Slow Hands

five-year-old’s face or a baby’s bottom.”
    He shook his head. “Uh-uh. A beautiful woman’s.”
    Maddy quivered at that. Though she knew the man was probably schooled at such come-ons, and made a practice of making every woman feel beautiful and desirable, she couldn’t help the warm flow of pleasure surging through her veins. Because he made her believe it.
    His lips quirked. “Uh, by that I meant a beautiful woman’s face , of course.”
    Remembering the second part of her comment, she inwardly groaned, mortified at having given the man such an easy opening.
    “You really are stunning,” he murmured, not handing her a line, not at all sleazy. Just confident of what he said. “A dark and vibrant flame next to all those icy princesses.”
    Maddy swallowed. It wasn’t possible that he knew her—and her reputation—was it? No. He couldn’t. He was using his wiles, his tricks of the trade, telling her what he thought she wanted to hear, like any good professional. Because far from being the vibrant “flame,” she was known as the coldest businesswoman in Chicago.
    Did he really see her so differently?
    “You looked entirely alive from up on that stage…the only woman who did.”
    Okay, boy-next-door or not, the man was good at getting around a woman’s defenses with that sexy-smooth delivery. Too good. Especially since she knew there was no way she could have him. Just the thought of what might have happened between him and her stepmother had she not prevented it was enough to make her stomach turn.
    Besides, never again would she be with someone who had sex with more partners in a month than she’d had in her lifetime. Been there, done that. Her ex simply had not gotten paid for it. He hadn’t needed to. He’d quite enjoyed giving it away for free to any woman he’d met.
    Well…she had to give this Jake some credit. At least he was honest and open about what he was.
    That, however, was as much as she was willing to concede. “I have to go.”
    “Oh, come on,” he urged, “please don’t. You’ve got to at least let me buy you a beer for saving me from utter humiliation in front of that bloodthirsty crowd.”
    “And from your sisters.”
    “Who are absolutely merciless.”
    His tone said he didn’t care, that there was a genuine fondness between him and his siblings. Well, Maddy understood that. Though she might have little to nothing in common with Tabby, that didn’t mean she didn’t love her. She understood the concept of loving someone even if you didn’t completely understand them. If not, she’d never have survived this many years in her own family.
    “I have one of those.”
    “Sisters?”
    She nodded. “And she’s also pretty merciless. Especially about getting her own way.”
    “I somehow suspect you can hold your own.”
    “Ditto.”
    “I always found that hanging their bras out their bedroom windows was an effective deterrent to future harassment.”
    Maddy couldn’t help chuckling again, unable to keep a smile off her face, dimple exposure or not. “I don’t know that Tabitha’s ever owned one,” she replied, thinking of her sister’s willowy, graceful figure. Tabby was Gwyneth Paltrow slender all the way. While Maddy was more on the Catherine Zeta Jones side.
    He glanced down, probably not even aware he was doing it. The glance was quick, not offensive, probably almost reflex considering the need to check out a woman’s breasts seemed inbred into male genes.
    His gaze rose to her face, but not so quickly that she didn’t see the way his jaw flexed and his eyes narrowed, shining with dark intensity and appreciation, all traces of that easygoing good humor disappearing.
    Hers disappeared, as well. Not to be replaced by anger…but by pure physical awareness. The roam of his stare over her body affected her just as thoroughly as a real touch from anyone else would have.
    Sometimes, she didn’t mind so much being the more curvaceous of the Turner sisters. Tabitha had the runway model shape and maintained it by eating as much as a three-day-old sparrow. Maddy, meanwhile, bordered on voluptuous, from her more than ample breasts to her small waist and downright generous hips, and fought every potato chip and cheesecake urge to keep it that way.
    Her body might play hell with her wardrobe, ruling out any cute little backless sundress or strapless gowns, which Tabby had by the roomful. But right now, at this moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care. And it