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Scandalous Passion
Emilie Rose
Everyone has at least one secret. And Phoebe Lancaster's could ruin her life. If the intimate photographs of her with her college lover, Carter Jones, ever came to light, it could end her grandfather's political career. That's why she'll do anything to get them back, even if it means seeing Carter again.He never forgot Phoebe after she bowed to family pressure and ended their "highly unsuitable" relationship. Now Carter has the chance to even the score by demanding an unorthodox ransom for each and every picture. And Phoebe has no choice but to pay his price!



“Would You Quit The Casanova Routine Already?”
Carter observed her through narrowed eyes. “You think I’m trying to put the moves on you?”
Phoebe arched a brow and aimed for sarcasm. “Aren’t you? The question is why?”
His jaw shifted and then he rocked back on his heels and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m curious. Aren’t you?”
“About what?” she asked, even though she suspected she knew the answer.
“Whether it would be as good between us as it used to be.”
Her stomach dropped to her shoes. Yes, the thought had crossed her mind a time or ten since making the decision to seek him out, but she had no intention of satisfying her curiosity. The last time she had he’d stolen her heart and shattered it into tiny, irreparable fragments.
She forced a casual shrug and lied through her teeth. “Not really. Now, if you don’t mind, the picture.”

Scandalous Passion
Emilie Rose


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

EMILIE ROSE
lives in North Carolina with her college sweetheart husband and four sons. This bestselling author’s love for romance novels developed when she was twelve years old and her mother hid them under sofa cushions each time Emilie entered the room. Emilie grew up riding and showing horses. She’s a devoted baseball mom during the season and can usually be found in the bleachers watching one of her sons play. Her hobbies include quilting, cooking (especially cheesecake) and anything cowboy. Her favorite TV shows include Discovery Channel’s medical programs, ER and CSI. Emilie’s a country music fan because there’s an entire book in nearly every song.
Emilie loves to hear from her readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 20145, Raleigh, NC, 27619 or at www.EmilieRose.com.
My thanks to the staff of the Shriners Hospital for Children in Greenville, South Carolina. I’ve never encountered a more generous group of individuals.

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven

One
Clear the skeletons from your closet before your grandfather declares his presidential candidacy or the press will do it for you.
Phoebe Lancaster Drew smoothed damp palms over her most flattering navy suit and marched up the curving brick sidewalk with her grandfather’s campaign manager’s words echoing in her head.
It was rather pathetic really that the only skeletons in Phoebe’s closet were a few private pictures taken twelve years ago. Excluding those nine exhilarating months, she’d behaved like a proper Southern belle her entire life, devoting her time to her family, worthy causes and, lately, her career. But oh, those months…
Her heart beat a little faster and her nerves coiled tighter as she inspected the elegant brick home. Had the university alumni association given her the correct address? A single man had no reason to choose a home with a huge yard in this quiet old neighborhood…unless he’d married and had children. She took a bracing breath, pressed the doorbell with one hand and covered her anxious stomach with the other.
Children. She and Carter Jones had once planned to have a family together.
Well, she stood a little straighter, if he’d found a woman to give him the home and family he’d always craved, she would be happy for him. But the prickle of discomfort between Phoebe’s shoulder blades belied her words.
When no one responded to the doorbell, Phoebe leaned closer to peer through the stained-glass upper portion of the door. Discerning no movement inside, she rang the bell again and huffed in frustration. The sweet scent of the red and white petunias cascading from nearby urns filled her nostrils.
She had limited time to accomplish her task, and showing up unannounced on a Saturday afternoon in late May was risky, but she hadn’t dared make her odd request via phone or take a chance on the photos getting lost in the mail.
Her grandfather planned to declare his candidacy in a matter of weeks, an action that would unleash the bloodhounds of the press on everyone connected to the senior senator from North Carolina. Phoebe would be a prime target because she’d served as his hostess since her grandmother’s death, and she would be expected to continue in that role if her grandfather made it to the White House. She was also his chief speechwriter.
The sound of splashing caught her attention. Was there a pool behind the house? She made her way down the sidewalk and around the perimeter of the house, past fragrant gardenia bushes in full bloom and an open garage housing a black Saleen Mustang convertible. Her brows lifted. Carter driving a high-powered muscle car? The idea wouldn’t mesh with the image of the tall, gangly computer nerd she’d loved to distraction during her first semester of college.
A military brat and a senator’s granddaughter, they’d been an unlikely pair…just like her parents. And, like her parents, there hadn’t been a happy ending for Phoebe and Carter. Her parents had given up everything—including her—for love and they’d died in each other’s arms while chasing their dreams.
A large rectangular pool covered only a fraction of the expansive backyard. A single swimmer sliced a straight line through the sparkling water with swift, efficient strokes. Phoebe’s stomach flip-flopped. Was it Carter? He reached the far end, executed an under-water turn and headed in her direction. Her mouth dried. Get it done, Phoebe.
Hoping this tanned man was indeed Carter and not a dark-haired stranger, she crossed the patio on trembling legs to wait on the concrete apron surrounding the pool. As he approached, Phoebe noticed the muscles roping his shoulders, arms and back, and the black barbed-wire tattoo circling his thick left bicep. She exhaled and relaxed her taut muscles. The mystery man couldn’t be Carter, but he might know where she could find her former lover.
She knelt beside the pool’s edge to get his attention, but before she could call out he erupted in a cascade of water and caught her ankle with his long fingers. Startled, Phoebe screamed and fell back on her bottom. She would have scrambled away, but his big hand held her in a vise grip.
The sapphire-blue eyes boring into hers looked achingly familiar as did the lush lips and sharply angled jaw. But those wide shoulders…those bulging biceps…that tattoo… Her mouth fell open. This couldn’t be Carter Jones. Could it?
“Carter?” Her voice cracked.
“Phoebe?” He sounded as surprised as she was.
My God, what had happened to him? He’d turned into—she swallowed hard—beefcake. Blinking, she shook her head. Dampness seeped through her clothing, cooling her hot skin. She’d landed in a puddle. Her silk skirt would be ruined. She clambered to her feet as gracefully as she could given the fact that her knees had about as much strength as overcooked linguini and her stomach resided in her leather pumps. She sighed in relief when he released her, but the ring of his damp fingers remained imprinted on her skin.
“Why did you grab me like that?”
“I thought you were one of my neighbors. They’re notorious for their lousy practical jokes.” Carter heaved himself from the pool in an act of rippling muscles and sheer intimidating size. Phoebe staggered back a few steps and stared in disbelief at the Adonis standing in front of her. She hadn’t forgotten Carter’s impressive height, but he was broader now—much broader—than the lanky boy she’d held in her arms. He took up an overwhelming amount of space on the sun-drenched patio.
Stunned by the changes in him, she let her gaze follow the water streaming from the cords of his neck to his expansive, muscular shoulders and chest, his six-pack abs and shallow navel. He had more chest hair now. Dark whorls spattered his pectorals, narrowing into a thin line that led to brief navy swimming trunks riding low on his narrow hips. Like the rest of him, his legs were well-developed. A series of pink scars marred his left knee, but other than that, the man was perfection personified wrapped in wet, golden-brown skin.
Heat filled her belly and her face. Oh my. She closed her mouth and met his amused gaze.
“I—I—” For heaven’s sake, she manipulated words by trade, but sitting behind a desk and composing moving political speeches was a far cry from coming up with intelligent off-the-cuff remarks when faced with…this.
“You’re going to give me a complex about what a scrawny geek I used to be if you keep staring.”
Ashamed of her gawking, she stammered, “Y-you’ve certainly…built up some muscles.”
His eyes hardened and his lips flattened. “The Marine Corps will do that to you.”
“Marines? You’re a Marine?” She scrambled to make sense of the news. Carter had spent his childhood following his career-officer father around the world. He’d claimed he hated the vagabond military life and that he’d wanted nothing more than to set down roots. With her.
A shadow crossed his face. “Not anymore. What can I do for you, Ms. Drew?”
“Lancaster Drew,” she corrected automatically. He still spoke in the soft, rumbling baritone she remembered, but his voice now carried an unmistakable air of authority and confidence.
“Right. Let’s not forget your ties to the venerated Senator Lancaster.” His bitterness couldn’t have been clearer.
“I, uh…” Can’t think with all that taut skin on display. Wow, he looks amazing.
Don’t stare, Phoebe. Her grandmother’s scold rang in her ears.
Phoebe spotted a towel on a nearby chair, picked it up and offered it to Carter. He didn’t take the hint to cover up, but merely swiped the water from his hair and face, then draped the fabric around his neck. A dark lock flopped over his forehead and her fingers itched to sweep it back as she’d done so many times.
Struggling to regain a smidgeon of composure, Phoebe averted her gaze and studied the deep, covered porch on his two-story home. Hanging baskets of bright flowers and a hummingbird feeder dangled from the eaves, and she recalled the urns of flowers out front, as well. Carter very likely had a wife. Her stomach burned.
Phoebe took a peek at his ring finger and found it bare, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything since some men didn’t wear rings. Besides, rekindling their romance wasn’t why she was here.
Resolved to get this encounter over with as quickly as possible, she focused on her task, gathered her courage and met his hard gaze. “I wanted to talk to you about the past. Specifically, our past and our…pictures.”
His eyes narrowed. “What pictures?”
Her cheeks warmed. Very conscious of the wet silk clinging to her bottom, she shifted on her feet. “You know which pictures. The intimate ones,” she added the last in a whisper even though there was no one around to hear. They had the additional privacy of thick magnolia trees forming a natural screen between the lawn and the woodland beyond.
Laughter glinted in Carter’s eyes and one corner of his mouth tipped up in a naughty smile, puncturing his cheek with a dimple. He did a little inspecting of his own and Phoebe cringed inwardly. She hadn’t improved with age the way he had. In fact most of the ten pounds she’d gained since college had settled below her waist.
“Ah, those pictures.”
Why did her insides go all fizzy like a shaken bottle of champagne when he looked at her that way? “Do you still have them?”
“Why?” He folded his arms over his bulging pectorals. His hard nipples pointed at her. The memory of how those tiny pebbles had felt against her tongue blindsided her. Heat coursed through her veins.
The man had a body to die for, but the tattoo drew her gaze like an ice-cream truck draws children. “That had to hurt.”
She wanted to slap a hand over her wayward mouth, but she didn’t. Dear heaven, had she regressed to that awkward girl-with-her-first-crush bumbling? Where was her poise, her professional politically correct demeanor?
“If it did, I was too drunk to notice.” More bitterness.
Carter hadn’t been a drinker when they were together, but then, Phoebe hadn’t been old enough to drink legally back then. She’d been barely eighteen when they’d met. He’d been twenty-one and a senior. “Do you have the pictures?”
“Maybe. Why?” he repeated. His poker face held no clue to his thoughts.
What had happened to the guy he used to be? Her friend. Her lover. The one person she could talk to for hours? Everything about him seemed harder: his body, his voice and his eyes. She curled her fingers in frustration and searched for the words to complete her task.
“I’d like to have them—”
“Missing me?” His grin reappeared, dimpling both cheeks this time.
“—and the negatives,” she continued as if he hadn’t interrupted. Her heart was going to pound itself to mush if he didn’t stop smiling that way. That knowing sparkle in his eyes used to mean one, or both, of them would be naked within seconds, and once they were naked…
She plucked at her silk blouse, separating it from her suddenly damp skin. Moisture pooled between her thighs. Shameful. Why couldn’t she catch her breath? She blamed it on the Carolina heat and humidity, and then nearly laughed out loud. Talk about putting a political spin on a situation…
All traces of humor faded from his expression. “Do you plan to show the pictures around and tell everybody about the time you went slumming?”
Embarrassment licked through her. “It wasn’t slumming, Carter. My grandfather is about to announce his presidential candidacy. In the wrong hands those pictures could jeopardize his campaign.”
“So this is about your grandfather’s career again?” His clipped words and ice-chip eyes revealed his anger.
Carter had never understood how much she owed her grandparents for taking her in after her parents had abandoned her—a fact he’d proven when he asked her to choose between him and her grandfather twelve years ago.
“It’s also about mine. I’m his speech writer. I’d like to destroy the pictures. We were young and rash and—”
“No.” He stepped around her, heading for the house in long strides.
Oh, my. His back side was just as firm and impressive as his front side. The muscles rippling in the triangular V of his back as he dried himself muddled her thoughts so badly she almost missed his refusal. “What do you mean, no?”
“No, you can’t have the pictures,” he called over his shoulder without slowing.
She hurried after him. “Surely your wife doesn’t like you having pictures of another woman in the house.”
He stopped and turned so abruptly she bumped into him. Her palms landed on the bare, hot skin of his chest. Before she could withdraw, he caught her wrists, holding her captive. His gaze ensnared hers just as surely as he’d trapped her hands against his body. His nipples bored into her palms. Her heart leaped to her throat and her breath stalled in her lungs.
“I’m not married,” he said in that low, husky voice that used to melt her like butter in a hot skillet. “You?”
“N-no.” That was not relief sweeping through her system. And surely the weakness in her knees could be attributed to missing breakfast and lunch rather than the thud of his heart and the warmth of his skin beneath her hands. She tugged and he released her. “You live in this huge house alone?”
“Yeah. Got a deal on it. It needed work. I’m restoring it.”
“It’s lovely.” Her palms tingled.
“It’s even better inside.”
The unspoken invitation—with the arch of a challenging eyebrow thrown in—sent alarm racing through her. She broke away from his mesmerizing gaze and glanced at her watch. “I’m a bit pressed for time. Could you please hand over the pictures and negatives, and I’ll get out of your way. I’ll wait here.”
His chin set in a stubborn line. “Come inside and we’ll discuss it.”
She wanted to howl in frustration, but of course, she’d never do that. The senior senator’s granddaughter would never be so crass as to stamp her feet or to publicly show her displeasure. Never let them see you sweat, her grandfather had cautioned on more than one occasion. And never, ever, say words you can’t take back. She’d learned the hard way.
“Carter, let’s not take a trip down memory lane. It would serve no purpose.”
“Except to humor me—the one with the pictures.” Did she imagine the flash of anger in his eyes or the sarcastic twist of his lips? He tugged the towel from around his neck and dried his hips and legs. Muscles rippled with every move. In her dark-suit-and-tasteful-necktie world she didn’t get much exposure to sleek, tanned skin. Her mouth dried and her pulse couldn’t seem to find its regular rhythm.
“So you do have them?”
“Yep.” He climbed the steps of his porch and held open the door. Phoebe paused. She could refuse his invitation and perhaps never see the pictures again. No, the possible peril was too great. She had to stick with her agenda to recover and destroy the evidence of her shameful past. Lifting her chin, she swept up the stairs and into his sunny breakfast area. She felt his eyes on her backside as she passed and wished she could suck it in the way she sucked in her tummy.
“I got you wet. Sorry. Want me to toss your skirt in the dryer?”
She studied him. Did he intend the double entendre? And did he honestly expect her to hand over her skirt? “No, it’s silk. It has to be line dried.”
“I can loan you some shorts and we’ll hang your skirt out on the deck.”
She’d borrowed his clothing in the past, but she couldn’t imagine doing so today. She wasn’t the casual type any longer. Image was everything in politics. Besides, she didn’t intend to be here long enough for the fabric to dry. “No, thank you.”
“Have a seat.” He jabbed a finger toward the kitchen table. “A wet butt won’t hurt the chairs. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Carter disappeared into what looked like the laundry room at the opposite end of the kitchen, but he didn’t close the door. Phoebe could hear him moving around and her imagination rioted at the thought of him stripping off his snug racing trunks, revealing his taut buttocks and the part of him she’d spent so much time exploring. They’d shared a lot of hasty mutual stripping in their past, first in his dorm room and then at out-of-the-way hotels and on deserted back roads once she’d changed universities.
With her pulse racing, Phoebe sank into a chair at the wrought-iron glass-topped table, averted her eyes from the open door and battled an urge to fan her hot face. She hadn’t expected to still find Carter attractive, but the days of giving her heart or her body to a man were over. Carter had been her first lover, but he hadn’t been in love with her or he wouldn’t have broken her heart. She’d fooled herself once and had no intention of repeating the painful mistake of confusing sexual desire with love ever again.

Of all the people Carter Jones had expected to see standing beside his pool, Phoebe Lancaster Drew didn’t make the list.
Carter ripped off his trunks and swore as the abrupt movement sent a sharp stabbing pain up his thigh. It had been three and a half years since the accident that had ended his military career, and for the most part he was pain-free unless he did something stupid. He’d expected the wavering shadow at the pool edge to be one of his neighbors or one of his ex-Marine buddies, although the pity visits had thinned out since his new company had taken off. Thank God.
He yanked on a pair of ragged cut-off shorts and a tank top. No need to dress to impress the senator’s granddaughter. She’d written him off as her dirty secret years ago. Good enough to screw, but not to marry.
What had happened to the girl he’d fallen for? Had she even existed outside his imagination? Probably not.
Phoebe’s conservative suit and tightly twisted-up sable hair, combined with a ramrod-straight spine reminded him of the day he’d surprised her at her grandfather’s Washington, D.C., home—the day the blinders had fallen away from Carter’s eyes and his world had collapsed. The day he’d discovered Phoebe didn’t love him.
His parents had been coming stateside for his university graduation, and he’d wanted them to meet his future wife, but Phoebe hadn’t been happy to see Carter on her grandfather’s doorstep. She’d acted as if she couldn’t get him out of the house fast enough. When her grandfather had arrived, she’d shown her true colors by introducing him to the senator not as her lover or her fiancé, but as a classmate, for crissake. Her refusal to come with him to meet his parents combined with the lukewarm intro to the senator had said it all. They had no future together. He’d been nothing but a toy to Phoebe Lancaster Drew. Unimportant. Temporary. Expendable.
And now Phoebe wanted to erase what had happened between them twelve years ago. He ground his teeth and struggled to tamp down his anger. Those photographs were proof that the senator’s beautiful granddaughter had done the dirty with a mongrel military brat. Hell, if it wasn’t for the pictures, Carter probably wouldn’t believe the two of them had once been as close as lovers can be. He’d made the mistake of believing their hearts had been as connected as their bodies, but that was the gullibility of youth and inexperience for you.
He padded barefoot into the kitchen, extracted two glasses from the cabinet, then pulled a pitcher of tea from the refrigerator. He carried his load to the table, poured and slid a glass in her direction. She looked so damned rigid he wanted to bark, “At ease.”
But helping Phoebe relax wasn’t his job. Not anymore.
Settling across from her, he nodded at her murmured thanks and leaned back in his chair. Her light floral scent—the same perfume she’d worn twelve years ago—hit him with a C-130 military transport plane full of memories. He used to know every pulse point she anointed with the stuff intimately. He swigged his drink to ease the dryness in his mouth and assessed the changes in Phoebe over the rim of his glass.
She was still a beauty with her dark hair and changeable hazel-green eyes, but the fire and excitement had faded from those eyes and tension flattened the lush curve of her mouth. She looked too poised and proper, too much like a storefront mannequin for his tastes. It was almost as if someone had sucked the life right out of her, and that saddened him.
Not your problem, Jones.
“Are you happy being your grandfather’s sidekick?”
She blinked at his question. “As opposed to what?”
“Working at a museum or teaching at the university.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, apparently surprised he remembered her long-ago plans. He wished he could forget those nine months and the pain of discovering he’d never be good enough for Phoebe Lancaster Drew. Despite the fact that he was now worth millions, Carter Jones could never be a part of her old-moneyed, politically connected world.
“I’ll have time for that later.” She fingered her glass instead of meeting his gaze. The thick line of her lashes cast shadows on her smooth cheeks.
“And what about the family you once claimed to crave? Say granddad gets elected and possibly even reelected, although he’s pretty old for a second term. You’re thirty. If you wait for Wilton Lancaster to retire, you’ll be pushing forty before you get started.”
He hated the polite and insincere politician’s smile curving her lips. It did nothing 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 in a long time he couldn’t stop smiling. “I don’t have etchings. I have Kodak moments.”
She looked ready to explode. Her nose inched higher. “Who else has seen them?”
He scowled. Another insult. “You think I’d kiss and tell?”
She primly folded her hands in her lap. “Get the pictures, Carter. I’ll wait here.”
He didn’t call her a coward, but he let his eyes say it for him. Her spine stiffened. Message received.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
Carter glanced at his waterproof watch as he crossed the den. Operation Seduction under way at 1700 hours.
Let the games begin.

Two
Phoebe put her head in her hands. She had to be out of her mind to agree to Carter’s ridiculous terms. Could she grab the photos and run? Hardly. Carter might have been a geek twelve years ago, but he looked to be in peak physical condition now. He’d outrun her. Besides, he could always print more pictures from the negatives. She needed the pictures and the negatives.
Her grandfather had always said that if you couldn’t change your opponent’s mind, then you had to wear him down. So Phoebe decided she’d play Carter’s childish game. As luck would have it, her grandfather would be at his Bald Head Island retreat for the next month preparing campaign strategies and meeting with his advisers. She’d stayed behind to research his most likely opponents and to look for good quotes for his next speech. Odds were that she could probably recover the pictures without having to explain her whereabouts.
As far as Carter’s abundant sex appeal went, she hadn’t made it to the age of thirty without learning how to handle her physical needs. Messy, complicated relationships were not required. Resisting him wouldn’t be easy, but it was within her capabilities. All she had to do was to focus and get to know her opponent—another of her grandfather’s maxims.
From her seat at the table Phoebe examined Carter’s house, looking for clues to the man he’d become. In college he’d claimed he wanted a place to put down the roots his childhood hadn’t permitted. He’d certainly achieved that goal. Sunlight flooded his kitchen, illuminating very traditional oak cabinets and gleaming hardwood floors. Wooden beams supported the vaulted ceiling of the spacious den to her right, and a huge brick fireplace flanked by tall windows covered most of the outside wall. The leather sofa and chairs looked masculine and expensive, but the room begged for color and softness, for a woman’s touch.
The lack of decorative elements inside led Phoebe to believe Carter didn’t have a woman in his life. But the flowers surrounding his porches and the hummingbird feeder contradicted the lonely bachelor theory. Carter had never been a birds-and-blooms kind of guy. She didn’t think he’d become one. And she couldn’t imagine a man with his sex appeal being alone. So who was the woman in his life? Or did he keep more than one on a string?
Never mind. It didn’t matter. This was a business transaction not a courtship. A barter agreement. Nothing more. She had to uncover his true motive. What did he want in exchange for the pictures? She didn’t believe for one minute that all he wanted was the pleasure of her company.
Carter reappeared with the pictures fanned out in his fingers like playing cards, the backs facing Phoebe. He looked mouthwateringly gorgeous with his shoulder and arm muscles displayed like a handsome hunk calendar model’s. And that tattoo… She couldn’t believe it turned her on. Did he have more? Where? Her pulse quickened.
Your curiosity will bring you nothing but trouble, Phoebe Lancaster Drew, her grandmother’s voice, which often doubled as Phoebe’s conscience, chided. And her grandmother always had been right. Besides, Phoebe had seen most of Carter in his swimsuit. If he had tattoos beneath the brief trunks, she wouldn’t be seeing them.
She didn’t want to look at the pictures, didn’t want to be reminded of how deeply she’d trusted Carter or how unimportant she’d been to him, but for all she knew he could be bluffing. She held out her hand. He thumped the rectangles into a neat stack and passed them to her. The brush of his fingertips against her palm forced the air from her lungs. Phoebe averted her gaze from his and found herself looking at the worn denim to the left of Carter’s zipper. A jolt of energy shot through her. She gulped. Looking at the pictures hadn’t left him unaffected. Well—she squared her shoulders—she would have more control over her baser instincts.
Bracing herself, she turned the rectangles over. Her heart skipped a beat and her hand wobbled. The picture on top of the stack was probably the most innocent of all the photos they’d taken with Carter’s old camera set on a timer. Carter stood straight, tall and completely nude with his back to the camera. Phoebe couldn’t help contrasting the lanky frame in the photograph with the muscle-packed body in front of her. She’d been standing in front of him, completely concealed from the camera by his body except for her forearms and hands. She’d wrapped her arms around his waist to cup his buttocks. Those pale hands could have belonged to anyone except for the identifying heirloom signet ring on her right ring finger—the same ring she wore every day of her life.
Phoebe curled her fist by her side, but it was no use trying to hide the ring. Heat swept through her as she remembered how his thick erection had burned against her stomach, her nipples had scraped his bare chest and how his own hands had cupped her bottom. Moments after the shutter clicked he’d lifted her, filled her with one deep stroke, and loved her until they’d both collapsed on the floor, too weak to move until the sound of his roommate’s key grating in the lock had sent them scrambling for their clothing.
She’d loved Carter Jones beyond reason and this picture brought those feelings rushing back with a force she couldn’t dam. Fast on the heels of the hot, fizzy arousal racing through her blood came pain—the pain of his desertion. He hadn’t loved her enough.
She always lost the ones she loved. She’d been abandoned by her fun-loving parents when she was seven. They’d been killed in a rebel uprising in some godforsaken land six years later. The signet ring was the only memento she had of her mother. Her grandmother, who’d become Phoebe’s surrogate mother, had passed away quickly and unexpectedly four months after Phoebe started at the university, and then Phoebe had lost Carter five months later.
Her grandfather was the only family Phoebe had left, and now it seemed her grandfather’s approval hinged on her standing beside him in his presidential bid. Heaven only knew what would happen if these pictures leaked out and Phoebe’s indiscretion tainted his campaign. Would he abandon her, too, or did he love her enough to forgive her for her wild and impetuous first love? It wasn’t a chance she was willing to take.
“I’ll buy them from you. How much do you want?”
“The pictures aren’t for sale.” His hard expression warned her not to waste time arguing.
Unable to bear looking through the rest of the photos, Phoebe passed them back. “Then I want the negatives as a show of good faith.”
“No can do, sugar. Not until the last date.”
Sugar. Sweet to the taste and habit-forming. She closed her eyes against the memory of him looking up at her from between her legs with a smile slanting his damp lips as he uttered those words. She lifted her eyelids and met Carter’s gaze. The watchful expression on his face told her he also remembered the often-repeated phrase and its context.
“I want your word that you won’t show these pictures to anyone else.”
“You have it,” he replied without hesitation.
Phoebe bolstered her resistance. “When do we start?”
“Tomorrow. Where are you staying?”
“My grandfather’s home in Raleigh.”
“I’ll pick you up at six.”
“No.” Alarm raced through her bloodstream. “That’s not necessary. I’ll meet you.”
Carter’s jaw turned to granite. “Still worried what Granddad will say if your former classmate turns up on your doorstep?”
He remembered the awkward introduction to her grandfather, but he hadn’t waited around long enough for Phoebe to explain why she’d been so cautious. “He’s out of town.”
His lips curled in disgust. “Figures. I pick my dates up and I see them back to their door…unless they spend the night with me.”
A nerve beneath her right eye twitched—a telltale sign of stress she’d never been able to conquer. “That will not be the case. I’ll meet you here and then you can see me back to my car door.”
His mouth set in a militant line and he looked ready to argue, but then he acquiesced with a sharp nod. “Fine. Six.”
Her heart stuttered. One battle won, but certainly not the war. Phoebe Lancaster Drew, what have you gotten yourself into?

He’d expected Phoebe to chicken out. Instead she arrived thirty-three minutes early.
Carter lowered the dumbbell to the floor and wiped the sweat from his face with a towel. The slamming of his heart had nothing to do with his strenuous workout and everything to do with the slender woman striding up his front walk. The knowledge didn’t please him.
It had been a bitch of a day—mainly because he couldn’t keep his mind off tonight. Jes, his executive assistant, had threatened to quit if Carter didn’t stop barking commands. Jes had claimed it was bad enough he was working on a Sunday to finish a last-minute proposal. Finally, Carter had left work and come home to take out his frustration on his free weights. He descended the stairs from his upstairs workout room and opened the door before Phoebe could ring the bell.
Her dark brows lifted as she inspected his sweaty workout tank and shorts. She tilted her head and firmed her mouth. “Am I overdressed?”
He checked out her tailored dress—a close twin to yesterday’s stuffy and uptight suit. The navy-blue fabric gently draped her breasts, but it couldn’t hide the pebbling of her nipples. Unfortunately the concealing garment skimmed past the curve of her hips to cover most of her long legs. Too bad. Phoebe had first-class legs.
“You’re early. I need to get ready.”
“I allowed extra time for traffic but there wasn’t any. Besides, the sooner we start, the sooner I can get home.”
Her barb caught him like a sucker punch, but damn if he’d let it show. He hid his irritation by wiping his sweaty face with the towel and gesturing for her to come inside. “You want to look around while I shower and dress or do you want to wait for the guided tour?”
“Neither, thanks.” She declined and insulted so politely Carter just shook his head.
“Give me ten minutes. There’s iced tea in the fridge. Help yourself.” He gestured toward the kitchen and then headed for the master suite.
Carter stripped and stepped under the shower spray, pondering how he could still find Phoebe attractive after all this time. Soaping his shoulders, he shrugged. Probably because they’d explored all kinds of uncharted territory with an uninhibited thirst for knowledge that he hadn’t experienced since. Blood pooled in his groin and his heart pumped double-time at the mythological proportions of his memories. What better way to debunk that myth than by spending a month in her company? Then he’d find himself a sweet local gal, settle down and have kids.
Roots. That’s what this old house was all about. He’d spent most of his life traveling the globe, and it was time to put down roots, to make his own history. Surely a family of his own would fill the void inside him? His parents didn’t count since his dad was stationed halfway around the world and Carter rarely saw them.
He wanted a love like theirs—the kind that meant no sacrifice was too great. In all the years of their marriage, Carter had never heard his mother complain about any of the hell-holes his father had dragged her through, and there’d been dozens of them. She’d packed and moved on command like a good military wife, happy to go anywhere as long as it meant staying by her husband’s side. Even when she had to stay behind she’d been a pillar of strength, a rock he could rely on. At each new base she’d thrown herself into the wives clubs with enthusiasm.
As a shy kid, Carter hadn’t made new friends as easily. He’d turned to books and cameras and, later, to computers. He’d been shy and tongue-tied around girls and hadn’t made any real, lasting friendships until college. He and his college buddies Sawyer and Rick had remained tight until recently when both men had married and started families of their own, leaving Carter the odd man out once again. He hated being a fifth wheel.
He wanted a life partner, and as soon as he proved that his memories of Phoebe were nothing more than exaggerated fantasies, he’d find the right woman—a woman who wouldn’t look down her straight, pedigreed nose at him or be ashamed to introduce him to her family. The timing was right. He had the home, and after three years of damned hard work, CyberSniper was on solid footing.
Phoebe wasn’t that woman. Hell, she hadn’t even been able to look beyond the first photo in the stack he’d handed her yesterday. Was he such a repugnant part of her past?
He rinsed the shampoo from his hair, stepped out of the shower and dried off. After a quick shave, he pulled on a custom-tailored suit, shoved his feet into his Gucci loafers and headed for the kitchen and a little “hair of the dog that bit you.”

Phoebe heard Carter return, but she couldn’t look away from the picture of the adorable dark-haired, blue-eyed boy on Carter’s refrigerator. Carter had said he wasn’t married, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have an ex-wife and children somewhere. He was thirty-three and statistically likely to have married at least once by now.
“Is he yours?” Getting the words past the unexpected lump in her throat was harder than it should have been. Of course Carter would have children one day and they would not be hers. She’d buried those dreams long ago.
“No. J.C.—Joshua Carter—belongs to Sawyer Riggan. You remember my college roommate? He married a few years back. Sawyer and his wife Lynn are my neighbors. J.C.’s two years old, and he’s my godson.” Pride filled his voice.
“He’s adorable.” Phoebe turned from the picture and shock erased whatever she’d been about to say from her mind. Carter wore a charcoal-gray suit that fit his frame perfectly. His crisp white shirt accentuated his tanned face, and he’d knotted a sapphire-blue tie the exact shade of his eyes at his neck. A lock of damp dark hair fell over his forehead. He could have been any politician on Capitol Hill, only she’d never met a congressman this gorgeous.
His prosperous appearance threw her off balance and piqued her curiosity. Carter looked nothing like the rumpled, jeans-clad college student she used to know or the jock she’d encountered yesterday and again today when she’d arrived.
She blinked to clear the fog of unwanted attraction from her brain. Repeating past mistakes wasn’t on the agenda. “You and Sawyer bought houses on the same street? You must have stayed close after school.”
“Yeah. And Rick Faulkner and his wife own the third house on the street. Remember him?”
“The tall blonde?” She remembered Carter’s two handsome friends, but she hadn’t been interested in either of them back then. She’d been too busy losing herself in Carter’s eyes, in his smile and, later, in his body. Unwelcome warmth settled low in her abdomen.
He nodded. “Want a drink? We have a few minutes before our reservation.”
“No, thank you. As I said, I would really like to get home early tonight. I’m expecting a call from my grandfather.”
His lips flat-lined. “Right. Let’s go. I’ll bring the car around front.”
“There’s no need, Carter. This isn’t a real date. I can get into the car in the garage when you do.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, and then he jerked a nod. “Let me lock up.”
He disappeared into the foyer and returned seconds later—long before Phoebe could come up with a way to convince him to hand over the pictures and cancel this outing. After opening the door leading from the kitchen to the garage, he activated the security keypad by the door. A custom-tailored suit, an alarm system and a sports car all added up to affluence.
He led Phoebe to his car and opened the door. Carefully avoiding his touch, she slid into the bucket seat and inhaled a subtle blend of leather and Carter’s cologne—a costly designer fragrance unless she missed her guess. His company must be successful. Had money changed the man? And why did she care? Because Carter had never valued her for her old-moneyed family or her grandfather’s clout. He’d seen her, not the senator’s granddaughter. The men she’d met since were only interested in her connection to the most powerful senator in Washington—a lesson she’d learned the hard way.
Carter settled in the driver’s seat. His large frame took up most of the interior and drained the oxygen from the enclosed space. How many times had they fogged up the windows making out in his old economy car or her sedate sedan twelve years ago? She shook off the memory.
“Where are we going?”
“A new restaurant.” The car’s powerful engine rumbled to life. At the touch of a button, the garage door lifted, letting in the evening light. Carter’s hand nudged her knee as he reached for the gearshift. Phoebe moved her leg out of the danger zone, but not soon enough to prevent the tingle traveling upward. She pressed her knees together.
Stick to the agenda, Phoebe. Twelve dates. No dalliance. No broken promises. No broken heart.
Carter’s house was one of three stately older homes on the secluded forest-surrounded street. “When and why did you join the Marine Corps? I thought you hated that vagabond life.”
“After graduation. For the job training.”
He’d graduated days after they’d said goodbye. Had their breakup caused him to have a change of heart about settling down? He didn’t elaborate as he took the winding road downhill with curve-hugging speed until he reached the stop sign at the main thoroughfare.
“And now you’re out,” she prompted.
“Yes.” The car shot forward into a break in traffic with a burst of leashed power.
“Why not become a lifer like your father? He should be way up there in rank now.”
The bunching of his jaw muscle was his only response.
“Carter, you forced these outings. The least you can do is converse politely.”
He cut her a quick look. “My father has been promoted to Lieutenant General. That’s three stars. I received a medical discharge after I blew out my knee on my last mission.”
She remembered the scars. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. It was time to get out of the military. I was in a holding pattern that had nothing to do with where I wanted to go with my life.”
His reply hit a little too close to home. She shifted in her seat. “Do you work with Sawyer? I remember the two of you once talked about opening a company together.”
“No. I fly solo.”
She didn’t think he referred only to business.
Minutes later Carter’s car swept up the circular drive of a stone castle-style structure complete with twin octagonal turrets. A valet rushed to take his keys and another opened Phoebe’s door just in time for Carter to hand her out. Carter’s warm fingers wrapped around hers, sending a current of electricity up her arm. It always had been that way between them. She exhaled a pent-up breath when he released her, but her relief was short-lived when his palm settled against her spine. A shiver of awareness inched its way up her vertebrae.
She tightened her grip on her purse. “Wasn’t this a private residence when we were students at the university?”
“The family fell on hard times and sold it. Old money surrenders to new. The current owner turned the estate into a restaurant with dancing. He wants to work up to hosting weddings, but for now you might want to tell the senator it’s a good place for private parties.”
Carter seemed to know an awful lot about the owner’s plans. But Phoebe had no intention of dancing with Carter tonight or of telling her grandfather that she’d been on a date. The admission would lead to an inquisition and a discussion of the suitability of her escort. Grandfather was eager to marry her off—in a politically advantageous match, of course.
Phoebe paused in the palatial foyer. She could easily picture a bride sweeping down the wide marble staircase. An attractive blond hostess interrupted the mental image by greeting Carter by his first name then escorting them to a table in a private corner of what probably had been the formal drawing room of the private residence. Phoebe felt a spark of something that was certainly not jealousy each time the woman flashed Carter a blinding smile.
Candlelight flickered on the widely spaced tables and from wall sconces, giving the room an intimate air. Silverware and crystal glittered like diamonds in the soft light. Carter pulled out her chair and Phoebe noticed the single long-stemmed red rose on the snowy tablecloth in front of her chair. She sat and lifted the bud to inhale the heady fragrance. If this had been a true date she would have been bowled over by the romantic setting. But this wasn’t a date, and she wasn’t going to let herself be impressed. Much, she added grudgingly.
Carter seemed completely at ease with the opulent surroundings and deferential treatment. Twelve years ago he wouldn’t have been. If the hostess’s greeting hadn’t clued Phoebe in to the fact that Carter had been here before then his ordering without consulting the menu would have. Her menu didn’t list prices, but she didn’t need them to know this dinner would be a far cry from the economical meals and picnics of their past. They’d never shared expensive dinners because Carter couldn’t afford them and he’d refused to let her pay. The wine steward arrived, consulted with Carter and then departed.
Was the entire point of this evening to show her that he was now comfortable in her world? If so, why did he think she’d care? As if he’d read her thoughts he reached across the table and trapped her hand beneath his. Warmth traveled up her arm.
“It’s good to see you again, Phoebe.” His husky baritone and intent gaze made her stomach muscles quiver, and when his thumb stroked the inside of her wrist, she forgot to breathe. “Why don’t we go into the next room and dance until our meal is ready?”
The thought of being in Carter’s arms again made her light-headed, then an idea hit her with an ice-cold shower of sobriety. Did he think she’d tumble easily into his bed because of their past relationship? Well, he’d better think again. She wasn’t a wide-eyed innocent any longer. She’d been wined and dined by some of the slickest politicians and political wannabes in the nation’s capital—many of whom thought the best way to influence her grandfather was through her bed. She’d made a mistake once and become engaged before figuring out that she wasn’t the main attraction in the relationship. The experience had been enough to make her question the motives of every man who asked her out.
Anger bubbled in her blood. How could Carter believe her to be so easy, so gullible? She concealed her annoyance with a polite smile the way her grandmother had taught her and extracted her hand. “I don’t care to dance, thank you. How long have you been back in Chapel Hill?”
To give him credit, her failure to melt in her chair didn’t throw him. “Three years. What about you? Where do you live?”
“I divide my time between Raleigh and D.C.”
The wine arrived and Carter went through the tasting ritual. “Why are you still working with your grandfather?” he asked as soon as the steward departed.
Phoebe shifted in her seat and reached for her glass. “He needs me.”
“And if his presidential bid fails, what will you do?”
Good question. The year before her grandmother passed away she’d made Phoebe promise to look out for her grandfather if anything ever happened to her. Phoebe often wondered if Gran had had a premonition that undiagnosed ovarian cancer would take her life so swiftly. After the funeral, Phoebe had put her plans on hold to help her grandfather through his grief. The months she’d expected had lapsed into years until Phoebe had been delaying her own plans for so long that she’d finally quit making them.
Phoebe was in one of those holding patterns Carter had mentioned earlier. Not that she regretted the years at her grandfather’s side. She’d learned a lot, met world leaders and become very good at her job, so good in fact that she could work almost anywhere she wanted…. But if her grandfather’s presidential bid failed, Phoebe didn’t want to work for another politician. The joy of finding the poetry in the speeches had long since faded, and the appeal of twisting words to rouse patriotism or to hide blunders and weaknesses was gone. What kept her going was the knowledge that the work she did as part of her grandfather’s team made a difference.
What would she do with her life once her grandfather retired? The question rattled her, but it deserved thoughtful consideration when she wasn’t seated across from such a distraction.
She sipped her wine to alleviate the dryness in her mouth caused by fear of the unknown. Once upon a time, exploring the unfamiliar with Carter had thrilled her. Had she changed so much in the passing years? Had she become too much of a coward to try something new? “We’re anticipating a successful campaign. Should the outcome not go as projected then I’ll explore my alternatives.”
“Time has a way of getting away from you, Phoebe. If you don’t make decisions, the choices will dwindle until there are none.”
She wanted to ask what had made him so bitter, but refrained because she didn’t want to become involved. Get the pictures. Get out. “You’re suggesting I live for the moment? Just selfishly grab whatever I want with both hands and damn the consequences?”
The way her parents had.
He probably thought she’d grab him if he played his cards right. Although the thought tempted her, she wasn’t young and foolish any longer, and she didn’t do casual sex, especially not in Washington where who was sleeping with whom was the gossips’ favorite topic.
His gaze held hers. “I’m saying, figure out what you want and plot a strategy to achieve it before it’s too late, unless of course, you want your grandfather to keep calling the shots for you. What do you want, Phoebe?”
Knotting her fingers in her lap, she snuffed out the question before she could answer it. It didn’t really matter what she wanted. Her course had been set years ago. She would continue to write her grandfather’s speeches and act as his hostess as she had since graduation from Georgetown University. If she didn’t feel any enthusiasm for the plan, then the pictures were to blame. Once she no longer had to worry about them turning up in the press to humiliate her and anger her grandfather, she could get excited about the possibility of a whistle-stop tour of the country and later, living in the White House. In the meantime, she had research to do before she could begin drafting her grandfather’s declaration of candidacy speech.
She pasted on her best campaign smile. “I want my grandfather to win the election. He is by far the best candidate. Let me tell you why.”

Sortie one. A draw.
Carter folded his napkin at the end of the meal and battled frustration. Strategic withdrawal. Reevaluate the strategy. Approach from a different flank.
Phoebe had installed razor wire around herself in the past twelve years. She’d carefully sidestepped all personal questions and remained immune to every suggestive comment or look. Seducing her wouldn’t be as easy as he’d expected.
A heavy hand descended on his shoulder. Carter jerked his gaze upward and found Sam at his shoulder. He rose and returned Sam’s salute. “Great chow as usual, Sam.”
“You’re too kind, Captain,” Sam said in a voice heavily laced with sarcasm. “Who’s the pretty lady?”
Phoebe’s eyes widened as she took in all six feet, six inches of his forty-year-old, hard-as-nails, kick-your-ass-and-enjoy-it friend. Sam would be one scary dude to run into in an alley, and he didn’t look like any chef Carter had ever encountered, but he’d been a damned good Marine and a real team player.
“Phoebe, this is Sam Kalas. He kept our platoon fed. His cooking has been known to make a four-star general get on his knees and beg for seconds. Sam’s the owner and chef of this place.”
“Part owner,” Sam corrected. “Without your bucks to back up my cooking, I’d still be slinging military rations and living in the barracks. Instead I get to cook food that looks and tastes good and live upstairs in these swanky digs.”
Phoebe shot a surprised glance in Carter’s direction and extended her hand to Sam. “My compliments to the chef.”
“Thanks, ma’am.” Sam’s black eyes pinned Carter. “When Suzie told me you’d called for a reservation for two, I decided to come out to see who’d make you break your fast.”
Carter’s ears burned under Phoebe’s speculative gaze. So he didn’t date much these days. Big deal. CyberSniper came first. But Sam had handed him the perfect opportunity to pay Phoebe back for making their past dates a dirty secret. He let his mouth tip in a smile his corps buddy wouldn’t misunderstand. “Phoebe’s an old friend.”
Sam’s speculative gaze fixed on Phoebe’s red cheeks. He nodded. “Nice meeting you, ma’am. I’ve been working on a new dessert recipe all week. Can I tempt you folks?”
“We really have to run,” Phoebe replied before Carter could. “But thank you.”
Carter considered the potency of Sam’s concoctions and weighed the odds of salvaging the evening. Curiosity urged him to try any means at his disposal to see if Phoebe’s kiss still packed the old punch he remembered. “How about a carry-out?”
A smartass grin spread across Sam’s face. “Whatever you want, Captain.”
With another sharp salute, Sam returned to the kitchen.
Phoebe’s jaw and spine looked rigid enough to snap. “I won’t have dessert with you.”
The kiss Carter wanted looked like a slim possibility, but he’d always enjoyed fighting against the odds. “What makes you think I’m willing to share? But you don’t know what you’re missing, Phoebe. Sam’s desserts are like sex in a spoon.” He winked. “A smart woman would reconsider.”

Three
“Try a little sin, Phoebe. You’ll like it.”
Phoebe shifted on her feet in the moonlight-flooded driveway of Carter’s home and tried to ignore her body’s traitorous response to the invitation in his huskily murmured words. Every self-preservation instinct within her screamed, Run, but she couldn’t. Carter had her caged between his broad chest, the open door of his car and the seat she’d just vacated. A balmy evening breeze caressed her sensitized skin.
He passed the open container holding the rich-smelling chocolate dessert beneath her nose and her mouth watered.
“What do you know? Sam included a couple of disposable spoons.” Carter scooped up a bite of the creamy concoction and lifted it to Phoebe’s lips.
She shouldn’t be tempted by the man or his decadent dessert. She’d never forgive herself for succumbing to the first, and her hips would pay the price for sampling the second. But this entire escapade with Carter was ill-advised and thorny, and she deserved a reward for holding strong against his potent charm all evening. It hadn’t been easy.
She opened her mouth and Carter fed her. Dark chocolate, sweet cherry and rich cream flavors merged on her tongue. She closed her eyes in ecstasy. Heaven. Bliss. No, better. Rolling the tastes around in her mouth, she searched for the perfect words to describe the dessert without success.
She licked her lips. “That is truly amazing.”
Carter set the container on the roof of his car and leaned closer until only inches separated their faces. His breath fanned her cheek and the look of intent in his eyes made her insides quiver.
“Almost as good as sex,” he said a whisper away from her mouth. “Want to come in and share?”
Phoebe cursed her weakening knees and the way the fine hairs on her body rose to attention. My God, he was playing her and her stupid hormones were falling for it. She ignored the rapid pounding of her heart, blocked his forward progress with a hand to his chest and glared at him.
“Would you quit the Casanova routine already?”
He observed her through narrowed eyes. “You think I’m trying to put the moves on you?”
She arched an eyebrow and aimed for sarcasm, but it wasn’t easy when her body ached for what he offered. “Aren’t you? The question is why?”
His jaw shifted, then he rocked back on his heels and shoved his hands into his pants pockets, giving her some much-needed space. “I’m curious. Aren’t you?”
“About what?” she asked even though she suspected she knew the answer.
“Whether it would be as good between us as it used to be.”
Her stomach plunged to her pumps. Yes, the thought had crossed her mind a few times since making the decision to seek out Carter, but she had no intention of satisfying her curiosity. The last time she had, he’d stolen her heart and shattered it into tiny irreparable fragments.
She forced a casual shrug and lied through a dismissive smile. “Not really. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get home. Enjoy your dessert.”
Shoving past him, Phoebe beat a hasty retreat to her car. She fumbled with her seat belt until it clicked and glanced at Carter one last time before throwing the car in reverse. And then she remembered she’d forgotten to collect. Argh. She shoved the gearshift back into park, rolled down her window and stuck out her hand.
“The picture,” she called, and wiggled her fingers. “Please get the picture. I’ll wait here.”
Carter sauntered toward her. His casual stride contradicted the stiff set of his shoulders and the determined line of his jaw made her skin prickle in alarm. She shifted uneasily in her seat. Carter reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a photo. A voice in Phoebe’s mind shrieked in panic. He’d had one of their pictures in his pocket all evening. What if it had fallen out? What if—
And then Carter leaned down and folded his arms on her open window, choking off her thoughts with his nearness. “You really shouldn’t rush off.”
“I’m expecting a call,” she said through teeth clamped together in an I’ll-be-polite-even-if-it-kills-me smile.
He ignored her open hand and ducked through the window. Phoebe leaned back against the seat to give him as much room as possible as he reached across her body to tuck the picture into the outside pocket of the purse she’d set on the seat beside her. His scent surrounded her. Instead of depositing the photo and withdrawing from the car as she’d expected, he cupped her face in his warm hand. Before she could react, Carter’s lips were on hers. Hot. Soft. Insistent.
Phoebe’s breath lodged in her lungs. Heat steamed her skin. She wanted to push him away, but couldn’t seem to instigate the action.
The magic is still there.
He sipped from her lips, lifting and nuzzling again. His thumb stroked over the pulse racing at the base of her throat and then traced her collarbone to the V of her neckline. Her nipples rose in anticipation of his touch. The slick heat of his tongue caressed her bottom lip, slipped past to tease her sensitive inner flesh and to skate over her clenched teeth. Overwhelming sensations poured down on her, stealing sanity and eroding her willpower. She was on the verge of giving in to the hunger and opening her mouth to taste him when he straightened and stepped away from the car.
“G’night, Phoebe. Call me when you think you can handle our second date.” With a casual salute he headed back toward his house, grabbed the decadent dessert from the roof of his car and disappeared into the garage.
Phoebe released a frustrated breath. He’d gotten to her. Damn him. Well, it wouldn’t happen again. She curled her trembling fingers around the steering wheel and backed out of the driveway.
Next time she’d be prepared for his devious moves.

With his pulse hammering in the triple digits, Carter stumbled into his house and collapsed in a kitchen chair. He’d feel smug about the success of his sneak attack if he weren’t totally disgusted with himself.
He still wanted Phoebe with the panting lack of control of the boy he’d once been. The knowledge had hit him like a sniper’s bullet the second his lips touched hers. He scrubbed a hand over the lower half of his face, but he couldn’t erase the feel of her satiny lips or her sweet taste. He’d grossly underestimated his opponent’s power.
He’d been about to write off the evening as an unsuccessful maneuver when she’d wriggled her fingers and sent a fire-storm of memories streaking through his brain. She’d used the same gesture twelve years ago to invite him into her arms.
One thing was damned certain. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he got Phoebe Lancaster Drew into his bed and out of his system. But she had his number and he didn’t like it. She expected a seduction, so he’d have to scale back and be more subtle if he wanted to soften her up. A grin of anticipation tugged at his lips.
He retrieved a legal pad from the kitchen drawer and composed a list of ways to get Phoebe to let down her guard, then he reached for the phone. Date number two would require a little help from his friends.

“‘Call me when you think you can handle our second date,’” Phoebe mimicked Carter’s deep voice as she accelerated up his driveway and into the shade of an overhanging oak.
As if she could ignore a challenge like that. But still, she’d waited two days to call. Of course, that wasn’t because she lacked nerve, but because the day after their first date had been the Memorial Day holiday. She groaned at the bald-faced lie…um…political whitewash.
Casual clothes. Tennis shoes. Nine o’clock tomorrow. Click. Her phone conversation with Carter gave new meaning to the term succinct. He hadn’t allowed her the opportunity to argue or to ask him to reconsider ending this nonsensical game.
She shoved the gearshift into park, opened the car door and stepped into his driveway wearing her new cross-trainers. Her heart rate doubled as she marched up the walk. The first date picture had been the one she’d already seen. Which one would Carter choose for today’s mystery date? And would she shove it in the back of her nightstand drawer with the other one or would she destroy it?
Destroy it, she decided. She couldn’t risk her grandfather finding it. The pictures were the only evidence of her wilder days. She didn’t want him to fear that she was like her mother—an embarrassment and a liability to his political stature.
You’re a selfish prima donna who never thinks of anyone but herself. Go. Go and don’t come back until you’ve grown up.
If growing up means being a pretentious old windbag like you, then I’m never coming back.
Phoebe rubbed her temple, trying to erase the memories of that last explosive argument between her grandfather and mother. Despite the passage of twenty-three years, she could still hear the raised voices as clearly as she had that night from the top of the stairs.

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