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“I need to know your name, so I know what to cry out next time.”
“And I need to know yours,” Nate replied, giving the beautiful woman beside him a light nip on the neck. “So I know who now owns me body and soul.”
She stretched out lethargically and kissed his jaw. Then, lifting a shoulder, she allowed the robe to fall completely off one arm. As he bent lower to taste that sweet, smooth skin, she whispered, “My name’s—”
Before she could finish, the door opened, and a light flashed on. “It’s J.T.,” Nate said. “Oh, boy.”
“Oh, boy is right,” the woman echoed, her horror undisguised.
Nate shifted slightly to the side, hiding her behind him, as J. T. Birmingham entered the room.
Taking stock of the situation—and not looking the least bit surprised—J. T. finally said, “Son, I think you’re wearing my robe.”
Nate groaned. He’d been caught by a millionaire, wearing the man’s robe during an important cocktail party at which he was the guest of honor. Caught fooling around with a gorgeous stranger on that man’s trampoline. “Can things get any worse?” he muttered.
“And,” J.T. continued, “you’re lying on top of my daughter….”
Dear Reader,
I love Broadway musicals. And I’ve always been fascinated by the thought of looking across a crowded room on “one enchanted evening” and finding a stranger who turns your world upside down. That’s exactly what happens to my heroine, columnist Lacey Clark, who falls instantly for a devastatingly attractive man during a crowded party. When she finds herself alone with him a few moments later—and they end up naked on top of a trampoline—she never imagines that she’s in the arms of her nemesis, Nate Logan.
Can two enemies-turned-lovers navigate the rocky road to romance in the sometimes outrageous world of magazine publishing? I sure had fun finding out while writing Into the Fire.
Those of you who read my first Temptation novel, Night Whispers, will recognize some characters in this book. I was so happy to find just the right story for Kelsey Logan’s older brother, and I got a kick out of writing more of those sexy radio show segments. For my readers who have written to me asking for a sequel…I hope this one lives up to your expectations.
I’d love to hear what you think. Please drop me a line at P.O. Box 410787, Melbourne, FL 32941–0787, or write to me through my Web site: www.lesliekelly.com.
Enjoy,
Leslie Kelly
Into the Fire
Leslie Kelly
With love to the Smith kids:
Lynn, Donna, Karen, Cheri and Lee.
I can’t think of five other people I’d rather have
grown up with—telephone poles and all.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
1
ALONE in a throng of elegantly dressed people, in the lavishly appointed reception room of a tasteful Baltimore mansion, Lacey Clark began to sweat. Not a ladylike beading of perspiration on her upper lip. Not a moistness at her temple. No. Her tight black cocktail dress was growing downright damp as each additional person oozed into the already overcrowded party. A few more minutes and there would be circles under her armpits and her makeup would run off her skin in great bisque streaks.
“Get me out of here,” she murmured, wondering if she could make it through the sea of people to the exit. Surely no one would notice if she slipped away. After all, she looked like practically every other woman in the place. Ninety percent of the females at the party wore the typical city social uniform—a little black cocktail dress, sheer black stockings, shiny, never seamed. Ridiculously high heels, useless tiny bag barely big enough to carry a tube of lipstick. Not to mention the confident expression disguising boredom.
Boredom always made Lacey Clark sweat. As did low-cut, skintight dresses and heels so high she wondered if she was going to fall on her fanny and humiliate herself in front of Baltimore society. Not that she really cared about Baltimore society. This was definitely not her crowd. Lacey would much rather have been at her favorite bar with her best friends.
For the hundredth time, she wished she’d been able to find a way out of this evening’s event. As if it wasn’t bad enough that her dress was uncomfortably tight, her stockings scratchy and her makeup oozy, her entire life was about to change course. Lacey didn’t like feeling cornered nor having her personal affairs made very, very public. And tonight, in her boss’s home, at a cocktail party where she was about to be honored for her job, she was also about to be set up for some major intrusion into her personal life. Her family. Her history. Her nice, orderly world.
“Dammit,” she whispered, knowing things were completely beyond her control and not liking it one bit.
Nearby, two senior staff members from the magazine where she worked beckoned her closer. She smiled and pointed over her shoulder, implying she was waiting for someone. She didn’t want to engage in small talk. Lacey just wanted to escape.
It might be possible to slip away for a few minutes, but she couldn’t get away entirely, not when she was scheduled to receive a very public award for a job well done. Besides, even if she did disappear, J.T. Birmingham, millionaire publisher and owner of For Her Eyes Only, the magazine Lacey worked for, would make his second announcement anyway. The big one. The personal one. The one that would reveal beyond a doubt the intimate connection between them that she’d struggled to keep quiet.
Nothing she’d said in the past six weeks had dissuaded him. He was bursting at the seams, and he wanted the world in on his jubilation. Never mind that Lacey didn’t.
No, a dash for the door was out. But she could at least hide for a while. She tried to sidle toward the exit but hadn’t gone three steps when a voice stopped her.
“Did you see his new column?”
Lacey didn’t even have to turn around. She knew who was speaking—her good friend Raul Santos. She certainly knew who he was speaking about. Nate Logan. Yuck.
The open door still taunted her from across the room. She stared at it longingly, knowing it offered an avenue of escape, a minute of peace and quiet, a chance to find a hidden corner and wipe the sweat off her forehead with the back of her arm. Stopping meant frustration. No question about it.
She muttered a curse and turned. “I don’t read his column.” Lacey stepped closer to Raul, who had worked with her at For Her Eyes Only magazine until a few months before. “Besides, I can count on you to tell me what was in it, right?”
A wide white smile creased Raul’s darkly tanned face, enhancing his sharply attractive features. “Of course. You know, if I’d realized I was going to have this much fun being a double agent, reporting back and forth between the two of you, I would have taken the job at Men’s World for much less money!”
“No, you wouldn’t,” she retorted with a smirk. “You need the money to keep up with the women.”
“I