Nobody Does It Better

“Just take them,” coaxed Rachel, opening Paris’s purse and dropping them in.

Paris grimaced. The last thing she needed was to get involved with a guy who impersonated authors to get a date. Even one so intriguing and sexy? She shoved the thought away. She needed to focus on work…not long, steamy nights with Alexander or the waiter or whoever the hell he was.

Still, a little more time together would give her a chance to figure out what he was up to. And why not have a one-night fling? How many women had the chance to cuddle up to their fantasy man? She shivered from the memory of his taut, tight muscles. Of the way her body had caught fire from just the touch of his fingertip.

She sighed.

Get a grip, Paris.

No way was she going to bed with the guy. It simply was not going to happen. He wasn’t Alexander, and that was the end of that. Plain and simple.

Except…

Already she missed the way her blood burned when he looked toward her, missed the way her skin tingled when he was nearby. She grazed her teeth across her lower lip. She did want an adventure. And a tall, dark and handsome one had just materialized out of thin air. So maybe Rachel was right. Maybe a little seduction was in order.

No, no, no. She curled her hands into tight fists. Sleeping with him was out of the question. It would be a mistake—indulgent and foolish.

But why couldn’t she spend a little more time with him? A little flirting would be innocent enough. What would be the harm in that?

Before her mind could think up a reason, she pushed herself out of her chair. “The party’s wrapping up. I should go collect my Alexander.”

3

BY THE END OF THE PARTY, Devin held new respect for actors. He’d been “on” for five hours. Three hundred minutes of smiling and hand-shaking. Eighteen thousand seconds of an award-winning performance.

He’d forgotten how much work it was to stay in character for so long. His head throbbed, fire lapped at his feet and demons tormented each muscle. If Paris knew how grueling the evening had been, she would gladly write his check.

Paris.

His body wasn’t too tired to express extreme appreciation for the way the flimsy black dress hugged her, defying gravity with the help of two thin straps. He watched, enraptured, as she maneuvered through the last few guests, kissing cheeks and shaking hands. Primped and manicured, blond and bouncy, she was the complete opposite of the listless, life-weary women who had littered the streets of his childhood neighborhood.

She hypnotized him. Paris was everything Devin had ever hoped to find in a woman, but knew he could never have.

You don’t belong here. Memories flooded back. His father, stressing diction and poise. His uncle, teaching him French. It never hurt for a grifter to have a touch of class, they’d said.

His schooling had started with street sessions. He and his father pulling the old switcheroo and conning store owners out of change for a twenty, when he’d paid with only a fiver. The movie Paper Moon had shown that maneuver to the world, but still they’d never been caught. Easy cons, kid stuff. Then came the bigger deals. Scams that would prepare him for life on the street.

He knew his father had only been looking out for him, and Devin loved him for it. But he didn’t love his father’s life-style. So he’d spent a lifetime working and studying, all so he could escape his father’s shadow, and this is where he’d ended up. Pulling a con on the most adorable woman he’d ever met.

“Hey stranger.” She eased up beside him, linking her arm through his as if they’d stood together a hundred times. Her touch excited Devin as much as her familiarity saddened him. He fought the urge to pull her tight against him and cursed sentimentality. She was a mark. Nothing more. Quit thinking you’re better than your background.

“Hey yourself,” he said, shaking off the mood and matching her smile. “You left me. I was beginning to think you’d decided you could trust me alone.”

Her grin blossomed, punctuated by a wink. “Not a chance. I’ve been keeping tabs on you from a distance.”

“Have you? That’s interesting.” He’d injected a lascivious note into his voice. From the way she cocked her head, he was pretty sure she’d caught the inflection.

“Interesting? Why?” She pulled out the hairpins holding up her mass of blond curls. They tumbled down, and her fingers intertwined in one long strand. God, she was adorable.

“I’ve been keeping some tabs on you, too. I wonder if we’ve been thinking about the same thing.”

Twirl, twirl. Devin didn’t think Paris realized what she was doing. A nervous habit, perhaps. But what was making her nervous? A little innocent flirting?

He raked his eyes over that dress again, taking in the way it clung to her delicious curves, then back up to her soulful eyes and sun-kissed hair. The beginning of an erection strained against his fly.

To hell with innocent. The woman was a siren.

“You said you came because you wanted to go out with me.” Her voice held only the slightest tremor. “I was wondering if you meant that.”

“Of course.” Go out with her, hold her, touch her, taste the sweetness of her skin. Make love to her.

“The party’s wrapping up. Are you tired?” The finger returned to that one strand of hair, and Devin imagined the soft lock caressing his chest, her fingers combing through his own hair as she lost herself to passion.

He’d lost his train of thought. “What?”

She hesitated. “Never mind. It was nothing. I’ll just say good-night.”

“No, no.” He took her bare arm, delighting in its softness and anxious to know if the rest of her was as silky. Unable to help himself, he traced his finger up her arm, then across her delicate shoulder, and finally along the neckline of her dress. “Have a drink with me.”

She took a shuddering breath. “I…I really shouldn’t. It’s late.”

“‘Then stay with me until it’s early, and I’ll ask you again.”’

She looked up, stern, but the desire in her dark eyes told a different story. “Have you memorized every one of my books?”

“Not at all.”

“Just a few choice lines to help you get what you want?”

“Perhaps. Or maybe it’s just coincidence.”

“Coincidence?”

Devin kissed the back of her hand, letting his lips linger on the delicate skin. He wanted to taste more of her. All of her. “Maybe I’m coming up with these lines entirely on my own. I could be the man you’ve always dreamed of. Do you really want to risk turning me away?”

He expected her to laugh and say he wasn’t the stuff of anyone’s dreams, much less hers. It would break the ice, and they could have a relaxing drink, talk, and explore where this chemistry between them would lead. Her hotel room, perhaps? Heat coursed through him and he wondered if she’d be keen on skipping the drink, the talk.

But she wasn’t laughing. Instead, her brow furrowed. Rather than putting him down, she took a step backward.

Okay, mistake in judgment. If he didn’t regroup quickly, Devin would never get close to her. He frowned, remembering why he was really there.

He had to get close to her, had to bring up the money.

“Or not,” he said, wishing he could think of something a little more articulate.

She squinted at him. “What?” Although only a few steps from him, it seemed as if she had retreated to the far side of the restaurant.

“I mean I did memorize your books. Well, not every book. A friend culled key lines. We put them on cue cards. I crammed.”