Seduce Me

by Jill Shalvis

  “You are not going to wear your bathing suit beneath that dress,” Lorissa said.

  “Well…yeah.” Nixing her beloved flip-flops had been smart, because that gave her leverage for this battle.

  “The ties from your top show.”

  “Fine.” Lifting her arms up, Sam untied the bikini strap around her neck, and then pulled the top out from beneath the dress. She shoved the still damp bra into her black evening purse. “Just in case.”

  “In case what—you end up swimming at the Palisades Country Club?”

  When she’d found out where they were going, she’d checked it out on the Internet. Fanciest place in town. Probably served jellied fish eggs and drinks she couldn’t pronounce. Ugh. Sam touched her hair as she took another look in the mirror. Not great. “Blow-dryer?”

  “The thing blew up six months ago and you never replaced it.”

  “Right. No problem.” Twisting up her hair, she searched for something to pin it with.

  Lorissa rolled her eyes and pulled the shiny black clip out of her own hair, offering it to Sam. “Makeup.”

  Sam knew this was not a request. She offered up her face and Lorissa applied blush, mascara and lip gloss. The last item she handed to Sam. “Keep this with you and reapply every once in a while. Please remember that. Now, it’s time to get out there and—”

  A heavy knock sounded on the bathroom door, accompanied by a low male voice. “Hello?”

  In the mirror, Sam raised her brow at Lorissa.

  “Uh—hi,” he said through the door. “Do you suppose we can get on with this?”

  Get on with this? “A real charmer,” Sam said beneath her breath.

  “I’m sure he’s just—”

  Another knock. “Hello in there?”

  “—in a hurry,” Lorissa finished weakly.

  “Yeah, well, he’d better be hot,” Sam whispered, and with one last deep breath, hauled open the door.

  And came face to face with her date.

  Or more accurately, her date’s broad, wide chest.

  “I think he’s got the hot covered,” Lorissa whispered in her ear.

  Good thing she was a fairly tall woman herself, Sam thought vaguely, tilting her head back to catch sight of his face, because the guy had to be six and a half feet tall.

  “Oh, good,” he said with obvious relief, running his gaze down her own five-foot-ten willowy body. “You’re ready.” He held out his arm, which she didn’t take.

  “I don’t go out with nameless men,” she said.

  He looked surprised, as if shocked she had no idea who he was. “Jack Knight,” he said in that slightly husky voice.

  Okay, not a bad name, she’d give him that. In fact, it sounded vaguely familiar…“Sam O’Ryan.”

  “Yes, I know. Nice to meet you.” He was wearing a tux and a frown, and to her relief, wasn’t ugly or fat, but quite…

  Actually, Lorissa had put it most aptly. Hot. He had dark hair and even darker eyes, a wide, sensual mouth that wasn’t smiling at the moment but seemed to have good potential, and a strong jaw covered in a barely there five o’clock shadow, all on top of a long, lean, tough body…Nice combo, she’d admit that.

  Not that she was hung up on appearances, but on her run to the bathroom, she’d caught sight of the black Escalade out front. The guy was indeed rich and, as she’d told Lorissa, rich guys usually didn’t have much else going for them. So really, she didn’t hold out much hope for this one.

  But she was committed to tonight. With a last look over her shoulder at Lorissa, she settled her hand on his arm and let him lead her out of the café.

  “We probably should have met at a safer location than this,” Jack said. As they walked outside into air that was no cooler than the café bathroom had been, he favored his right leg, but she didn’t say anything about it because he’d sidetracked her with the “safe” comment. She glanced back at the Wild Cherries sign she’d painted herself five years ago when she’d bought the place from Red.

  “It’s perfectly safe,” she said.

  “Now, maybe, but I don’t want to drop you off at some isolated hole-in-the-wall later tonight when it’s dark. There are no lights out here.”

  “Watch it,” she warned lightly. “I own this hole-in-the-wall, and happen to be quite fond of it, lights or no.” She wasn’t open at night, so she’d never felt the need to add outdoor lighting.

  He glanced at her as he unlocked the passenger door with his remote, but she avoided his gaze until he opened the door and turned his body, blocking her way into his SUV with those long arms and broad shoulders.

  Not fond of intimidation, she tipped her head up and slowly cocked a brow, then realized…he wasn’t trying to intimidate her at all. Not with his eyes filled with apology and self-deprecation.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Forget it.” She wasn’t willing to fall for a simple sweet look, not when, for all she knew, the man might be full of them.

  “No, really.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose and met her sardonic gaze. “Look, obviously, I’ve made a hell of a first impression.”

  She felt a smile curve her mouth. “Do you care?”

  “Actually, I didn’t plan to. But…”

  “But…?”

  His gaze danced over her features. “I find that I do care.” His smile was slow and genuine, and made her tummy flutter. “I want to enjoy this evening with you.”

  “Why? Because I’m passably pretty?”

  “More than passably,” he said lightly. “But no, I don’t suddenly want to enjoy this just because you turned out to be an extremely pleasant surprise, but because we might as well have fun.”

  “You mean for two people who didn’t want to do this in the first place?”

  His smile went to a grin that jump-started her pulse, startling her. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Stop that,” she said, pointing at his mouth.

  “Stop…what?”

  “Smiling.”

  “Why? Do I have something in my teeth?”

  He knew he didn’t. A guy like this knew exactly how good he looked. “Okay, listen. I’m going to be honest with you right from the get-go.”

  “Please.”

  “I have a long, horrible, nasty history with blind dates, and I’d talked myself into lumping you in with the worst of them, but I can’t do that when you smile.”

  The grin only spread. “Really? Well, same goes. I have an idea. Why don’t we start over.” He stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Jack Knight.”

  “I’m not going to commit to starting over, not yet. You might still turn out to be a blind-date disaster.”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed his jaw. “You might be right.”

  She climbed into his Escalade. “I usually am.”

  His soft laugh scraped low in her belly. “Something tells me this is going to be a much more interesting night than I could have imagined.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  He came around and slid his long body in behind the wheel. He looked at her as he started the engine. “Not sure yet.”

  “So we’ll leave that up in the air as well.” With that, Sam put on her seat belt and braced herself for the evening ahead.

  But she had a little smile of anticipation on her face.

  2

  ONCE UPON A TIME, scandal had been Jack’s middle name. Jack Scandal Knight.

  Not that he’d asked for such a rep. Nope, he’d been tried and convicted in the court of the tabloids, without a jury of his peers. But that was in the past.

  Tonight, he’d pulled out his tux with a simple goal in mind—get the evening over with as fast and painlessly as possible. No scandal. No surprises. No nothing. Just show up, raise more money for his sister’s beloved charity that helped underprivileged kids, then go on his merry way.

  Should be easy, given that over the past year he’d become the master of fast and painless, at least as far as public appearances went. The trick was to be v
isible, but not approachable. Pleasant and professional, but not particularly nice. This talent had been hard-earned, costing him unknown amounts of heartache and grief, but it was a rule he assumed every celebrity eventually learned, one way or another.

  All he had to do was arrive at the country club with a date in tow, and his sister would stop pestering him, at least for the evening. Maybe even by some miracle the press would stop hounding him, but he wouldn’t hold his breath on that one.

  He’d never really been out of the media’s spotlight, but that went back to that Jack Scandal Knight thing. He’d have figured no one was interested now that he was no longer in the public eye, but just last week he’d gone to a Dodgers game with a group of friends, where for a few blissful hours he’d eaten hot dogs and had a few beers. After the game, he’d stopped to take a leak and a reporter had come up next to him at the urinal, shoved a camera in his face, blinding him with the flash, and, oh, by the way, could he sign an autograph as well? Jack had looked down at the offered pen, and then farther, to where his hands were busy, and had little choice but to laugh. Before or after I finish here, he’d wanted to ask. Five days later, it was splashed all over the rags that he’d been rude and refused to give out autographs.

  That was the problem with being a basketball icon known for flying down the court, averaging thirty plus points a game. There was no privacy anywhere. It had been a year since his bum knee had taken him out of the NBA, and his San Diego Eels contract. A year.

  The paparazzi had been all over him at first, following his every sneeze, apparently not noticing or caring that the difficult decision and subsequent announcement of his retirement had nearly destroyed him.

  And still they stalked him, given a chance. He didn’t know if that was because the Eels hadn’t made the championships without him, or because reporters had caught Jack coaching some local kids and thought he might come out of retirement.

  Not going to happen. His knee was shot to hell. Two surgeries had left it usable, but not NBA material. And quite honestly, he’d been put through so much by the press, the public and his coaches that he no longer missed playing enough to worry about it.

  This charity event tonight, carefully and meticulously planned by his philanthropic sister, would be a nightmare for him. And yet he’d agreed to come because, as asinine as it seemed, just his presence would guarantee money for the kids Heather worked so hard to help. This year, she was raising money for a new rec center, and he wanted to do what he could because he was all for getting those kids into sports and after-school programs, where he’d been volunteering as a coach.

  He glanced over at his date as he drove them down the Pacific Coast Highway, the cool air-conditioning blasting out at them. If his presence was going to earn Heather money, then Sam’s presence was going to earn him kudos from his sister. Heather would find no obvious flaws in Samantha O’Ryan. She had sparkling green eyes and glossy lips, with honey-blond hair piled prettily on top of her head. The long tendrils hanging down made him want to touch. The look was sophisticated and elegant, yet slightly messy at the same time, almost as if she wanted people to know she could lose the image at the drop of a hat and get down and dirty. Incredibly sexy, if you asked him. The rest of her slender body fit into her little black dress, which clung so perfectly to her curves—and very nice curves they were—that he decided he definitely had come out ahead on this deal tonight.

  Thank you, Cole. “I appreciate you doing this,” he said.

  She shrugged and leaned into the AC vent, letting the air blow over her face, which caused a sigh of pleasure to slip out of her that somehow reverberated through him. “A lovely drive and a free dinner. It’s no problem.”

  “And yet you didn’t want to come.” He smiled, still a little bowled over by the fact she’d had no idea who he was and still didn’t. That might have disturbed another man so used to everyone being aware of him, but not Jack. He found it extremely amusing, and oddly refreshing. “You’ve already alluded to the fact you were worried I was going to be your worst nightmare.”

  She shot him a wry look. “And what exactly would that be, in your opinion?”

  “I don’t know…maybe an old guy, with a potbelly and a bad toupee.”

  “I don’t discriminate against age or shape.”

  She had her cute nose in the air, and he laughed. “Come on. You were worried about something. Bad breath? Someone too short? Be honest.”

  “You could still have bad breath, for all I know.”

  He arched a brow and slanted her another glance. “Not going to admit it could have turned out worse?”

  “Hey, the evening is young yet.”

  “What could go wrong now?” Well, besides being grilled by his sister, and possibly being stalked by the paparazzi guaranteed to be waiting at the front door of the club….

  “You could chew with your mouth open,” she said and lifted a shoulder. “Or have an extra toe.”

  He shook his head. “An extra toe?”

  “No ugly feet allowed.”

  “You can’t date a guy with ugly feet?”

  “Not once I find out about them.”

  Inside his shoes, he wriggled his toes, thankful to have only ten, but not sure whether they were ugly. He’d never thought about it. “Tough cookie, aren’t you?”

  “Yep.”

  He nodded. He could appreciate tough. He was rather tough himself.

  But not with a woman. He’d never kicked a woman out of his bed for ugly feet, that was for damn sure.

  “Why did you need a blind date anyway?” She shot him a curious look. “You’re not exactly hard on the eyes, or an obvious raving lunatic.”

  He laughed at the backhanded compliment. “Let’s just say I’ve been out of the dating pool this year, and if I don’t show up with a woman tonight, my sister is going to bring out the cavalry.”

  “Cavalry?”

  “Her friends. And their friends. And their friends, and so on.” He shuddered. “Trust me, it’s awful.”

  “Ah.”

  Her understanding smile stopped him in his tracks, and he nearly gaped because she had great eyes, and when she smiled like that, they could slay a man at ten miles. “So…” He struggled for something to say, something that would please her and keep that beautiful grin in place. “You own Wild Cherries?”

  “Yep.”

  “Must be nice to be cooked for every day.”

  Now she laughed, the sound light and genuine. “The cook is moi. I serve, too, and we’ve been exceptionally busy, so I guess I should ask myself for a raise. My best friend, Lorissa, helps out, but still, we’re usually crazed.”

  “I’m impressed,” he said, loving the sound of her laugh as much as he’d enjoyed her smile. “I usually dial out for my meals. How do you do it all?”

  “The café is small, as you saw, and we’re only open for the midday and afternoon crowd, so it’s not that hard.”

  “Which leaves you time to…”

  “Oh, that’s enough about me, I’m not that exciting.” She cocked her head at him. “Let’s hear about you.”

  It was a fact of life that women wanted to hear about him, but the thrill of the adoration had worn off years ago. He was the last thing he wanted to think about, much less discuss. “Trust me, I’m really not that exciting, either.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.” She eyed the interior of his SUV. “You live well, you dress well. I’m guessing you also do something for a living pretty darn well.”

  “Not lately.”

  She took her eyes off the road and looked at him. “So you’re rich and you do nothing?”

  “Yeah.”

  She lifted a shoulder, unimpressed.

  That was what he liked about her. Laid-back. Accepting. And for the first time in years, years, he found himself relaxing, just letting himself be, because with her there seemed to be no preconceived expectations. She wasn’t a groupie, she wasn’t trying to leech off his stardom, she wasn’t anything but a wo
man just trying to make the best of a blind date.

  He loved that. “I’m retired,” he admitted. He waited for her to laugh, or drill him for more answers; in truth, she probably deserved them.

  But she just nodded. “Must have been a good run before you called it quits.”

  “Yeah.” A hell of a good run. His team had been infamous for being a tight-knit group and, of course, for their fondness of all things wicked. Sex scandals, gambling scandals, police scandals—name it, and his team had been there, done that. As team captain, Jack had taken the brunt of the fallout. The press had loved the Eels’ antics, and they’d loved that Jack had hated them. In fact, after several libel lawsuits that his attorneys had filed and won, they’d joyfully labeled Jack Scandal Knight a prima donna.

  He could bike twenty miles a day, bench-press another player and held numerous NBA records. Yet what did everyone remember him for? A frigging prima donna.

  It had gotten so bad that the owners and coaches had clamped down on the team, punishing the players with curfews and brutal practices for even a hint of trouble.

  It had been a year since Jack retired, and three years since there’d been any so-called scandal.

  And still, even now, after all the hiding out, the press loved to hang him.

  For being a prima donna.

  That just killed him, truly killed him.

  Retired life was definitely simpler than being in the NBA. He could avoid most things media-related—except when his sister needed his name to raise money. And since he’d gotten over the initial shock and letdown of not playing professionally, he’d been happier. Content.

  And maybe just a tiny bit bored, he admitted.

  He pulled off the Pacific Coast Highway and onto the plush grounds of the country club where tonight’s event was taking place. Palm trees lined the half-mile-long driveway which skated past acres of perfectly groomed rolling grass hills overlooking the ocean. The sun was setting on the horizon like a half ball.

  His date took one look at the country club as it came into view—the sprawling southwestern-style building set in an impressively lavish garden—and let out a sound that could have been either annoyance or amusement.