Substitute Seduction

“I guess if you like them scruffy and rough,” London muttered. Which she didn’t.

“He looks pretty suave and elegant to me.”

Maribelle’s wry tone spiked London’s curiosity and she carefully let her gaze drift in his direction. Not wanting the man to think she was at all interested in him, she didn’t look directly at him as she took in his appearance.

The Harrison Crosby she’d been picturing looked nothing like the refined gentleman in a perfectly tailored dark gray suit that drew attention to his strong shoulders and narrow hips. Her hormones reacted with shocking intensity to his stylish appearance. He was clean-shaved tonight, appearing elegant enough to have stepped off a New York runway. Where she’d been able to dismiss the “rough around the edges good ol’ boy” in racing attire, London saw she’d miscalculated the appeal of a confident male at the top of his game.

“Apparently he cleans up well,” London remarked grudgingly, her gaze moving on before she could get caught staring.

“He’s coming this way,” Maribelle squeaked.

London’s pulse revved like an engine as she took in his elegant appearance. “Get a hold of yourself,” she murmured in exasperation, unsure if she was speaking to herself or Maribelle.

“Good evening, ladies.” His voice had a deep, rich tone like the rumble of a cat’s purr. “I’m Harrison Crosby. Dixie Bass-Crosby is my aunt.”

“Number twenty-five,” Maribelle responded in a surprisingly girlish tone that caused London to gape. “You’re having a great second half this year. I’m Maribelle Gates.”

A sexy half grin kicked up one corner of his mouth. “You follow racing?” he asked, echoing the question in London’s head.

While his sea-glass eyes remained focused on Maribelle, London stared at him in consternation. Her body was reacting to his proximity in confusing ways.

“I do,” Maribelle confirmed. “So does my fiancé. We’re huge fans.”

As her best friend displayed a surprising amount of knowledge about race-car driving, London began to feel like a third wheel. While the two girls had been best friends since their first day of the exclusive private girls’ school they’d attended, certain differences had always existed between them.

Both were from wealthy families, but Maribelle’s had the sort of social standing that had allowed her access to the inner circles that had eluded London and her family. And while each woman was beautiful, Maribelle had always fought with her weight and this had led to her feeling less secure about her appearance. But the biggest difference was that for all her lack of social standing, London had always been the more popular of the two.

Until now.

“Oh,” Maribelle exclaimed, glancing toward her friend as if suddenly realizing they’d excluded London. “How rude of me to monopolize you. This is London McCaffrey.”

“Nice to meet you,” London said. Yet as miffed as she was at his earlier lack of interest, she wasn’t sure she meant it.

“Nice to meet you, as well.” Harrison’s gaze flicked from one woman to the other. “Now, it seems as if you know all about me. What is it you ladies do?”

“I’m planning a wedding,” Maribelle said with a silly little giggle that left London struggling not to roll her eyes.

Harrison’s sculpted lips shifted into an indulgent smile. “I imagine that’s a full-time job.”

London bit the inside of her lip to keep from snorting in derision. “I own an event planning company,” she said a trifle too aggressively. Hearing her tone brought a rush of heat to London’s cheeks. Was she seriously trying to compete with her engaged friend for a man she wasn’t even interested in?

“Are you planning her wedding?”

London shot her friend a glance as she shook her head. “No.”

“Not your thing?” he guessed, demonstrating an ability to read the subtle currents beneath her answer.

“She mostly organizes corporate and charity events,” Maribelle responded with a sweet smile that stabbed at London’s heart.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Harrison said, the impact of his full attention making London’s palms tingle. “My brother’s turning forty next month and I was going to plan a party for him. Only I don’t know anything about that sort of thing. I don’t suppose you’d like to help me out?”

“I...” Her first impulse was to refuse, but she’d been looking for an opening that would get her into Tristan’s orbit. Planning his birthday party would be an excellent step in that direction. “Don’t usually do personal events, but I would be happy to meet with you and talk about it.”

She pulled a business card out of her clutch and handed it to him.

He glanced at the card. “‘London McCaffrey. Owner of ExcelEvent.’ I’ll be in touch.” Then, with a charming smile, he said, “Nice meeting you both.”

London’s eyes remained glued to his retreating figure for several seconds. When she returned her focus to Maribelle, her friend was actively smirking.

“What?”

“See? I told you. What you need is a little fun.”

“It’s a job,” London said, emphasizing each word so Maribelle wouldn’t misinterpret the encounter. “He’s looking for someone to organize his brother’s birthday party. That’s why I gave him my card.”

“Sure.” Maribelle’s hazel eyes danced. “Whatever you say. But I think what you need is someone to take your mind off what happened between you and Linc, and in my not-so-humble opinion, that—” she pointed at the departing figure “—is the perfect man for the job.”

Everything London had read about him stated that he liked to play hard and that his longest relationship to date had lasted just over a year. She’d decided her next romance would be with a man with a serious career. Someone she’d have lots in common with.

“Why do you think that?” London asked, unable to understand her friend’s logic. “As far as I can tell, he’s just like Linc. An athlete with an endless supply of eager women at his beck and call.”

“Maybe he’s just looking for the right woman to settle down with,” Maribelle countered. She’d been singing a different tune about men and romance since she’d started dating Beau Shelton. “Can’t you at least give the guy a chance?”

London sighed. She and Maribelle had had this conversation any number of times over the last few months as her friend had tried to set her up with one or another of Beau’s friends. Maybe if she said yes Maribelle would back off.

“I’m really not ready to date anyone.”

“Don’t think of it as dating,” Maribelle said. “Just think of it as hanging out.”

Since London was already thinking in terms of how she could use Harrison to get to Tristan, it was an easy enough promise to make. “If it means you’ll stop bugging me,” she said, hiding her sudden satisfaction at killing two birds with one stone, “I’ll agree to give Harrison Crosby one chance.”

Two (#ubf2620c9-950d-5691-aab1-efdd3af58f1e)

Harrison spent more than his usual twenty minutes in the bathroom of his penthouse condo overlooking the Cooper River as he prepared for his meeting with London McCaffrey.

A woman he’d dated for a short time a year ago had given him pointers on grooming particulars that women appreciated. At the time he’d viewed the whole thing with skepticism, but after giving the various lotions, facial scrubs, hair-care products and other miscellaneous items a try, he’d been surprised at the results and happily reaped the benefits of Serena’s appreciation.

Still, as much as he’d seen the value in what she’d introduced into his life, his focus during racing season left little room for such inconsequential activities. Today, however, he’d applied all that he’d learned, scrutinizing his hands to ensure they were grease-free and giving his nails more than a cursory clipping, even going so far as to run a file over the edges to smooth away any sharpness. Although he didn’t touch the high-tech race cars until he slid behind the wheel, Harrison often unwound from a race weekend by tinkering with the rare classics his uncle bought for his collection.

Today, however, as he surveyed his charcoal jeans, gray crewneck sweater and maroon suede loafers, Harrison decided that someone as stylish as London would appreciate a man who paid attention to his grooming. And in truth, his already elevated confidence was inflated even further when the receptionist at ExcelEvent goggled at him as he strolled into the King Street office.

“You’re Harrison Crosby,” the slender brunette exclaimed, her brown eyes wide with shock as he advanced on her desk. “And you’re here.” She gawked at him, her hands gripping the edge of the desk as if to hold herself in place.

Harrison gave her a slow grin. “Would you let London know I’ve arrived?”

“Oh, sure. Of course.” Never taking her eyes off him, she picked up her phone and dialed. “Harrison Crosby is here to see you. Okay, I’ll let him know.” She returned the handset to the cradle and said, “She’ll be out in a second. Would you like some coffee or water or...?” She trailed off and went back to staring at him.

“I’m fine.”