. I mean ministers do like women, don’t they?”

  “Of course. I mean he’s a minister, but he’s a man—at least I think he likes women. He never dated when I was growing up, but he loved my mother and they had me.”

  As if Ryan were memorizing her face, his eyes never left hers. “A very special relationship must have created you. I understand about special. Last night was special for me.”

  She dropped her head, unable to respond to what she saw in his eyes. She saw desire, but there was something more, something incredibly open and honest. “It was pretty special for me, too.”

  “You’re blushing,” he said. “I like that. Women don’t blush anymore. I think it’s probably a good thing that Lottie took your dad off. One look at us and he’d know how we feel.”

  “No,” she whispered. “I don’t want it to be like that. Not public. Obvious.”

  “You haven’t told him?”

  “No. I just said that we seemed to be connected. Everywhere I go, you’re there. And that I was very confused.”

  “Still, he came?” That made him feel better. Not only was Sunny taking their relationship seriously, but so was her father. So much so that he decided to come and check out the man who was becoming connected to his daughter. He wished the connection were literal. He was as hard as he’d been last night, and sooner or later, he had to be inside her.

  “Sunny,” he said, “let me hold you close, just for a minute.”

  She didn’t move away. And when he pulled her against him, that part of him screaming for release nestled close to the place it ached to go. He groaned and put his hands beneath her bottom, pulling her even closer. “I want you so badly,” he said. “Tell me you feel the same way.” He rubbed himself against her and was rewarded with a tremble that caught in her breath and vibrated there. “Tell me!”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  “How long is your father staying?”

  “Until Wednesday, I think.”

  “Too long,” Ryan growled. “I’ll think of something.”

  “You’d better think of something quick,” she managed to whisper. “I hear them coming.”

  Ryan let Sunny go, took several deep breaths and turned her toward the opposite wall in front of him. “And I bought these pieces by a local Atlanta artist several years ago at the Piedmont Arts Festival,” he said. “Do you like them?”

  “Where?” She couldn’t see anything.

  “They’re miniatures. Let me switch on the light.”

  Seconds later, a small museum light was focused on three candy-bar size paintings. The sound of her father’s laughter came closer. She looked, but a real viewing would have to come another day. “Very nice,” she managed
. Then, “Something smells good,” she said, again. “What are we having?”

  “Pork and beans and potatoes. I didn’t know what your father would like.”

  “Pork and beans?” she said. “Really?”

  Then he laughed as he realized how it sounded. “What, you think rich people don’t eat pork and beans?”

  “Ryan,” Lottie called out, “come and meet Byron. No wonder he’s so romantic, his mother named him for Lord Byron, the poet.”

  Ryan took a hard look at Lottie’s lipstick. It was a bit dull, but not smeared. Holding out his hand, he studied the Reverend Clary. His lips were clear but his face was flushed. He knew where Sunny learned to blush. He wondered if the father’s and daughter’s reasons were the same. “Good to meet you, sir.”

  Mr. Clary’s handshake was firm. And his hands were rough. Whatever he was doing now, it was more physical than handling money and leading his flock.

  “Any friend of my daughter’s is a friend of mine” was the minister’s reply. “Did I hear you say we’re having pork and beans?”

  Lottie let out a chortle. “Ryan cook pork and beans? I don’t think so. Come on.” She took Byron by the arm and pulled him into the kitchen. “What would you like to drink?”

  “Whatever you have,” he said, his attention now on Sunny. “I usually just drink water.”

  “We have wine, iced tea, soft drinks,” Ryan said, making his way to the other side of the freestanding island where his stove top was located. “And I have coffee ready for later.”

  “But water is so…so plain. I know,” Lottie exclaimed. “What about a nice wine cooler?” Without waiting for Byron’s reply, she opened the refrigerator and pulled out two colorful bottles. “Raspberry or lemon?” She smiled and held up the red bottle. “Raspberry, I think. Are we ready to eat, Ryan?”