My Daring Seduction

My Daring Seduction

Isabel Sharpe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

February can be cruel. Up here in the frozen north, the weather can be stubbornly brutal when our thoughts are turning hopefully towards spring. Valentine’s Day can be a day of love and joy or of loneliness and sadness.

This month the women of the Martinis & Bikinis Club chase away February blahs with their usual meeting, which includes sexually provocative Martini Dares, but also a surprise for my heroine Lindsay. She’s off on the wildest ride of her life, thanks to sexy Denver Langston. Along the way she uncovers more Winfield family secrets and finally finds the key to real happiness. Hint: it’s not staying home playing it safe.

Curl up with a hot toddy, enjoy the story and think about starting up a Martinis & Bikinis chapter in your town. Then let me know how you like your dares! Cool and calm or sizzling hot?

Cheers,

Isabel Sharpe www.IsabelSharpe.com

Lindsay’s Ruby Valentini

4 parts vodka 2 parts pomegranate juice 1 part triple sec Splash of lemon juice Serve ice-cold (with a warm heart) in sugar-rimmed martini glasses!

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Copyright

ISABEL SHARPE

was not born pen in hand like so many of her fellow writers. after she quit work in 1994 to stay at home with her firstborn son and nearly went out of her mind, she started writing. after more than twenty novels – along with another son – Isabel is more than happy with her choice these days. She loves hearing from readers. Write to her at www. IsabelSharpe.com.

To my wonderful, wild and talented friends and

writing partners in this terrific series:

Lori Wilde, Carrie Alexander and

Jamie Denton.

Prologue

Dear Daughter,

What a difficult letter this is to write. I am ill now and you are probably reading this after I am gone as it will no doubt take my lawyer some time to find you. It is clichéd but true that looking at the end of life makes you think about what you would have done differently. If I had mine to do it over again, I would not have given you up for adoption, no matter the cost. That pain never left me. But once my life had become stable enough to support you properly, you had already settled in with your new family. What rights did I have to you after all? This I would also change. I could have met you at least, and told you where you came from.

However, one thing I can give you now is knowledge of your three wonderful sisters, my other daughters. Brooke, your eldest sister, is two years younger than you. She is my most sensible, practical and gracious daughter, though I suspect a wild streak she has dutifully suppressed. Next is Joey, my brilliant lawyer, who believes ambition and strength can hide her vulnerability and rebelliousness. Lastly, Katie, my baby. She needs to learn to celebrate her impulsive behavior more creatively and constructively.

What you do with this is up to you. All three girls still live in Boston, where they grew up with me. I hope you will seek them out and make our family whole again.

I want you to know that not a day went by when I didn’t look at them and also think of you, and the lovely young woman you have no doubt become.

Daisy Breckenridge Winfield

1

LINDSAY BECKHAM PUT DOWN the phone in her office carefully as if the receiver harbored an explosive. The calls from Gina were always surreal. On television blackmail was a dramatic high-stakes affair—threats, strong language, wrung hands and curses. Or excruciating, calculated and cruelly exciting.

These talks were bizarre simply because they were so ordinary. Gina was an old friend—or so Lindsay had had the typically poor judgment to think—so their exchanges were familiar, and while not exactly warm and fuzzy anymore, neither were they hostile. Gina treated her “salary” as if she were providing a service Lindsay should feel thrilled to purchase and chatted about personal matters as if their friendship hadn’t taken this baffling turn several months ago when, in the middle of a catch-up phone call, Gina had blurted out, “Did you know there is no statute of limitations on murder?”

Wouldn’t the press be interested to find out that a few years back Gina Nelson had seen Lindsay Beckham, the hot new owner of Boston’s hot new bar, Chassy, kill her boyfriend? Forget the press, wouldn’t the police be interested?

And Gina had gone on to point out, wouldn’t potential investors in Chassy’s planned expansion be interested to learn the woman angling for their money had run away from her adoptive family at seventeen and lived a large part of her adult life high on whatever she could find, going from man to man, searching for love and her own identity the least likely way she could find either?

Needless to say, after that the call had hurtled downhill faster than an Olympic skier.

The betrayal had hurt her not just personally but professionally. Gina seemed to know precisely how much Lindsay could part with and stay afloat. Lindsay wanted to do more than stay afloat. She wanted to take Chassy from the quiet neighborhood stop it had been when her wonderful employers and mentors, Laura and Scott Downing, had sold it to her for a song, to the trendy powerhouse she was sure the bar could be as their South Boston neighborhood grew and began to thrive. In the last year she’d made a lot of the right moves, including starting a local chapter of the Martinis and Bikinis women’s social club. That guaranteed her loyal customers for its monthly meetings where lucky members were selected to complete wild and empowering dares.

With Gina back in the picture, clinging to her, her past couldn’t be put to rest no matter how far Lindsay thought she’d moved beyond it. She’d finally wrestled away most of her guilt over causing her ex-boyfriend Ty’s death, but she wasn’t sure the courts would take the same view.

Unfortunately, Gina’s timing was typical of Lindsay’s life. For a precious few weeks in early fall Lindsay had started to feel she was finally digging herself out of the bad times and bad luck that had been her lifelong companions. A new vow of clean living, success in business, then the biggest surprise—information about her birth family—had been dropped into her lap the previous summer in the form of a letter from her deceased birth mother introducing her three half sisters, Brooke, Joey and Katie. Lindsay had invited them to join Martinis and Bikinis and was gradually getting to know the trio.

And then, kaboom, Gina.

There was always something. Granted, she’d made bad choices, but while a lot of people believed in the idea of happily ever after, and some people like her blue blood Winfield half sisters even got a shot at living it, for Lindsay there had only been struggling-ever-after.

“Hey there.”

Her assistant manager’s voice made Lindsay jam on a smile. Another case in point. Born into a wealthy family, Denver Langston had attended an Ivy League college and medical school, and had the luxury of ditching his lucrative career as a plastic surgeon in L.A. because the work hadn’t been what he expected.

Now he had the further luxury of slumming in her bar while he figured out what he wanted to do next and where.

If she didn’t respect him so much, she…well, she might not.

“Hi, Denver.”

He moved toward her, early as always for his shift, slipping off the royal blue jacket that didn’t look thick enough to ward off the dismal damp cold of winter in Massachusetts, but doubtless was several-hundred-dollar state-of-the-art Alpine gear. “How goes it?”

Lindsay shrugged and turned toward her desk, looking for something to straighten. As usual there was nothing. Though she’d always been teased for her compulsive neatness, first by her sloppy adoptive parents and her equally sloppy boyfriends, now by her staff, order kept her from feeling panicked and overwhelmed. And something about Denver made her feel both.

“The usual.” And how screwed up was her life that being blackmailed counted as the usual?

He watched her with that dark gaze that lately was making her want things she couldn’t have with him. Sex, intimacy, sex, fun times, sex…did she mention sex? Too risky. She was his boss for one, and not anxious for a sexual harassment lawsuit on top of blackmail, thanks very much. Second, she liked him, and whatever they started would sputter all too soon and ruin their working relationship. One thing she’d learned the hard way, men didn’t stick around after the initial orgasmic thrill wore off.

“Everything okay?”

She nodded, sure she wasn’t fooling him. Denver wasn’t much of a talker, but he had this unsettling way of tuning into her moods that made her…

Well, she wasn’t quite sure what it made her, but she knew it wasn’t any healthier for her peace of mind than the calls from Gina.

“You’re sure?”

“Sure.” She nodded, aware her tone was too bright and he’d notice. “Fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Sarcasm became him. Everything became him. “And I’m Paris Hilton.”

“Post-op?” If she looked at him any longer, her insides would twist up and she’d start with the blush-and-stutter crap.

Tall and imposing, handsome to a point, nose too proud to be perfect, Denver wasn’t the kind of guy that turned female heads the first time he walked into a room, but probably the second or third, and definitely once he’d smiled and shown his easy charm. He was also the kind of guy that could intimidate most people simply by setting his jaw a certain way and scowling. She’d seen him in action when the occasional patron got rowdy.

Luckily it took more than hard jaws and scowls to get her to crack.

“So you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Do I ever?” She glanced over to see him shake his head, amusement turning up the corners of his mouth.

“Nah. But I keep trying.”

“Yeah, you do.” She opened a cabinet drawer to look busy, wondering why he bothered, and riffled through the hanging folders searching for the file on the next evening’s Martinis and Bikinis Love or Lust? pre-Valentine’s Day party, probably passing it three times.

“This what you want?” He found the file and handed it to her.

“How did you know?”

“Same file you always pull when I come in here to talk to you.”

Busted. She turned her head to hide the blush that was her fair skin’s nemesis, which she could control around ninety-nine percent of the population. Guess who belonged to the one percent? “Thank you.”

“Lindsay.” His voice was too intimate; he moved closer and she tensed, ready to tell him to back off. “Would you—”

“Hey, guys, what’s up?”

Saved by the bell. Justin Bell, their hot young bartender, hired at the end of the summer and raking in devoted female customers. He swaggered into her office, dressed in butt-hugging black pants and a black T-shirt, dirty blond hair mussed in a look that probably took him hours.

“Hi, Justin.” Lindsay moved past Denver. “Remember, we’re running a special on mango mojitos and passion fruit martinis for our Tropics in Winter night tonight, so be ready.”

“Sweetheart, for you, I am always ready.” Justin gyrated his pelvis and Lindsay laughed in spite of her crappy mood.

“Just keep the customers happy, Justin. I’ll worry about keeping me happy.”

He shook his head. “Lindsay, babe, you have got to get yourself somewhere warm. Miami or the Sahara…or even better into some hot guy’s arms.”

Lindsay raised her brows. “And why is that?”

“To melt that layer of ice you’re stuck in.”

Behind her Denver snorted. She shot him a look, then sent Justin a glare. Men. “We open in thirty, get to work. And for tomorrow evening’s Martinis and Bikinis meeting, try eliminating the simple syrup in the pomegranate juice mix for the Valentinis. We have lots of women watching carbs and/or calories, and I thought they were too sweet. Maybe sugar around the glass rims instead.”

“Yes, ma’am, boss woman.”

She’d opened her mouth to correct him to Lindsay, when Denver’s hand gripped her upper arm, making her hiss like an ambushed feline. She did not like being touched unexpectedly, especially from behind.

“Whoa.” His hand gentled immediately. “You’re on edge even for you.”

“I’m fine. What do you want?”

“I just need a minute.”

She nodded briskly, pulling out of his grasp. “Justin, if Casey isn’t here in five, call her cell and light a fire under her ass, okay?”

“You can count on me, babe.”

“Lindsay.”

“No problem, Lindsay-babe.”

She countered his boyish smile with a withering look and shooed him back into the bar, then crossed her arms over her chest and turned to Denver, who was leaning casually against her desk. “So, guy, what’s up?”

He smiled at her imitation of Justin. “You want it straight?”

“I always do.” She hugged herself tighter and had to remind herself to keep her shoulders from stiffening up toward her ears. Not more bad news. Gina had hinted she’d be asking for a “raise” soon and Lindsay needed time with the books, time alone, time to let herself deal with the threat.

“Casey quit. She’s pregnant and sick and can’t handle the long hours on her feet.” He spoke quietly but she saw the concern in his eyes.

“Okay.” Lindsay nodded calmly, while her insides shouted, No, not Casey, not now. “She told you today?”

“She called my cell.”

“Right.” She banished the jolt of irritation at the idea of Casey knowing Denver’s cell number and went over the schedule in her mind. “I’ll work tomorrow’s Martinis and Bikinis party. How long before you can get someone new?”

He shook his head.

She frowned. “That long?”

“No, not the new hire.”

“What now?”

He pushed himself away from her desk and came to stand a foot away. She had to make herself not step back. “You.”

“What are you talking about?” She felt like growling. She had enough on her plate without psychoanalysis.

“Don’t you let anything out?” He put his hands on his hips, taller than her five-ten height by a good number of inches. “I picture this seething mess of emotions inside you. Like snakes trapped in a box.”

“Why, Denver, how literary.”

His jaw set. She couldn’t help smirking. What did he want, that she’d break down crying because she’d have to work harder than hard until they found a replacement? She was born on a Saturday, “Saturday’s child works hard for a living.” She wasn’t afraid of work. Work was healthy, clean and constructive.

So if he thought she’d lay her head on his big sturdy chest, blubber into his manly-man strength and allow that he was more powerful and capable and superior than she, he had another think coming.

Staff quit, that was part of the business. She marched to the door of her office and called out to Justin. “Cancel order to harass Casey, she’s not coming in.”

“Gotcha, big lady.” He grinned at her scowl. “Big lady Lindsay.”

She rolled her eyes and turned back into her office, feeling brittle and tenuous, as if one more push was going to send her over and maybe she’d need that manly-man chest after all.

Except she didn’t. Life had taught her she could handle a lot more crap with a lot less trauma than most people.

Her private phone rang. She half lunged for it then stopped herself. Lindsay’s panic would be immediately apparent to Mr. See-Everything. Then she panicked anyway and lunged again, encountering Denver’s hand already on the receiver before she snatched hers away and retreated.

He had a brief conversation, watching her the whole time, a conversation that sounded as if another waitress was coming in late tonight, damn it. She imagined herself on the surface of the moon, everything bright, vast, calm, quiet, in the control of forces much bigger than her.

“Margaret’s going to be late. Meltdown on the Mass Pike.”

Lindsay nodded. “I’ll cover.”

“When was your last day off?”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“It’s a simple question.”

“I don’t do days off.”

“You need to.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but his gaze was relentless. “You can fool most of the people most of the time but you can’t fool me.”

“Give me a break.” She broke away from the hold of his gaze, busying herself with the bar schedule. She hated when he got sweet and probing like this. Hated the weakness in her he seemed to be able to generate, the small persistent desire to unburden herself. Why him? Why not her three new half sisters? She was starting to feel close to and trust Brooke, the gentlest, eldest Winfield sister, though she got a real kick out of spunky Joey and bubbly Katie.

She resented that Denver had such power and that resentment made her harsher with him than she wanted to be. Which she also hated.

Last on her hate list? That she had the feeling he understood all of the above.

“Come swimming with me tonight after work.”

“What?” She swung around to face him. Was he asking her out? In what capacity? As a friend? A date? “Swimming?”

“Yeah. Immerse self in water, propel self through said liquid with coordinated motion of arms and legs.” He mimicked the front crawl arm circles.

She couldn’t help a smile. “Got it.”

“The neighbors are on a Greek island with my parents and let me use their indoor pool while they’re gone. It’s built in a glass extension to their house, so you can see the sky through the ceiling. You’d love it.”

She stood silently, imagining the two of them alone past midnight, sneaking a wintry moonlit swim in a stranger’s empty house and wanted to go with a force that shocked her.

“Um…I don’t think so.”

“Think it over.”

“Thanks, really. But no.” She managed to sound more sure that time, picked up an inventory off her desk and scanned it blindly. The paper flew out of her hands; she whipped around and snatched it back.

“One of these days, Lindsay.” He was leaning too close, watching her too closely, undoubtedly getting much too close to the truth of her emotional state. As usual.

“One of what days?” She pretended not to know, pretended not to care, pretended to herself that he couldn’t tell she was pretending. His chin was smooth-shaven, he smelled good, he was solid and masculine and everything she’d always fantasized about, excepting the silver spoon upbringing. Damn him to hell.

“One of these days you’re going to let me inside.”

“Or else what?” Her heart had jumped, was still jumping, like a maniac who’d just won the lottery. Inside? She knew what he meant but the way it sounded…

“No ‘or else.’ It’s just fact.”

Any other guy would get a sock in the nose trying such bullshit on her. But Denver managed to make the lines sound as much of a sure thing as his control over what he’d have for dinner that night.

“So what’s your point?”

He smiled, unruffled by her rudeness. “So my point is that it’s going to be good. For both of us.”

Was he flirting? Did he realize? “You’re sounding sexual.”

“What?” He clapped his hand to his chest, brows raised too high. “No way, really?”

Her mouth opened, she started to speak, then gave up when she realized she was actually speechless. A blush crept up her cheek and she turned—or tried to. He grabbed her arm. “No, no, don’t go, let me enjoy this. A reaction, my God. How I’ve waited for this moment.”

“Hmph. Maybe you need more work to do.”

“No.” Denver tugged on her wrist, gently, the way she didn’t mind so much being touched. “However, at closing time I’m going to ask you again, tonight and tomorrow and every night until you come swimming with me and I can get you to relax and have fun, even for an hour.”

“Without trying to get inside me?” She stuck as much sarcasm as she could into the phrase even as thrills struggled to take over.

He winked. “We’ll see about that.”

“Denver…” She used an I’m-your-boss warning tone to cover her confusion.

“I’m joking, Lindsay. This is friends only. Friends blowing off the steam of the day in a nice heated pool.”

“Yes, I know. I knew that. I know.” She pulled away from his hand, furious with herself for imagining much more…and doubly furious for being disappointed he hadn’t.

DENVER FINISHED ANOTHER frustrated lap and lolled at the edge of the pool, staring up into the perfect sky visible through the glass ceiling. He’d kept the lights off to enjoy the view. There was even a moon tonight, waning past full, white and pristine. The water was warm, the air cool, a large raft floated nearby for ultimate relaxing—how much more appealing could the setup be?

One way. But Lindsay hadn’t showed. Not that he expected her to. He didn’t even know why he’d bothered asking her, didn’t know why he’d turned so stubborn about making her open up to him. Didn’t know why he stayed in this town, at this bar, instead of trying to rebuild his plastic surgery career the way he envisioned it in medical school, helping people disfigured by fire, disease or defect, not hiking up the boobs and eyelids of vain rich people.

He’d been unceremoniously canned from one of L.A.’s most prestigious practices after losing his temper at a mother who’d wanted him to cut apart her beautiful and striking sixteen-year-old daughter and put her back together according to some bland ideal of perfection.

No, the mom hadn’t invented the attitude, she hadn’t deserved what he’d dished out. But she’d been the final straw for him and apparently, for his bosses. So he’d packed his broken-backed camel, driven across the country back to his home state of Massachusetts, parked his possessions in storage and his body in his globe-trotting parents’ early-retirement house in Brookline and had taken the job at Chassy, intending to be there only a few months while he got his head together. Nearly a year later he still hadn’t left.

At first he told himself he stayed for the comfortable routine, the excitement of watching the bar grow and change under Lindsay’s skillful leadership. Then he told himself he needed a little more time, what was the hurry? Money wasn’t a problem, his parents weren’t due back for a while and he really hadn’t decided yet where he wanted to settle or whether he wanted to return to California at all. Then he told himself Lindsay needed a friend. She’d been under some kind of extra stress in the last several months and refused to let anything out. He was a poster boy for what happened when you let discontent build too long.