Page 2 of Naughty Bedtime Stories

Their childhood. He’d been talking about their childhood. Not the club. Relief washed over her, and so did the recovery of her courtroom-honed sparring skills. “Because back then,” she said, “I wouldn’t have made you back down. But this is now, not then.” She lifted her chin. “I’ve changed.”

He chuckled and stepped backward, hands up in mock surrender. “You wouldn’t have won so many cases in the courtroom if that wasn’t true.” And before she could process his admission that he’d followed her legal career, he added, “Other things can change, too, Sarah. Family feuds begin and they end. We could start that ball rolling with a cup of coffee.”

Or with a bedroom brawl.She shoved aside the naughty thought with a sharp reply. Too sharp, she realized too late. It showed her hand, showed he’d gotten to her. “Save your dollar and your sweet-talking conversation.” She hugged the small towel around her a bit tighter, discreetly, not about to let him see her squirm. “Chocolate Delights isn’t for sale.”

His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly so that only her practiced courtroom skill allowed her to notice. “You intend to try and turn the company around then,” he said. “Good.” He smiled. “And you aren’t about to have coffee with me, are you?”

“Not a chance,” she agreed quickly.

He smiled. “Not even if I promise not to talk business?”

“Not even.”

“I’ve done the whole take-over-for-my-father bit,” he said. “You might be surprised at what I could do to help.”

“Me or you?” she asked tightly, convinced he was a problem, no, more than a problem—dangerous, lethal—because she actually wanted to say yes to coffee. Yes to a “bedroom brawl.” Yes to anything that involved this man.

“If I say both?” he asked. “Will I be sent for execution?”

“Both would indicate you have a self-serving purpose in mind, thus making a date with Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream my best offer of the night.” The flippant retort held a well-intended bite. Ben & Jerry’s competed with the new ice cream line he’d just released at Deluxe. And it was darn good ice cream. Better than her previous favorite, but she’d never admit that to anyone. Ever. Especially not to Ryan. Nor would she admit she occasionally sneaked a pint of Deluxe’s bestselling Cake Batter Deluxe ice cream into her freezer.

Unexpectedly, Ryan laughed, a deep, throaty masculine sound that rumbled in her ears and shimmered across her skin with electric delight. “Damn, Ben & Jerry’s are always keeping me on my toes.” He took a step backward. “I’ll leave you to them then.” He winked. “For now.” He started to turn and stopped, his tone shifting to solemn, his expression with it. “Delights has been in trouble a long time, Sarah. If your father could have fixed what’s broken, he would have. If you want to save it, don’t question yourself. Don’t worry about what your father will think when he returns. Own your role.” His tone softened. “And if you change your mind about that coffee, you know where to find me.”

He turned and sauntered away, a sexy swagger to his hips, her heart racing with his every step. He reached for the door,and glanced over at her. “You should live a little dangerously tonight,” he said. “Try the Cake Batter Deluxe.”

And then he was gone, tempting her in all kinds of dangerous ways.

CHAPTER TWO

It was Saturday, nearly a week after her Ryan encounter, and Sarah was at her home away from home—her father’s desk at the Delights’s corporate office. Long hours were necessary if she intended to turn the company around. She wasn’t going to let a week of discouraging financial reports get her down. Though the fantasies of Ryan, which were hot, wet, melting fantasies she could conjure both in her bedroom and in the boardroom, were becoming a serious problem. The company was in trouble and she, its only hope of survival, kept fantasizing about her biggest competitor. Naked. She kept imagining Ryan naked. With her. But then, her fantasies of Ryan were easier to forgive than her inability to change the reality of a company that needed a miracle. No amount of spending limits, staff cuts she didn’t want to make, or creative cash flow would change that fact.

The company had needed a good makeover a long time ago—new product lines, creative distribution, things she’d brought up even before she’d left the company years before. Ice cream shops in the airports and malls to promote their brand and bring in new users. Movie theater distribution forpackaged candies. These things could work. Theywould haveworked. But now…now, good ideas weren’t enough. She’d need cash. “He should have sold out years ago,” Sarah mumbled, tapping her pencil on the desk. Now she wasn’t sure that was an option. The minute she opened the books for review, a buyer—even Ryan, especially Ryan—would run for the hills.

Sarah’s chest tightened, her eyes prickling. “Damn it,” she mumbled, and tossed the latest financial reports on her fancy mahogany desk, or rather her father’s fancy mahogany desk, in his fancy corner office in downtown Austin. “Crying won’t get you anywhere, Sarah.” The problem was, she’d seen her father that morning, seen how frail and weak he was, and worst of all, she’d seen the light in his eyes when she’d vowed the company would survive. A vow she feared she couldn’t keep.

The phone rang and she jumped, her hand going to the navy silk blouse she’d paired with navy pants. Dressing like a CEO on the weekend had been a last-minute choice springing from a need to feel in control. A refined, prepared executive-in-charge, in case she ran into anyone. She felt she had to be ready, yet she so wasn’t ready. The company was crumbling and even the phone set her on edge.

Her gaze touched the console and the blinking private line that said she was about to speak to her father. She drew a calming breath and grabbed the receiver, forcing a smile and praying it reached to her voice. She didn’t have time to test the strategy. Before she could speak, a deep, familiar voice resonated through the phone. “The ever dedicated CEO working through her weekend.”

Ryan. Momentarily stunned, the name vibrated through her body. It was like a cool blast of air on a hot Texas day, chillingly unexpected, pleasurable, and oh, so powerful. “How did you get this number?”

“I’m resourceful,” he assured her, and then, with a rasp of seduction lacing his voice, added, “In all kinds of ways.”

She didn’t miss the innuendo. Of course, he didn’t mean for her to. Which wasn’t the problem. That shelikedit was. “I assume,” she said drily, sounding remarkably unaffected by him, considering she was anything but, “that since you put those resources to use to get my direct line, you have a reason.”

“Come downstairs and I’ll tell you,” he said.

She blinked and shook her head a little. She was tired, clearly not hearing well. “Downstairs? What?”

“I’d come to you,” he said. “But Big Mike didn’t think that was a good idea.”

Big Mike. The security guard. Inherbuilding. Ryan was in the building. Heart racing, Sarah slammed the phone down, pushed to her feet and charged toward the elevator. If people saw Ryan in her building they’d think…well, most likely that she was selling the company, or merging it with the competition. People would fear the future, fear for their jobs. Assume the worse. Jump ship. She’d never hold things together then.

In a mad dash, she was in the hallway repeatedly punching the elevator button, as if that would actually make it appear on the twentieth floor faster. The ride was slow, the fluttering of her pulse erratic. Big Mike had been working his post for ten years. He knew everyone. He’d talk.People talked. It was human. But Mike did his job and did it by the book. How Ryan had managed to get Big Mike to let him call her private line, she didn’t know. At six-four, with broad shoulders and an expressionless face, Mike was the biggest, baddest, most intimidating black man in the building, and probably all of downtown—at least to newcomers who didn’t know his teddy bear side.

The difference between Ryan and Mike was physical versus intellectual muscle. Big Mike intimidated by size alone. Ryanwas calculating, a man with a cobra-sharp tongue he used proficiently with acid, wit or charm, or any combination of the three.

The minute Sarah exited the elevator into the lobby, she heard the rumble of Ryan’s voice saying something about a quarterback who’d been sacked three times in his last game. She rolled her eyes and had her answer as to how he’d managed to wrangle her private line from Mike. Ryan must have done his homework, and known that Mike was a former University of Texas linebacker, which, regardless of the past tense or the Houston location, made him a local celebrity. Ryan had reeled Mike in, hook, line and sinker, with football talk. An assessment validated when she rounded the corner and rolled her eyes at what she found. Ryan was standing across from Big Mike, who sat behind the extra long, black-glass security desk, dressed in a burnt-orange University of Texas football T-shirt.

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