A Dash of Temptation

Dash Black. The sexiest man on earth.

Tess moved beneath the silky sheets, her body pleasantly warm from their amazing lovemaking earlier. Dash lay beside her breathing gently. She wanted to get up, call all her friends with the news. Why not? It was her bed, after all. He was a guest. A lover.

Her lover. If she wanted him to be.

Could she just have a fling? Or would she end up losing? She was half in love with him already. Then what? Long lonely nights wishing he was with her? Jealousy every time she saw him in the National Enquirer?

It was foolish to get involved with him. What could he possibly see in Tess from tiny Tulip, Texas, who was trying to make it in the Big Apple?

Dash wasn’t going to fall in love with her. This was about fun and sex. Sex and more sex. Which was by no means a bad thing. As long as she didn’t confuse it with love. If she said yes to the sex part, what did all the rest matter? He belonged in her bed…and boy, did Dash belong in her.

“So to do Dash,” she whispered. “Or not to do Dash?” She grinned and gazed over at his nude body.

Even in the dark he was a beautiful man. With that sculpted chin, strong nose and eyes that made grown women weep.

All in her bed. Hers. Tess from Tulip, Texas.

A Dash of Temptation

Jo Leigh

To Lawrence, who is my Man To Keep

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

Prologue

To: Erin

CC: Samantha

From: [e-mail]

Subject: Men I’m NOT Going To Do!

Okay, picture this: I’m with Brad. He’s wearing Armani and he smells like cashmere on ice. His hair is perfect, including the obligatory rakish bangs across his forehead. His frown is fetching, his gaze hurt.

Me: I’m sorry, Brad. I just can’t do this. I want more from a relationship than you can give.

Him: Oh, Tess. You’ve made me realize you’re the only woman in the world for me. I’d be lost without you. (He drops to one knee and whips out a Tiffany ring box. Flicking it open, the diamond blinds me for a moment.)

Him: Marry me, Tess. Be mine forever.

Me: Put that 1.2 million dollar ring back in your pocket. We’re not meant to be together. I must go.

Him: Wait! Tess! (He bursts into racking sobs.)

Me: (I wipe a tear as I head for the subway. My posture is excellent.)

Nice, huh? Okay, so here’s what really happened.

Me: I don’t think we can, I mean, uh, I don’t think I can see you anymore.

Him: Okay.

Me: (pulling the knife from the center of my heart) Bye.

The first one’s better. MUCH better, don’t you think? Unfortunately, Brad, bless his pointed little head, didn’t understand that he was losing a gem. That I am, indeed, one hell of a catch and he’s a fool for letting me go.

Really. I mean that. Honest.

I love it, Erin, that you’ve been so lucky with your Man To Do. And I really mean that, too. I sit here and wonder where I went wrong. Dating dangerous, fabulously wealthy, terminally handsome boys seemed like a good idea at the time. What was a broken heart (or ten)? Nevertheless, I’ve learned my lesson. No more Men To Do… I’m doing Men To Marry now. Period. The end. Well, not the end so much as the beginning. A new beginning with a whole new me.

I’m going to do all the things Dear Abby suggests: church socials (note to self: find church), night classes (note to self: ditto), afternoon concerts in Central Park, maybe some golf lessons. I am determined to find Mr. Right and become Mrs. Right by the end of the year. Or next year. Soon, okay? No more Brads. Ever!

So don’t you guys worry about me. You just crawl into your respective beds with your respective hunks and don’t give your poor, desperate friend a thought. I mean it.

Okay then. I’ll just go cry myself to sleep. TTYS!

Love and kisses,

Tess

1

DASH BLACK FINISHED his e-mail and sent it off, wishing he didn’t have fifteen more to go. It would take hours, when all he wanted to do was lock himself in the music room and reacquaint himself with his piano.

Kelly, his assistant, was a godsend and handled his life with practiced ease, but she wasn’t a magician. With the ever increasing success of Noir, he was just damn lucky he could work at home once in a blue moon. Given all the travel, public appearances and investor relations he’d had to do over the past year, sitting in his home office should have been reward enough, but he was a selfish bastard. He wanted it all. Most people would say that’s just what he had. He said it to himself often enough. Like the prince who wants to see how the pauper lives, he had never rebelled, never known anything but his life of privilege. It was sick, the way he thought about it, when all he should be was grateful.

Screw it. Self-pity bored him even more than self-aggrandizement. Just do the work, and shut the hell—

“…the wonder dick. He wasn’t even that good in bed, for heaven’s sake.”

Dash swiveled in his chair, but the startling feminine voice with the slight southern accent had come from outside. It wasn’t Kelly’s voice. Today was his housekeeper’s day off. It was, damn, what was her name? The plant lady. Teresa, Toni? Tess. That’s right. Tess. Tall, curvy, lips like Angelina Jolie. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d known she came to his place to tend his plants, but he’d only seen her a couple of times. Which was a damn shame. He’d thought about those curves, and how they’d feel in his arms. Maybe he’d find out.

He sure as hell hoped she was talking on the phone, and not to an invisible “friend.” In any case, he doubted she knew he was here, or she would have been a lot more discreet.

“Erin, I’m not rationalizing. Well, maybe I am, but I can’t help it. This weekend is the most important of my life. Cullen is expecting me there, and if he comes through, I’ll be able to put down the deposit on the store. I can’t hang in limbo like this. It’s now or never.”

He shouldn’t listen. This was obviously private. Especially that “wonder dick” comment.

“Okay, yes, I understand that it’s a sign of immaturity to want to show up Brad and Lacey, but I don’t care. I need someone spectacular on my arm and I’m running out of time. The party is Saturday night.”

Dash frowned. Cullen? Could she mean Jim Cullen? He was a venture capitalist with a powerful track record. And he was going to the Hamptons this weekend for a party at Rain Nickleby’s.

Her laughter drew him back to her conversation, his curiosity piqued even further. Were they both going to the same party? It would make sense. He’d seen Tess at social functions before. She worked for a lot of influential people.

“…the mice are sewing up my dress right now, and the pumpkin is reserved. Now all I need is Prince Charming, and I’ll be the belle of the ball.”

He grinned. With her body, if he remembered correctly, she shouldn’t have any trouble finding her prince, even if it was just for the night.

“And if I don’t find Prince Charming, I’ll settle for a rent-a-stud. Oh, God. Do you think they expect sex? I mean, is he going to be put out if I don’t put out?”

Rent-a-stud? Dash stood and moved closer to the door.

“Yeah, like I’ve paid for escorts a hundred times before. Come on, Erin, I’m desperate here.”

It occurred to Dash that this might be an interesting situation. If she was referring to the same party. He was no prince, but he also didn’t charge for his services. No, that wouldn’t work. His attendance wouldn’t be for pleasure. He’d have to work the party, and what that required was someone useful on his arm.

She laughed again, a rich, throaty, uninhibited sound. He smiled. Screw it. When was the last time he’d had anonymous sex? Jeez, he couldn’t remember. And when was the last time he’d had a woman who wasn’t connected to Noir? Being a celebrity was great if you wanted a nice table, but it sucked if you wanted a one-night stand.

He walked into the hallway, wondering if he should cough or something so Tess wouldn’t get scared. He rounded the corner to the living room, and there she was. At least part of her.

He had an exceptional view of her backside. And a nice backside it was. She was tending a plant, doing something with a bag of soil. If he coughed now, she’d be embarrassed. But if she stood up and saw him, she’d be scared. Which would be more to his advantage?

As he debated his next move, his gaze never wavered from the tantalizing view in front of him. Her jeans fit snugly over very voluptuous hips. He didn’t see enough curves in his life. Even the models who posed for Noir were so damn skinny he kept wanting to cook them pasta. He’d never admit it, but the women in his magazine weren’t exactly his taste. Heresy, but what can you do? He liked a woman who looked real. Shapely. Someone he could hold on to.

“Oh, right,” she said.

She must have a headset on, because both hands were busy.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s dying to take me out. I haunt his dreams. Did you see last week’s People? He was with Nicole Kidman, for God’s sake.”

Nicole… She was talking about him. He’d taken Nic to a premier, a charity event. This was getting more interesting by the moment.

“Don’t I know it. He’s so gorgeous. Just being here makes me wet.”

Dash grinned. This was too easy. Like taking candy from a baby.

“Erin, you wicked creature. And here you try to pass yourself off as so nice. I know better, woman. You’re evil. And I love that about you.”

He wanted to know what Erin had said. He had the feeling he would have liked it a lot. Tess reached for more potting soil and he held his breath, certain she was going to see him. But she didn’t. She did, however, crouch down. Damn. He’d better get the hell out of—

“Oh!” Tess jumped up, turned to face him, flinging dirt in all directions. Her horrified expression gave him a twinge of guilt.

“What are you…? When did you…? Oh, God.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Startle me? I’m in the middle of a coronary, here. You shouldn’t do that to people.”

“I didn’t realize you were here. I would have announced myself.”

“A cough would have been fine. Oh, Jesus.”

She put her hand over her heart, and his gaze moved down with it. Curves. Lush, touchable curves.

“What?”

He looked up at her, but she wasn’t talking to him. There was the earpiece, the wires leading to a pocket on her apron.

“I gotta go,” she said. “I’ll explain later.”

She reached into her pocket, then took the headset off. Her short, dark hair was in disarray, spiky and wild. He hadn’t noticed how blue her eyes were but he sure as hell remembered that mouth. Damn, but he’d like to see those lips wrapped around his cock.

“You’re home,” she said.

“Yes, I am. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“But you’re never home.”

She sounded so shocked, he had to smile. “I come here from time to time.”

“Oh.”

“Why don’t we go to the kitchen. You can get cleaned up.”

She looked down at her hands, her short nails darkened by dirt, then her gaze went to the carpet. “Oops.”

“It’s fine.” He nodded toward the other room. “Come on.”

She swallowed, blinked, then let out a big breath. “Am I in trouble?”

“From what I could hear, I’d say so.”

The panicked look came back to her face. “You heard me?”

He nodded. “We need to talk,” he said as he headed for the kitchen, but he caught her whispered, “Oh, shit.”

It wasn’t nice, his little game. He should be ashamed of himself. Should be, but wasn’t. Once in the kitchen, he got busy making some coffee. He’d have opened a bottle of wine, but it was a bit early in the day for that. After grinding the beans he measured the grounds, then added the water, and still, Tess hadn’t come in. He was tempted to check on her, but decided to let her have some time to gather herself. So he just brought down two cups and sat at the table.

She came in a moment later, looking as scared as she was embarrassed.

“How do you like your coffee?”

Her brows came down as she studied him. “Do you always serve coffee to people before you fire them?”

“Who said I was going to fire you?”

Her relief lasted only a moment. A slight sigh, then she shook her head and stared at him through narrowed eyes. “Then what was all that about me being in trouble.”

“The party this weekend. You don’t have a date.”

“Excuse me?”

“Wash up while I pour,” he said.

A brief glance at her hands spurred her over to the sink. As she scrubbed her hands and nails, she kept looking at him, puzzled as hell.

He brought out cream and sugar, a couple of spoons, then sat down at the table, bringing the carafe with him. A moment later, she sat across from him, her confusion making her eyes sparkle.

“I have a proposition for you,” he said, enjoying the play of emotion on her face. Nothing was hidden in this one. She was an open book. Which could be dangerous in a town like Manhattan.

“What kind of proposition?”

“You’re going to Rain Nickleby’s this Saturday, right?”

She nodded.

“So am I.” He poured the steaming coffee into her mug, but she didn’t touch it. She did, however, clutch her spoon like a lifeline.

“And?”

“I don’t have a date. I was hoping you’d be kind enough to accompany me.”

She blinked several times. A sound came out of her, something between a gasp and a squeak. He tried hard not to look too smug.

“Are you kidding?”

“Not at all. You’d be doing me a great favor.”

“I’d be doing you a favor.”

“You would. Up until an hour ago, I wasn’t looking forward to the party, and now I am.”

She blinked again. Her long, dark lashes splashed against her pale skin. Soft skin. “I thought you were dating Nicole Kidman.”

“No. We’re not dating. Our evenings out have been strictly business.”

“Gee, that must be so rough.”

He laughed. “With Nic, it’s not rough. But that’s not always the case. Sometimes it’s pretty hard pasting a smile on.”

She sat back in her chair, her T-shirt snug around her breasts. Abundant, full breasts. Her whole body was ample and curvaceous, and he felt the familiar pull at his groin. He hadn’t wanted to go to the party at all. Now, he could hardly wait.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why, what?”

“Why would you want to take me?”

“Why not?”

“I water your plants.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I’m no Nicole Kidman.”

“No, you’re not. You’re Tess, and I’d be honored to have you be my date. I’ll pick you up at five on Saturday. It’ll take us a while to get out to the island.”

She sighed again, then nibbled a bit on her lower lip. He averted his gaze, finally taking a drink of his coffee. It had been a long time since he’d had this kind of reaction to a woman. Not that he was immune to the considerable charms of the ladies he met through Noir, but this was something unrehearsed. A surprise in a world that held very few. Whatever happened Saturday night, it would keep him on his toes. Which appealed greatly.

“I don’t understand it,” she said, “but I’d be a total loon to say no.”

He grinned. “Good, then. It’s settled.”

“I suppose you heard why I’m going?”

“I know Cullen. He’s very savvy, and he makes most of his business decisions based on his reaction to the person, not the proposal. I think you’ll do very well.”

“Really?”

“You’ll have to tell me about your plans on the way to the party. Unfortunately, I have to get back to work.”

She stood up quickly, a splash of pink coloring her cheeks. “I really appreciate this, Mr. Black.”

“Dash.”

“Right.”

He stood next to her, took her hand in his, felt her tremble. Her scent, subtle, slightly citrus, made him want to touch far more. “I appreciate this. More than you can know.”

She looked down at her feet, then brought her gaze up to meet his. “I think you have that backward.”

“Five o’clock, Tess.”

“Do you know where I live?”

“I’ll find you.”

“Maybe I should just meet you here.”

He shook his head slowly. “I’ll find you.”

She swallowed. Blinked in that way she had. “I’ll be ready.”

He kissed the back of her hand, instantly registering that he’d been right about the softness of her skin. He didn’t particularly want to let her go, but he did. “Until then.”

“Uh-huh,” she whispered, looking a little dazed.

“You okay?”

“Oh, sure. No big deal. So what if you’re Dash Black. Frankly, I’m a little bored with it already.”

He laughed. “We’re going to have us a good time, Tess.”

She shook her head. “I think maybe you’re a little crazy.”

“A little.”

“Cool.”

He took a step toward his office, then turned back and kissed her cheek. Mostly because he’d wanted another hit of her scent. He’d expected her to smell like flowers, and she’d surprised him. Her blush was an added bonus. So was the spark of mischief in her eyes.

“Uh, Dash?”

“Yes?”

“I’m not really bored.”

“Cool,” he said back, liking the feel of the word almost as much as her pleased reaction. No, boredom wasn’t going to enter into this at all.

TESS HAD NO IDEA HOW LONG she’d stood in his kitchen after he’d left. It was still daylight, which was a good thing. She had to clean up her mess in the other room, and finish the plants. But her whole mind, hell, her whole being, was totally transfixed by one thing.

She was going on a date with Dashiell Black.

The most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in print or in life. She knew more about him than she should. That he was six foot three, that he had a passion for music. She could verify the first fact, but the music thing was something she’d read in the Enquirer. She’d also read that he’d had an illicit affaire with an ex-first lady, but come on. One thing she didn’t get from reading the tabloids was that luscious, slightly spicy scent of his. Or the way his hazel eyes snapped with amusement.

And he was taking her, Tess Norton of Tulip, Texas, to a party in the Hamptons. How could she think of anything else? This was huge. This was monumental. This was going to give her a heart attack. What was she going to wear? She had no shoes! Hair. Her hair looked like someone chopped it off with a bread knife.

Oh, God. Dash Black. It had taken her months to get over the fact that she worked for the man. Every time she’d seen him, she’d practically swooned. Swooned. He was…

Perfect.

And she was…

Tess.

Oh, God.

2

TESS STOOD IN THE MIDDLE of Rags to Riches, her favorite resale shop, holding a vintage Chanel when it hit her again. In two days, she was going on a date with Dash.

Dash Black. Who made her legs turn to jelly, her heart palpitate, her mind go blank. It wasn’t just that he was famous. In her years in Manhattan, she’d met lots of famous people. Everyone from Robert De Niro to Trent Reznor. She’d been lucky. One of the first people she’d met in the city was an interior designer to the stars. Shelly had unbelievable contacts, and when Tess started her plant-care business, Shelly had used her influence to introduce Tess to the A-list.

At first, it had been overwhelming. Scary. She’d been intimidated and shy, which wasn’t her natural state of being. But walking into the luxurious penthouses of the incredibly rich and famous was enough to turn her into a little mouse.

Eventually, as she became more relaxed, she began to see the similarities instead of the differences. Even Academy Award winners had bathrooms.

Then, when Cole Darden of daytime drama fame had asked her out, she’d been introduced into yet another strata. The club scene. Not the clubs she would have been able to get into. These clubs had bouncers that made a hundred grand a year. It was heady and wild and she found herself knee-deep in celebrity gossip that never made the Post.

The downside was that she wasn’t in a financial position to be a player. It wasn’t the drinks or the dinners or the tips. She didn’t drink much, and her dates usually paid for the rest. It was the clothes. Damn those women on Sex and the City. They had to be millionaires to afford those wardrobes. Unfortunately for Tess, she didn’t have a studio behind her, and she sure as hell couldn’t pay for a Prada scarf. So it was resale shops, Goodwill, flea markets for her. It stretched her creativity, that’s for sure. But it also made her terribly aware that while she was allowed inside, she’d better not get too comfortable. She was on a guest pass, which could be revoked in ten hot seconds.

Not a good train of thought, given her situation. She still couldn’t figure out why he’d asked her to go with him. Pity, probably.

She could handle that.

She went back to the rack of dresses, most of which were here for a reason. Every once in a while, however, she found a gem. Please, let it be today. So much was riding on this one Saturday night, not the least of which was showing Brad that she didn’t miss him at all. That other men, fabulous men, wanted her.

Well, maybe not wanted her, but Brad didn’t have to know that. Dash would treat her like a queen. Because that’s how he treated every woman. She just prayed she wouldn’t turn into a frog. Do something stupid, say the wrong thing, act like a fool. Her usual.

“Well, if it isn’t fabulous Tess Norton.”

Tess grinned at the haughty voice behind her. It was Mary, her friend, neighbor, partner in crime. She turned and waggled her brows. “Mary Neal. I never.”

“Like hell, you never.”

“Such language.”

“I’m not even warmed up yet.”

Tess eyed Mary’s outfit du jour. Doc Martens, jeans that rode low on her impossibly slim hips, a sweater circa the 1960s, and a furry coat that might have belonged to Attila the Hun. On her, it worked. “I’m desperate, girlfriend.”

“Tell Aunt Mary all about it.”

The store, close packed, a little too warm, was one of their usual haunts, not just for the occasional finds, but because there was this great coffee shop next door that served the best apple strudel in the universe.

“I will. In aching detail. But first, I need something fabulous. Something transcendent. Something that will give every male above eighteen an instant erection.”

Mary glanced at the dress in her hand. “That won’t even get you a slap on the ass.” She spread the clothes on the rack like Moses parting the sea. “Let’s rock.”

Two hours later, after having tried on everything from Versace to Polo, Tess cried uncle. She grabbed Mary’s hand and pulled her outside into the balmy spring air. Her gaze moved automatically toward the downtown skyline, and, as always, her breath hitched when she saw what was missing. Turning back to Mary, who had pulled out a compact and was busy dusting her perfect little nose, Tess pointed to the café, with the improbable name of Frog and Thistle. “Food. Now.”

“Okay. Jeez.” Mary slipped the cloisonné powder case into her Kate Spade pocketbook, then smiled. “But you have to tell me what this mad search is all about.”

“I will. Come on,” she said, dodging a guy on a skateboard as she headed toward the Frog. “I have to find a dress today. Tomorrow, latest. I need it by Saturday night.”