Taste of Pleasure

Her teeth ground together, her words intentionally prim and perfect. Controlled. Something she had mastered in the courtroom. In her life. “Please let go of me.” She smiled. “Or you might slip and fall into the pool. In some mysterious way I’d have nothing to do with, of course.”

His lips hinted at a smile, and his light blond hair accented the baby-blue eyes, alight with mischief. “You should remember our childhood games enough to know I never back down.”

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 competed with the new ice cream line he’d just released at Deluxe. And it was darn good ice cream. Better than her previous favourite, 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 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 Delight’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.