One-Click Buy: February 2010 Harlequin Blaze

by Betina Krahn

  She’d never really danced before, but Alex seemed to know exactly what he was doing. She followed his lead and before long, they looked like experts. Everything always seemed so much easier when he was around.

  Life, love—and dancing.

  Epilogue

  ANGELA TACKED an index card on her bulletin board. “The Charmer,” she said. “I’ve discovered ten archetypes of the typical male seducer. Once women learn to identify each type, then they’ll be prepared to judge their relationships more objectively.”

  “So, who are you planning to interview for this chapter?” Ceci asked.

  “I wanted to interview Alex Stamos. He seemed to fit the type perfectly. But when I called him last week, his sister told me that he’s been involved with a woman for nearly two months. That doesn’t fit the pattern.”

  “Do you think he could be in love?” Ceci asked.

  “No,” Angela said. She paused. “Well, maybe. But that would be an aberration. The majority of these men never change.”

  “Yeah, but we’d like to believe they could,” Ceci said.

  “Well, I’ll just have to find another man to interview. The Charmer is the most common of the archetypes. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  Angie sat down at her desk and picked up the description she’d been working on. “The Charmer is all talk. He knows exactly what to say to get what he wants and he enjoys wielding this power over women. He will often delay a physical relationship, waiting until it’s your idea to hop into bed together. While you’re certain that sex will take the relationship to a more intimate level, he knows it signals the end. He quickly moves on after blaming you for getting too serious, too fast.”

  “Sounds good,” Ceci said. “But it would be nice to believe that, given the right woman, any guy could change his bad behavior.” She sighed. “Kind of makes me wonder what happened to all those guys I dumped because I thought they were hopeless causes.”

  In truth, Angela had been wondering the same thing. Was she wrong about these men? Could you teach an old dog new tricks? Or were some of these men just lost causes? “I suppose we have to be optimistic,” she murmured. “If not, we might as well just give up now, because the bad ones far outnumber the good ones.”

  “I guess I’d really like to know how much time you should give a guy before you cut your losses and move on,” Ceci said. “I’ve been with Lance for three months and he still refuses to call me his girlfriend.”

  Angela gave her friend a weak smile. “There are always exceptions to every rule. We’ve just got to figure out a way to find those exceptions.”

  Angela stared at the index card. Alex’s change of heart certainly didn’t bode well for the theories she planned to present in her book. But for every one guy who left the single life behind and fell in love, there were a hundred more serial daters out there breaking women’s hearts.

  She was on a mission to make a point. And if Alex Stamos wasn’t the man she thought he was, then she’d find another Charmer to take his place. After all, she could spot a smooth operator a mile away.

  Leslie Kelly

  PLAY WITH ME

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Prologue

  Columbus Day

  “DO YOU KNOW WHAT your problem is?”

  Reese Campbell didn’t even look up as the door to his office burst open and the familiar voice of his extremely nosy, bossy great-aunt intruded on what had been a relatively quiet October morning. Because that was one hell of a loaded question.

  Hmm. Problem? What problem? Did he have a problem?

  Being thrust into a job he hadn’t been ready for, hadn’t planned on, hadn’t even wanted? That was kind of a problem.

  Being thrust into that job because his father had died unexpectedly, at the age of fifty-five? Aside from being an utter tragedy, that was absolutely a problem.

  Battling competitors who’d figured him to be a pushover when he’d stepped in to run a large brewery while only in his mid-twenties? Problem.

  Dealing with longtime employees who didn’t like the changes he was implementing in the family business? Problem.

  Ending a relationship because the woman didn’t appreciate that he—a good-time guy—now had so many responsibilities? Problem.

  Walking a tightrope with family members who went from begging him to keep everything the way it was, to resenting his every effort to fill his father’s shoes? Big effing problem.

  “Did you hear me?”

  He finally gave his full attention to his great-aunt Jean, who had never seen a closed door she hadn’t wanted to fling wide open. He had to smile as he beheld her red hat and flashy sequined jacket. Going into old age gracefully had never entered his aunt’s mind. Keeping her opinions to herself hadn’t, either.

  “I heard,” he replied.

  “Well, do you know?”

  What he didn’t know was why she was asking. Because she didn’t want an answer. Rhetorical questions like that one were always the opening volley in the elderly woman’s none-of-your-damn-business assaults on everyone else’s private life.

  He leaned back in his chair. “Whatever it is, I am quite sure you’re about to tell me.”

  “Cheeky,” she said, closing the door. “You’re bored.”

  No kidding.

  “You’re twenty-nine years old and you’re suffocating. For two years, you haven’t drawn one free, unencumbered breath.”

  He remained still, silent. Wary. Because so far, his eccentric, opinionated great-aunt was absolutely, one hundred percent correct.

  Suffocating. That was a good word to describe his life these days. An appropriate adjective for the frequent sensation that an unbearable weight had landed on his chest and was holding him in place, unable to move.

  As Aunt Jean said, his breath had been stolen, his momentum stopped. All forward thought frozen in place, glued to that moment in time when a slick road and a blind curve had changed everything he and his family had known about their former lives.

  “You need some excitement. An adventure. How long has it been since you’ve had sex?”

  Reese coughed into his fist, the mouthful of air he’d just inhaled having lodged in his throat. “Aunt Jean…”

  She grunted. “Oh, please, spare me. You need to get laid.”

  “Jeez, can’t you bake or knit or something like a normal great-aunt?”

  She ignored him. “Have you gotten any since that stupid Tate girl tried to get you to choose her over your family?” Not waiting for an answer, she continued. “You’ve got to do something more than deal with your sad mother, your squabbling sisters and your juvenile-delinquent brother.”

  He stiffened, the reaction a reflexive one.

  “Oh, don’t get indignant, you know it’s true,” she said. “I love them as much as you do, we’re family. But even apples from the same tree sometimes harbor an occasional worm.”

  The woman did love her metaphors.

  “So here’s what you do.”

  “I knew you would get around to telling me eventually.”

  She ignored him. “You simply must have an adventure.”

  “Okay, got it. One adventure, coming right up,” he said with a deliberate eye roll. “Should I call 1-800-Wild Times or just go to letsgetcrazy.com?”

  “You’re not so old I can’t box your ears.”

  A grin tugged at his mouth. “The one time you boxed my ears as a kid, I put frogs in your punch bowl right before a party.”

  An amused gleam lit her eyes. “So do it again.”

  Reese’s brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

  “Be wild. Do something fun. Chuck this cautious-businessman gig and be the bad-ass rebel you on
ce were.”

  Bad-ass rebel? Him? The guy most recently voted Young Businessman of the Year? “Yeah, right.”

  He didn’t know which sounded more strange—him being that person, or his elderly great-aunt using the term bad-ass rebel. Then again, she had just asked him when he’d last gotten laid—a question he didn’t even want to contemplate in his own mind.

  She fixed a pointed stare at his face. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten who I had to bail out of jail one spring break. Which young fellow it was who ended up taking two girls to the prom. Or who hired a stripper to show up at the principal’s house.”

  Oh. That bad-ass rebel. Reese had forgotten all about him.

  “The world was your playground once. Go play in it again.”

  Play? Be unencumbered, free from responsibilities?

  Reese looked at the files on his desk. There was a mountain of order forms, requisitions, payroll checks, ad copy, legal paperwork—all needing his attention. His signature. His time.

  Then there was his personal calendar, filled with family obligations, fixing his sister’s car, talking to his brother’s coach…doing father stuff that he hadn’t envisioned undertaking for another decade at least.

  All his responsibility. Not in a decade. Now.

  It wasn’t the life he’d envisioned for himself. But it was the life he had. And there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

  “I’ve forgotten how,” he muttered.

  She didn’t say anything for a long moment, then the elderly woman, whose energy level so belied her years, laughed softly. There was a note in that laugh, both secretive and sneaky.

  “Whatever it is you’re thinking about doing, forget it.”

  She feigned a look of hurt. “Me? What could I possibly do?”

  He knew better than to be fooled by the nice-old-lady routine. She’d been playing that card for as long as he could remember and it had been the downfall of many a more gullible family member. “I’m going to leave a note that if I am kidnapped by a troupe of circus clowns, the police should talk to you.”

  She tsked. “Oh, my boy, circus clowns? Is that the best you can come up with? I’m wounded—you’ve underestimated me.”

  “Aunt Jean…”

  Ignoring him, she turned toward the door. Before she exited, however, she glanced back. “I have the utmost confidence in you, dear. I have no doubt that when the right moment presents itself, you will rise to the occasion.”

  With a quickly blown kiss and a jangle of expensive bracelets decorating her skinny arm, she slipped out. Reese was free to get back to work. But instead, he spent a few minutes thinking about what Great-Aunt Jean had said.

  He didn’t doubt she was right about the fact that he was bored. Stifled. Suffocating. But her solution—to go a little crazy—wasn’t the answer. Not for the life he was living now. Not when so many people counted on him. His family. His employees. His late father.

  Besides, it didn’t matter. No opportunity to play, as she put it, had come his way for a long time. Not in more than two years. The word wasn’t even in his vocabulary anymore.

  And frankly, Reese didn’t see that changing anytime soon.

  1

  Halloween

  IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN a routine flight.

  Pittsburgh to Chicago was about as simple an itinerary as Clear-Blue Airlines ever flew. In the LearJet 60, travel time would be under an hour. The weather was perfect, the sky like something out of a kid’s Crayola artwork display. Blue as a robin’s egg, with a few puffy white clouds to set the scene and not a drop of moisture in the air. Crisp, not cold, it was about the most beautiful autumn day they’d had this year.

  The guys in the tower were cheerful, the Lear impeccably maintained and a joy to handle. Amanda Bauer’s mood was good, especially since it was one of her favorite holidays. Halloween.

  She should have known something was going to screw it up.

  “What do you mean Mrs. Rush canceled?” she asked, frowning as she held the cell phone tightly to her ear. Standing in the shadow of the jet on the tarmac, she edged in beside the fold-down steps. She covered her other ear with her hand to drown out the noises of nearby aircraft. “Are you sure? She’s been talking about this trip for ages.”

  “Sorry, kiddo, you’re going to have to do without your senior sisters meeting this month,” said Ginny Tate, the backbone of Clear-Blue. The middle-aged woman did everything from scheduling appointments, to bookkeeping, to ordering parts, to maintaining the company Web site. Ginny was just as good at arguing with airport honchos who wanted to obsess over every flight plan as she was at making sure Uncle Frank, who had founded the airline, took his cholesterol medication every day.

  In short, Ginny was the one who kept the business running so all Amanda and Uncle Frank—now 60-40 partners in the airline—had to do was fly.

  Which was just fine with them.

  “Mrs. Rush said one of her friends has the flu and she doesn’t want to go away in case she comes down with it, too.”

  “Oh, that bites,” Amanda muttered, really regretting the news. Because she had been looking forward to seeing the group of zany older women again. Mrs. Rush, an elderly widow and heir to a steel fortune, was one of her regular clients.

  The wealthy woman and her “gal pals,” who ranged in age from fifty to eighty, took girls-weekend trips every couple of months. They always requested Amanda as their pilot, having almost adopted her into the group. She’d flown them to Vegas for some gambling. To Reno for some gambling. To the Caribbean for some gambling. With a few spa destinations thrown in between.

  Amanda had no idea what the group had planned for Halloween in Chicago, but she was sure it would have been entertaining.

  “She asked me to tell you she’s sorry, and says if she has to, she’ll invent a trip in a few weeks so you two can catch up.”

  “You do realize she’s not kidding.”

  “I know,” said Ginny. “Money doesn’t stand a chance in her wallet, does it? The hundred-dollar bills have springs attached—she puts them in and they start trying to bounce right out.”

  Pretty accurate. Since losing her husband, the woman had made it her mission to go through as much of his fortune as possible. Mr. Rush hadn’t lived long enough to enjoy the full fruits of his labors, so in his memory, his widow was going to pluck every plum and wring every bit of juice she could out of the rest of her life. No regrets, that was her M.O.

  Mrs. Rush was about as different from the people Amanda had grown up with as a person could be. Her own family back in Stubing, Ohio, epitomized the small-town, hard-work, wholesome, nose-to-the-grindstone-’til-the-day-you-die mentality.

  They had never quite known what to make of her.

  Amanda had started rebelling by first grade, when she’d led a student revolt against lima beans in school lunches. Things had only gone downhill from there. By the time she hit seventh grade, her parents were looking into boarding schools…which they couldn’t possibly afford. And when she graduated high school with a disciplinary record matched only by a guy who’d ended up in prison, they’d pretty much given up on her for good.

  She couldn’t say why she’d gone out of her way to find trouble. Maybe it was because trouble was such a bad word in her house. The forbidden path was always so much more exciting than the straight-and-narrow one.

  There was only one member of the Bauer clan who was at all like her: Uncle Frank. His motto was Live ’til your fuel tank is in the red and then keep on going. You can rest during your long dirt nap when you finally slide off the runway of life.

  Live to the extreme, take chances, go places, don’t wait for anything you want, go out and find it or make it happen. And never let anyone tie you down.

  These were all lessons Amanda had taken to heart when growing up, hearing tales of her wild uncle Frank, her father’s brother, of whom everyone else in the family had so disapproved. They especially disliked that he seemed to have his own personal parking space in front of the
nearest wedding chapel. He’d walked down the aisle four times.

  Unfortunately, he’d also walked down the aisle of a divorce courtroom just as often.

  He might not be lucky in love, but he was as loyal an uncle as had ever been born. Amanda had shown up on his Chicago doorstep three days after her high school graduation and never looked back. Nor had her parents ever hinted they wanted her to.

  He’d welcomed her, adjusted his playboy lifestyle for her—though he needn’t have. Her father might hate his brother’s wild ways, but Amanda didn’t give a damn who he slept with.

  From day one, he had assumed a somewhat-parental role and harassed her into going to college. He’d made sure she went home for obligatory visits to see the folks. But he’d also shown her the world. Opened her eyes so wide, she hadn’t wanted to close them even to sleep in those early days.

  He’d given her the sky…and he’d given her wings to explore it by teaching her to fly. Eventually, he’d taken her in as a partner in his small regional charter airline and together they’d tripled its size and quadrupled its revenues.

  Their success had come at a cost, of course. Neither of them had much of a social life. Even ladies’ man Uncle Frank had been pretty much all-work-and-no-play since they’d expanded their territory up and down the east coast two years ago.

  As for Amanda, aside from having a vivid fantasy life, when she wasn’t in flight, she was as boring as a single twenty-nine-year-old could be. Evidence of that was her disappointment at not getting to spend a day with a group of old ladies who bitched about everything from their lazy kids to the hair growing out of their husbands’ ears. Well, except Mrs. Rush, who sharply reminded her friends to be thankful for their husbands’ ear hair while they still had husbandly ear hair to be thankful for.