Scandalous Passion. Emilie RoseЧитать онлайн книгу.
to eradicate the sadness in her eyes. “I’ve decided to focus on my career. And my grandfather will be seventy when he’s inaugurated. He’s eager to break Reagan’s record of sixty-nine. Given that Granddad is in excellent health and is very active and mentally acute, a second term isn’t out of the question.”
“He’s been in office more than thirty years. He ought to retire.” And give someone more open-minded a chance. But Carter kept the last to himself.
Her long fingers curled around the glass. “What are you doing with yourself these days, Carter?”
He sipped and nodded, silently acknowledging her change of topic. She wanted chitchat? He could do chitchat. “Computers. What else?”
They’d met when he’d been assigned to tutor her in computer science during college. She’d been the first female he’d met whose eyes hadn’t glazed over when he nervously rambled on about motherboards, memory chips and hard drives. And she hadn’t laughed at him when he’d lost track of his words each time they’d accidentally brushed against each other.
“What exactly do you do with them?”
“I’m a cyber-cop.” The surprise arching her eyebrows grated on his nerves. Had she, like his father, expected him to amount to nothing? Probably. His father had always claimed Carter’s infatuation with computers would lead nowhere. Well, he’d proven good ol’ Dad wrong, hadn’t he?
“You investigate computer crimes?”
“Got it in one.”
“You must be good.” And then she flushed as if she realized that wasn’t exactly a politically correct comment. Jeez, somebody needed to loosen her up. Her candid comments had been only one of the things he used to love about her.
“I own my company, but computers aren’t the only thing I’m good at.” He flashed a carnal grin and watched another wave of peach spread from her neck over her cheeks. Teasing Phoebe had always been fun, and now that she seemed determined to ignore the passion that had once flowed between them, he took perverse pleasure in getting a rise out of her.
He set down his glass and laced his fingers over his abs. “Why should I give you the pictures, Phoebe?”
The taste of her name on his tongue made him think of hot nights and tangled sheets, of quickies in the car or anywhere else they could grab a moment’s privacy vertically, horizontally or otherwise. His pulse quickened. His inability to control his response only increased his anger. Why, dammit, did she still rev his motor? She’d been his first lover, but she hadn’t been his last. He’d been a slow starter, but he’d made up for lost time. There had been plenty of willing women, sweaty sex and tussles between the sheets since.
“I need to be certain they won’t turn up in the press.”
The insult raised his blood pressure. “You think I’d sell our pictures to the highest bidder?”
He practically could see her weighing her words. “Perhaps not, but someone else could get their hands on them and—”
“It won’t happen. The pictures are under lock and key. They have been since we said goodbye. If I didn’t sell them then, when I was seriously pis—peeved with you, I’m not likely to now.”
She wet her lips—one slick swipe of her pink tongue—and fire flickered behind his zipper. Phoebe had once had an amazingly talented mouth. She’d perfected her technique on him, and she’d allowed him the pleasure of returning the favor.
“Carter, please, let me have the pictures.”
He rocked back in his chair and steepled his hands. Tapping his bottom lip with one finger, he pretended to consider her request, but there was no way in hell he’d casually hand over the pictures for her to shred. He didn’t look at them often, hadn’t seen them since he’d moved into this house three years ago, in fact, but they represented the first time in his life when he hadn’t felt like a failure. Phoebe’s betrayal had cut deep and made him feel like a shameful dirty secret, but for a while she’d made him feel like a king.
A spark of an idea began to form. He’d been an untried boy twelve years ago when he and Phoebe lost their virginity together. Afterward they’d explored the boundaries of their newfound sexuality and shared some amazingly uninhibited sex. He hadn’t met a woman since who could ignite him to such a fever pitch or coax him into the unknown with nothing more than a naughty twinkle in her eyes. No woman in the past twelve years had pushed him beyond his rigidly imposed self-control.
Surely his memories of their time together had exaggerated her potency? No way could this buttoned-up, every-hair-in-place woman have the same power over the experienced man he’d become that she’d held over the wet-behind-the-ears boy he’d been. So he’d slake his curiosity and then kiss her goodbye. In the process, maybe he could loosen up Phoebe and teach her a lesson at the same time. Ms. Phoebe Lancaster Drew needed to learn how it felt to be used and tossed aside.
Vengeance could indeed be sweet. And sexually satisfying.
Carter rolled the cool glass in his palms when what he really wanted to do was to cup Phoebe’s rigid jaw and test the texture of her skin. “I’ll make you a deal.”
Her grip on the glass tightened and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What kind of deal?”
“Go out with me and I’ll give you the pictures. Let’s say, one picture for each date. There are roughly a dozen photos.”
Her laugh sounded choked. “You’re joking, of course.”
He held her gaze, noting the angry gold flecks sparkling in the green of her irises, but said nothing.
“Why?”
He shrugged one shoulder and set down his tea. “Because I said so.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s so juvenile.”
“No dates. No pictures. No negotiation.”
Her pale-pink manicured nails pressed dents into her palms. “That’s blackmail.”
“So sue me. But then, of course, the pictures would become evidence and public knowledge.” He abruptly rocked forward and covered her fists with his hands. He stroked the satiny skin inside her wrists with his thumbs, and her pulse leaped beneath his touch. His echoed the rapid beat.
“Remember how much fun we used to have, Phoebe?”
She jerked her hands free, but he didn’t miss the irregularity of her breathing or the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. It all boiled down to how badly she wanted those pictures.
She lifted her chin. “I won’t sleep with you.”
A smile of anticipation tugged his lips. He’d learned a lot about women in the past decade—specifically, how to recognize when one found him attractive. And Phoebe had definitely been checking him out. Not only would she have sex with him, he planned to make her beg for it. “I didn’t ask you to, but I appreciate you making your views clear up front so I don’t get my hopes—or anything else—up.”
Her cheeks turned crimson and she shifted in her seat. “One date per picture. I get to choose which picture.”
He mashed his lips together. “No deal. I set up the dates. I choose the pictures.”
The muscle in her jaw flexed as she clenched her teeth. “I want to see them.”
Gotcha. He grinned so hard his cheek muscles ached.
“Do you, now?” he asked in a teasing lilt and could practically hear her molars grinding in response.
“I want proof that you still have them.”
He rose and gestured toward the den. “They’re in my bedroom.”
She remained seated. “Is that your version of ‘Come and see my etchings’?”
For the first time