Page 12 of Lady Be Good (Wynette, Texas 2)

“I don’t smoke.”

“Brandy, I think. Or perhaps some sherry.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And music. Classical would be best. Baroque, I believe.”

Damn. She was giving him a list, and he had to put a stop to it before she got right down to the color of the sheets. “No music. Keeps me from concentrating on all those nice erogenous zones.”

“Oh.” She swallowed. “All right, then. No music.” She looked down at the water. “I probably should tell you I’m ticklish.”

“Forewarned is forearmed.”

“And I’m a bit claustrophobic, so the position might be important to dis—”

“Excuse me for interrupting here, but let me point out that I am a trained professional.”

“Oh . . . yes.” She bit that lip again. “One more thing. After it’s over, Mr. Traveler, we won’t discuss it.”

With a sigh of satisfaction, he sank back into the water. “Lady Emma, you just turned into every man’s fantasy.”

Chapter 3

Emma had bought sex. She still couldn’t believe what she’d done. After a lifetime of propriety, she had turned her back on everything she believed in.

“You can look now,” he said.

She felt like a fool. As soon as he’d begun lifting himself out of the tub, she’d dipped her head like a skittish old maid. Why couldn’t she have been blasé and sophisticated about it? He certainly wasn’t self-conscious about his body. And it was only natural for her to want to see it. Quite badly.

Now she did and her mouth went dry. He’d wrapped a towel around his hips, and the knot fell low, inches below his navel. Trickles of water slithered like tiny fingers down his chest and along the flat plane of his abdomen. He had a beautiful body, and she had hired it for the night.

“Cold?”

She looked up. “Pardon?”

“You shivered.”

“Oh . . . yes, I am getting a bit chilly. Would you mind fetching me a towel, then?” She narrowed her eyes. “That is, if there’s no extra charge.”

He gave her the devastating grin he’d undoubtedly been using to demolish women since the cradle. He was absolutely unprincipled. But that made him perfect for what she needed.

The moment he disappeared through the glass doors, she hurried from the hot tub and pulled on her robe. “Never mind,” she called out to him as soon as she’d fetched her bathing suit and stepped inside.

She rushed upstairs, gathered her toiletries, and carried them into the bathroom. Tonight she would take a giant step toward her freedom and the safety of St. Gert’s.

Kenny conned Lad

y Emma into fixing dinner as soon as she came downstairs from her nap. All he needed to do was mention that eating in would save her money, but the truth was, he didn’t want her to be around other people right now. It might bring her to her senses.

For once she wasn’t giving orders as she pulled out some chicken cutlets from the freezer, then began fixing a salad, while he made a big deal out of scrubbing a couple of potatoes and putting them in the oven.

She sure wasn’t dressed for sex. Not that there was anything wrong with her clothes. She wore a nice pair of beige slacks with a waist-length yellow cotton sweater that had a couple pearl buttons at the neck and a little band of crocheted lace at the bottom. The outfit was fresh and crisp-looking, and it fit her well without being revealing. But he sort of missed the flowers.

He could see Lady Emma was nervous being around him, and he didn’t have the energy to work her out of it more than once this evening, so he decided to give her some breathing room while the potatoes were baking. He excused himself and slipped into his study, where he made a few phone calls, none of them to Torie. Mainly, he nosed around his contacts with the press.

Between his legendary golf swing, an eighteen-month hot streak, and the fact that he gave good interviews, Kenny had won the public’s attention, but he’d never quite been able to capture its adoration. People liked athletes who’d overcome adversity—especially poverty or chronic disease—but with Kenny Traveler, there was a sense that things had come too easily. Still, the sport had treated him well, and Kenny hadn’t been complaining.

Then a visit from the FBI a month ago had turned his world upside down. He’d learned that Howard Slattery, his longtime business manager, had been funneling big chunks of Kenny’s money into an illegal drug operation with ties to Mexico, Colombia, and, eventually, Houston. The revelation had knocked Kenny’s feet right out from under him. Even during his wildest days, he’d never had anything to do with drugs, and the knowledge that his money was contributing to other people’s misery had been just about more than he could handle.

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