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"What are you doing here?"
"I'm a member. Did you think I might be crashing your meeting with Keane?"
"How did you know about our meeting?"
"From Ron."
"It's supposed to be confidential."
"I haven't told anybody."
"You're deliberately missing the point. You weren't supposed to know about it."
"Now that doesn't half make sense, Phoebe. How could Ron invite me along if he didn't tell me you had a meeting?"
Tonight would be difficult enough without having Dan witness something that had every chance of turning into a disaster. "I'm afraid I have to withdraw Ron's invitation. We agreed this was to be a private meeting between the two of us, Jason Keane, and a few of his advisers."
"Sorry, Phoebe, but Ron gets vicious when I don't do what he tells me. I've been afraid to tangle with him ever since he gave me that shiner."
"He did not give you a shiner! You're being—That's the most ridiculous—"
As she sputtered, Dan had to force himself not to bend over and lick the scowl right off her mouth. A surge of hundred-percent pure lust had shot through him the moment he'd seen her. Instead of getting used to keeping his hands off her, not touching her had grown more difficult each day. Everything about her turned him on. Right now, for example. Most women's hair when they got dressed up looked all stiff and sprayed. Phoebe's looked bedroomy instead. It fell in soft blond waves nearly to her shoulders, curling a little bit at the ends as if he'd just run his fingers through it. And she had the prettiest neck he'd ever seen on a woman, long and graceful.
He told himself he should be thankful the rest of her was still covered up by that black evening coat. Even those loose-fitting clothes she wore to work sometimes lately didn't do much to conceal what was underneath. He knew he should be happy that she was dressing more like a conservative businesswoman, but the truth was, he found himself anticipating those days when she showed up looking like her old self. Not that he was going to admit that to her.
The hardest thing he'd done in his life was to stop kissing her that last time. Even though he'd been trying to do the honorable thing by backing away, the forlorn expression on her face had made him feel like a worm. Except for those few seconds when he'd lost control, he hadn't done anything in almost two months to lead her on. He should feel good about that, but instead he was miserable. He kept telling himself Phoebe would be going back to Manhattan soon and everything would be better, but instead of cheering him up, that made him even more depressed.
Phoebe was still going at him. Those tilty-up eyes of hers had darkened to the color of old brandy as she did a slow simmer over his unanticipated presence tonight. He wished Sharon could stand up to him the way that Phoebe did, but Sharon was a sweet little thing without one ounce of Phoebe's sass, and he couldn't imagine it.
Even though he saw Sharon at least once a week, this was the first time he'd ever been involved with a timid woman, and he hadn't quite made the adjustment yet. A few times Sharon's mild nature had begun to irritate him, but then he'd reminded himself of the benefit. He'd never in his life have to worry about Sharon Anderson smacking his kids when she got upset. He'd never have to worry about her treating his kids the way his old lady had treated him.
Phoebe was tapping the toe of one of her high heels while her sparkly earrings swung back and forth through her hair. "Why did Ron want you here? He didn't say anything to me about it."
"You'll have to ask him that."
"Take a guess."
"Well, he did say something about maybe needing a backup quarterback. In case you went off the deep end or something."
"Is that so."
"You have a habit of doing that occasionally, you know."
"I do not!"
She yanked open her coat button, and as he saw what she was wearing beneath it, his amusement faded.
"Something wrong?" With a maddening smile, she allowed the coat to slip off her bare shoulders.
He felt as if he'd been poleaxed. How could she do something like this? He'd been strung tight for too long, and now he exploded.
"Dammit! Just when I start to think you might be learning a little common sense, you prove me wrong! Here I was actually believing you might be getting a faint glimmer of what this business is all about, but now I realize that you aren't even close!"
"My, my. Somebody certainly is grouchy this evening. Maybe you should mind your own business and go home." She finished removing her coat and carried it over to be checked, her hips swaying from side to side. As she turned back to him, he felt a pulse hammering in his temple. Just moments ago, he'd been thinking about how much he enjoyed Phoebe's exhibitionist clothes, but that was before he'd seen her current getup.
She was dressed like the head hooker in a bondage house. He took in the long, clingy black dress that looked more like an S&M harness than an article of clothing. The top half was made up of fishnet and black straps. One of the straps wrapped her neck like a collar, with a fan-shaped arrangement spreading down to a slightly wider strap that encircled the midpoint of her breasts and didn't do much more than cover her nipples. Through some black fishnet with holes the size of nickles he could see both the upper and lower swells straining against that narrow black strap.
At her waist the fishnet gave way to a slinky fabric that stuck like body paint to
