Page 3 of A Little Harmless Pleasure

Max stared at the door, then looked at him. “You know I tend to mind my own business.”

“One of the things I like about you, Max.”

Max’s eyes narrowed at Chris’s dry tone. “Nevertheless, Cynthia is not someone you would be interested in.”

He wasn’tthatinterested, but he still didn’t like Max’s insinuation. He didn’t want to think the friend who had stood up to more than one bigoted jackass in college would let him down now. “And what does that mean?”

Max sighed and muttered something Chris couldn’t make out. “I know you, Chris. You lead a certain lifestyle—”

“Not anymore.”

Max’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “And when did that stop?”

Chris thought back to Jasmine, his last sub. By the end of their relationship, he wasn’t sure he’d ever trust another woman again, let alone trust one enough to commit to a Dom/sub relationship.

“Bad experience. Decided it wasn’t for me.”

He was sick of trying to fit into a lifestyle where he was considered an outcast. Many within the D/s world didn’t accept switches, thinking of them the way many people thought of bisexuals. They couldn’t understand why someone couldn’t choose one role and stick to it.

“Don’t worry. I won’t eat your little Cynthia.”

Even if the comment conjured up the most delightful imagery. God, she probably tasted like honey.

Frowning, Max tilted his head to one side, studying him. “I don’t think you’d intentionally hurt her. I just saw the look you gave her, and I know you.”

Chris laughed. “Yeah, and until Anna, you weren’t much better. Hell, both of us were pretty bad back in college. But don’t worry. I’ll be nice to Cynthia, and I promise hands off unless she makes the first move.” He thought about those bluer-than-blue eyes and the look she’d given him when she’d seen him initially. “I have a feeling that’s not going to happen.”

Cynthia sipped her champagne, watching Anna and Max dance their first dance. They looked so happy…so in love.

She squelched the sheer envy that whipped through her at the sight of the two of them dancing. It was beneath her, especially since she had almost caused them to break up. And, for once in her life, she would not wallow in her own self-pity.

Cynthia sighed. Okay, she felt a little jealous, but that was to be expected. Max and Anna definitely had something very special. When you were in a room with them, you could feel the energy between them, so any red-blooded American girl would be envious. Even after everything, though, she was happy for them. Happy that they had found each other.

Throughout the day, she’d ignored the looks cast her way—some expectant, waiting for a fight; some pitying, thinking her the jilted party. She didn’t care. She had other things on her mind. Like being homeless.

“Such a serious expression on a beautiful face.”

She glanced over her shoulder and turned to face Chris Dupree, who was standing just a few feet behind her. Tall, lean, yet well-muscled, with light brown skin, Chris smiled at her, and her knees weakened. He had one of those smiles you could tell would melt the heart of the hardest woman, all teeth, complete with dimples. Add in what looked to be a body made of sinewy muscle, a strong jawline—which Cynthia could never resist—and those twinkling eyes, and the man was Dangerous with a capital D. She’d love to lick him up one side and down the other just to see if he tasted as sweet as he appeared.

Good God.Where had that thought come from? She’d had too much champagne. Or maybe shehadspent too much time with Anna. Or maybe it was watchingNew Romantics, the new Jakob Wulf romantic comedy. There was no other reason for her to be acting this way. She’d never thought herself a bigot, but she’d never even considered dating a black man before. And here she was, contemplating what Chris would taste like. If her father thought breaking her engagement to Max had been embarrassing to the family, he would have a stroke if she dated a black man, no matter how rich he was. Justin Myers came from a good old Southern family, with lots of old Southern money. Just last week she’d heard an aunt refer to the Civil War as the War of Northern Aggression.

She set her empty glass on a nearby table and arched her brow. “Are you having a good time, Mr. Dupree?”

His smile widened. “Are you going to ignore my question?”

Irritation lit through her, but she suppressed the urge to snap at him. It almost overwhelmed her, the need to tell him to go to hell and leave her alone. But twenty-nine years of lessons couldn’t be overcome by a little champagne. Besides, Cynthia had been raised not to confront problems. Her mother had always said it was better to smile and work your way around it. But more and more, especially because of the last few weeks, she found it harder to do. Twenty-nine years of training down the drain. Just another symptom of spending time with Anna.

She smiled. “It wasn’t exactly a question, Mr. Dupree.”

Her voice had turned coy, all of its own accord. His eyes flared, just a bit, and his smile went from genial to seductive. She blinked as her thoughts scattered. A flush of warmth spread to her tummy and then ventured to the rest of her body.

She reached for another glass of champagne.

“I thought you said you would call me Chris.”

Ahhh, he had the best voice. Deep, almost poetic, the flavor of New Orleans flowing through it. Each time he spoke, she could feel fingers slide down her spine. She took a sip of champagne before answering.

“Sorry. It’s just my upbringing.”

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