Best of Temptation Bundle

by Tori Carrington

  The down-arrow lit up, and Devin stepped in, fighting back memories of touching Paris in this very elevator just a few hours earlier. He swore he could still smell her perfume.

  Like a vertical fade in an old-fashioned movie, the door slid shut, cutting off his view of the door to Paris’s hotel room. How fitting. End of the scene, end of that chapter of his life.

  He wondered when she would realize he’d left. Would she be hurt? Angry? Relieved? He hoped not. As much as he didn’t want to hurt her, he couldn’t believe that she’d be happy to find him gone. Their time together had been special, almost magical. For himself, he needed to hold fast to the belief that she thought so, too.

  Devin leaned against the polished wood panels of the elevator, fixed in place by the strong grip of hesitation. He fought the urge to get off at the next floor, race back up the stairs and pull her into his arms.

  Don’t even think about it, Devie-boy. No, he had done the right thing by walking away. Best to make a clean break, even if the leaving pained him.

  He caught the tail end of an idea and stood a little straighter, his hand heading for the Stop button.

  Maybe he should tell her the truth. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to lay it all on the line and invite her out for a proper date. After all, when he started this scheme he’d had no idea how he would end up feeling about her.

  “You’re pathetic, Dev,” he whispered, dropping his hand. He was trying to justify a reason to stay based on the strength of his own feelings. But what about Paris?

  She was an up-and-coming author with a carved-in-stone image of the man she wanted. She didn’t have any room in her life for a pub owner mortgaged to his eyeballs and scurrying to satisfy a debt he couldn’t pay.

  Devin couldn’t be Montgomery Alexander forever. Sooner or later, he’d have to be just Devin. And as much as he wished it weren’t true, just Devin wasn’t the man Paris wanted.

  Their short-lived affair was over before it even had a chance to start.

  Except.

  The elevator thudded to a halt in the lobby and Devin pushed the thought away. Even his dad would know better than to bet on Paris sauntering into Devin’s bar of her own free will, hoping to continue where they’d left off. Stuff like that only happened in fiction, an area Devin no longer had anything to do with.

  “HE’S A CREEP.”

  “Paris,” Rachel chided, rolling down her window to let some fresh air into the stale taxi.

  “No, it’s true. He’s a creep and I’m an idiot.” Paris kept her voice at a monotone, using no more emotion than a store-special announcer at the local mega-mart. “I should have known from the first moment. It’s his eyes. They’re shifty.”

  “His eyes are not shifty.”

  No, his eyes are gorgeous. Deep and inviting.

  “Maybe they shift just a little,” Paris insisted, gunning for a squabble, but Rachel wasn’t going to be baited. The problem, of course, was that Paris didn’t want him to be a creep, and didn’t believe that he was one, not really, even though he’d engaged in some very creep-like behavior. But ranting felt good, and Paris intended to wallow in it.

  Rachel flopped against the soiled upholstery, then crossed her legs in an I’m-in-control sort of way. Paris knew better. Rachel usually made balancing on the edge of taxicab seats an art, careful not to let her typically chic outfits get more mussed up than absolutely necessary. Today, however, Rachel was practically hugging the tattered back seat.

  “What are you so upset about?” Paris demanded. “I’m the one who almost boffed some lunatic with a slick come-on line.”

  Rachel grimaced and looked out the window. Paris gave up. Rachel wasn’t going to say a word until she calmed down.

  Fat chance that would happen anytime soon. Paris had been indulging in a grab bag of emotions since about three-thirty in the morning. It was now one in the afternoon. Except for a four-hour nap between five and nine, Paris had been bingeing nonstop on self-pity and anger, with a high emphasis on embarrassment. For a woman who usually kept her cool, Paris thought she was doing a heck of a job in the ranting and raving department.

  She had to admit, though, it was getting a little old. And all the pouting in the world wouldn’t get her the information she really wanted—why? Why had he walked away?

  Out her window, the Manhattan streets groaned under the weight of taxis, buses and cars, each moving at a snail’s pace, with drivers gesturing wildly to each other in a futile effort to make the traffic move more quickly. Paris didn’t mind the delay. The longer it took to get where they were going, the more time she had to prepare to meet him.

  What did annoy Paris was that some secret, almost-buried, traitorous part of her wanted to see him again, to touch him and feel his arms around her. To feel her breath catch and her blood boil the way it had last night.

  She leaned her head back against the seat and stared at the roof of the taxi. For six years, she’d lived her life in neat little compartments. Her future had been all planned out, what kind of books she would write, what kind of man she’d marry.

  Twenty-four hours ago Paris had total control of her perfect plan. Now chaos had taken over. Her world was swerving out of control. And she didn’t like that one bit.

  “Rach, maybe I should just tell Chapman everything.”

  Rachel turned and stared at Paris, her face a mixture of annoyance and concern—an expression that evolved into something even more significant. If she hadn’t seen it herself, Paris would never have believed that Rachel could give such an in-depth response without even saying a word.

  Paris sighed, drawing out the sound until she noticed the cabdriver eyeing her in the rearview mirror, possibly wondering about her sanity. She was sane, all right. But if she was going to suffer, she was going to do it in style. A little melodrama never hurt anyone.

  She shot Rachel an accusatory glare. Usually Rachel was as loyal a friend as Paris could want. But today, instead of helping like agents and best friends were supposed to, Rach was just sitting there like a bump on a log.

  “If you don’t say something, I really am going to tell.”

  “Honey, we went over this earlier. You don’t want to tell Chapman. Embarrassment, remember? Money? Deal?”

  “I can’t believe I’m about to beg help from some guy who left me half-naked in a hotel room without even a goodbye note.”

  “Are you mad at him for leaving, or at yourself for what was going on in your dirty little mind?”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “I’m on the side that gets us another book deal.”

  “Nice. You’re a real pal.”

  Rachel laughed. “Oh, come on, Paris. You’re more mad at the situation than you are at him. You practically slept with the guy, something you never do despite all of my urging and coaxing. And now you’re embarrassed because the one time you steer from your normal little dull routine, the plan backfires.”

  There were times when Rachel could be so right. It was downright annoying. “It didn’t backfire, it exploded. He left. Poof. Picture a big cloud of dust. Then the dust settles, and, golly gee…there’s…no…guy.”

  “Well, he’s probably just as embarrassed as you.”

  Paris doubted that. “How do you figure?”

  “He came to the party to meet you. Maybe he fantasized that you’d fall for his Montgomery Alexander routine—”

  “So far he’s right on the money.”

  “—but he never really believed it,” Rachel finished, shooting Paris a do-you-mind look. “And then when you do fall for him, it’s like this fantasy come true. First he figured out the secret, and then he seduced the woman of his obsession.”

  Paris had never been the object of anyone’s obsession before, at least that she knew of. “Go on,” she urged.

  “Well, you’re both wrapped up in this fantasy. And you’ve got great chemistry on top of it.”

  Paris nodded. No matter what, the chemistry between her and Alexander had crack
led.

  “So when I knocked and you scooted him off to never-never land, reality probably kicked in. I’ll bet he thought you’d be hopping mad once the haze of passion wore off. He probably thought he should get out of there before you had him arrested.”

  “So you’re buying his story that he pulled off the whole thing just to meet me?”

  Rachel shrugged. “Sure, why else? He knew all those lines. He’s obviously a fan.”

  Maybe. But something wasn’t clicking. Still, what Rachel said about Alexander being embarrassed made some sense. If it had been her shuttled off to the connecting room, maybe reality would have propelled her out of the hotel as well.

  “You’re probably right,” Paris conceded. “Still, it’s going to be awkward seeing him again like this.” Awkward and exciting.

  “Thirteen-fifty.”

  Paris looked at Rachel and then at the cabdriver, who was holding out his hand for the fare. She hadn’t noticed when they’d pulled up in front of the pub.

  Rachel got to her purse first. “Here.”

  They slipped out of the cab, and crossed the sidewalk to O’Malley’s Pub. A brass placard announced the establishment’s hours from four in the afternoon until two in the morning.

  “Maybe they’re in there doing prep work,” Rachel suggested.

  Paris nodded, then grabbed the heavy door and pulled. Unlocked, it opened easily. “Here goes nothing,” she said, stepping inside with Rachel at her heels.

  With three hours left until the bar officially opened, the dim lamplight of the other night had been abandoned in favor of strong, institutional fluorescents. The stale smell of old beer and cigars assaulted Paris, seeming much more pungent than it had during the pub’s regular hours, when the odors of alcohol and tobacco had been tempered with music, sweat and fried foods.

  The only person in the bar was a lanky fellow squatting on the floor. Earnestly rubbing at a stain on the hardwood planks, he hadn’t yet noticed Paris and Rachel. The expression on his face suggested that he’d be happier if the lights were dimmed again, so that the spot he was working so hard to remove would just blend into the shadows.

  Paris coughed lightly. The lanky fellow shifted his weight, still concentrating on the stain.

  “We ain’t open ‘til four,” he said, without looking up.

  “I know. I need to see the owner.”

  The fellow grunted, as if being interrupted from his chore was the most disruptive thing that had happened to him in ages. He looked up, and Paris saw his eyes widen as he turned from her to Rachel, and then back to Paris.

  His mouth hung open as he stared at her.

  Paris checked to make sure all her buttons and zippers were fastened. They were. Have I turned green?

  She opened her mouth to speak, just as the fellow scrambled to stand up. “Oh, it’s you. I didn’t know. Sorry. What can I get you? Really, anything. It’s on the house.”

  Paris looked at Rachel, who managed to twitch her shoulder and cock one eyebrow in a gesture that left no doubt that she, too, was clueless.

  “I’ll take a margarita on the rocks,” Rachel announced after only a second’s hesitation.

  Or maybe not so clueless.

  “Rachel,” snarled Paris, as the fellow loped toward the bar.

  “What?” Rachel asked, the picture of innocence. “He asked, and it’s rude to turn down your host’s invitation.”

  “Two seconds ago he was kicking us out. Now we’re the guests of honor?” Paris lowered her voice, even though it wasn’t necessary. The fellow had started the blender, and its grating noise in the empty bar was sufficient to mask their conversation.

  Rachel smirked. “From the way he’s been looking at you, I’d say you’re the guest of honor. I’m just along for the tequila.”

  Paris was spared having to think of a snappy retort by the sudden silence in the bar.

  “Here you go. One margarita.” The fellow held up the glass, then set it on the bar.

  “It’s like a carrot,” Rachel mumbled. “He puts it over there, and I’m drawn to it.” She headed across the room to the bar. Paris rolled her eyes and followed.

  Their de facto host nodded toward Rachel as he looked at Paris. “So, who’s she? Your lawyer?”

  Odd question. “We did go to law school together, but—”

  “Aw, geez, I knew it. I freakin’ knew it. I shoulda kept my big mouth shut. He’s gonna be up to his armpits in lawyers and cops, and it’s all cuz o’ me.”

  Questions ricocheted in Paris mind. Who’s going to be in trouble with the lawyers? What did the police have to do with anything? What did she have to do with anything? Was the lanky fellow’s “he” her Mystery Man? She had a feeling she could place a bet on that one, and have pretty good odds of winning.

  One question came to land on her tongue. “Who are you?”

  Suddenly all smiles, the fellow slid around the bar to shake her hand. “Jerry. Jerry Mangolini. Wow. What an honor. Meetin’ you, I mean. I’ve read your books. Every one of ’em.”

  Paris heard Rachel gasp, and considered asking for a sip of the margarita. She was beginning to think she was going to need it. Then again, this was a situation best approached with caution. And a clear head.

  “Um, what books are those?”

  Jerry nudged her with his shoulder as if they were old friends. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell. Ironic, ain’t it? Me keepin’ your secret even though Devin was gonna spill the beans unless, well, you know.” He rubbed his thumb and fingers together, the international symbol for money.

  Devin. “Devin was—” She couldn’t finish the thought.

  “—going to blackmail Paris?”

  Good ol’ Rachel. Always ready to pitch in during a crisis.

  “That’s why you two are here, right?”

  “N—”

  “Yes. Of course.” Rachel interrupted before Paris could deny having any inkling that the fabulously suave mystery man of her dreams was actually a wolf in Montgomery Alexander clothing.

  Overall, the situation stunk.

  Jerry nodded. “I’m surprised you found him, him not telling you who he is and all. Guess you musta recognized him from the other day, huh.”

  “The day when you two figured out my secret identity?”

  Jerry cocked a finger at her. “Yeah. You’re getting it. A beautiful scheme, really. Worthy of the kind of gigs Devin’s pop used to pull.” He paused, frowning. “But you might as well lose the lawyer. He didn’t go through with it. He told me. Left without getting the money and everything.”

  “That makes it right?” Paris asked the strange little man.

  “Right, not right. Don’t really matter. The important thing’s that no DA’s gonna care about a blackmail scheme wherein no one got blackmailed.”

  Paris had to agree with the fellow. Even if she were inclined to prosecute, no district attorney would care.

  “Besides,” continued Jerry, “he had his reasons. Good reasons. Twenty thousand of ’em.”

  “What?” Rachel asked.

  “Gambling debt,” Jerry announced. “His—”

  “Hello, Paris.”

  Paris spun around, and there he was—Alexander, Devin, whatever the heck he called himself. Gone was the deep brown hair from the night before. Now damp golden waves framed his face, as if he’d just showered away the remnants of Alexander. But the change didn’t reduce his sex appeal at all.

  Her first impulse was not to accuse him of trying to rip her off. Not to yell at him for leaving her in a lurch. Not to scream at him for using her. Not to slap him for playing Russian roulette with her heart.

  No, her traitorous heart wanted to kiss him, touch him, be near him.

  And that was what really made her angry.

  THE LOOK ON HER FACE put a quick end to Devin’s fantasy that they were going to ride off into the sunset together. Damn, but she looked sexy when she was ticked off.

  “Gambling debt,” she whispered. “You were going to blackmail
me so that you could pay off a gambling debt?” Her voice rose from a low tremor to a high shrill. Devin cringed. This was definitely not happily ever after.

  So much for her rushing over to confess true love, or at least serious lust. How did that saying go? Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.

  “Paris, it wasn’t like that.” He hoped a soothing voice would keep her from crossing the line into hysterics.

  “Wasn’t it? What was it like? Some innocent, starstruck fan just wanting to get close to me?” She stomped her foot, and glanced over the bar. Fortunately, the ashtrays were in the dishwasher. Had one been handy, no doubt she’d have hurled it.

  She snorted. “Can you believe I fell for that one? I actually thought you were interested in me. Bet you and your buddies’ll have a million laughs over that one.”

  Devin wished he could wake up and start the day over. All morning he’d been on the phone, begging for more time to pay back his dad’s debt. Two lousy extra weeks they’d granted him. Twenty thousand dollars in four weeks. An impossible task.

  And now he was being confronted by a woman he’d left naked in a hotel room after impersonating her pen name and dream lover. A woman he craved so much his insides ached, but had no idea how to go about getting. Especially considering that she was standing in front of him, spitting mad, looking for all the world like she believed he was the lowest of the low.

  All in all, it was shaping into one hell of an afternoon.

  “Well,” she persisted, looking particularly cute the way she glared at him with her hands perched on her hips. “Aren’t you going to throw some new line my way?”

  The urge to laugh almost overwhelmed him. Here he’d taken the chivalrous path, leaving her room before he could actually go through with the scam that would solve all of his financial problems, and to what end? The object of his fascination, the only woman he’d ever desired so tangibly, was standing in his pub, yelling at him, and thinking that he was a no-good, lousy, two-bit con artist.