My Daring Seduction. Isabel Sharpe

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СКАЧАТЬ there, Happy Valentine’s Day.” Lindsay handed Tanya a heart tiara. It looked adorable on her, even though the flashing scarlet hearts clashed with her red curls. “I take it you’re putting yourself in the love column tonight instead of lust?”

      “Yeah.” Tanya gestured to her midcalf red skirt and white shirt buttoned up under her chin. She tried to look dismayed, but was unable to squash her trademark giggle. “I’m not wild enough to be lusty.”

      “We’ll see about that.” Lindsay gave her a wink and smiled when Tanya started looking panicked. The dares Lindsay picked out tonight had to be the tamest in their chapter’s history. At worst Tanya would have to ask the guy of her dreams out for coffee or a dinner date. For most of the women that would sound about as exciting as an evening doing algebra problems. For Tanya, it was the equivalent of having to walk naked through the Boston Common.

      “Happy Valentine’s Day a couple of weeks too early, Lindsay. Hi, Tanya!” Sherry arrived, definitely lusty, wearing a midriff-baring white camisole and red shorts riding so low, they immediately suggested Brazilian wax job. On her feet, achingly high red heels that made her beautifully shaped legs look even longer. Every man in the bar must have noticed when she strutted past. Even Denver.

      And here stood Lindsay in her standard bar black with sensible shoes. Ooh, baby. For a second she stupidly wondered what Denver would think of her in shoes like Sherry’s. Even with them on, he’d still top her by an inch or so…

      Enough. She handed tiaras to Sherry and tall elegant Lauren, who could be either love or lust in an exquisitely tasteful, strapless black minidress. True to form, she politely greeted Lindsay, then made a bawdy comment about the penis garlands, which nearly made Sherry’s heart tiara fall off when she burst out laughing.

      The women kept coming, close to the full thirty-member contingent. Lindsay handed out tiara after tiara, keeping a smile on her face, hoping her staff could keep up tonight.

      Her smile turned warmer when three familiar and increasingly dear faces appeared in the line. Her half sisters: the youngest, Katie, tonight a very lusty French maid—the outfit in which she’d originally seduced her fiancé Liam thinking he was someone else; next Joey, equally naughtily dressed as a motorcycle mama, her favorite alter ego; and third, Brooke, the oldest—second oldest if you counted Lindsay, which Lindsay kept forgetting to do—who somehow managed to dress the right side of her body in demure bridal linen and the left in leather and chains. Love and lust.

      Lindsay gave the trio a quick wave and greeted a few more women in line in front of them. After growing up the only child of parents who’d planned to adopt more kids but changed their minds after the supposed hell that was Lindsay—never letting her forget it—having half sisters was like something out of a fairy tale. Forget that the Winfield trio actually got to live a fairy tale, growing up adored by their parents, surrounded by money so old it probably built the Mayflower. For Lindsay, it was fairy tale enough that they seemed to enjoy her company, treating her as family in as many ways as they could. More often than she should, she resisted, feeling like the dairy maid among princesses when she was around them.

      “Lindsay!” Katie gave her a bear hug. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

      “I’m working tonight.” She gestured awkwardly. Katie’s graceful exuberance always made her feel stiff and dull in comparison.

      “Say it isn’t so.” Joey came up for her hug. “We wanted you to be able to party with us.”

      “Absolutely.” Brooke’s turn, her hug was also affectionate, as was the kiss she planted on Lindsay’s cheek. A few months earlier Brooke had discovered John Winfield wasn’t her father by blood. The girls’ late mother, Daisy, apparently had something of a past, since the four girls had three fathers. One for Lindsay, who was given up for adoption. One for Brooke, who Daisy kept since she was marrying into the Winfield family while pregnant with her. Then the late John Winfield had fathered Joey and Katie.

      Lindsay sympathized with Brooke. Not only did she have to deal with a shock similar to Lindsay finding out last summer she was adopted—shock tempered with relief that the selfish parents who raised her weren’t related by blood—but the discovery meant Brooke wasn’t a true Winfield. Purely symbolic since she was raised to be one, but that detail and their shared physical characteristics—a widow’s peak hairline, wide mouths, high cheekbones and long narrow fingers obviously inherited from their mother’s side of the family—made Brooke more approachable.

      Lindsay handed her a tiara, annoyed at herself for not feeling comfortable enough to return the kiss. Her half sisters must consider her pretty cold. “Love the half-and-half costume, Brooke.”

      “Thanks.” She grinned and struck a pose. “I swing both ways.”

      Katie rolled her eyes. “We’ll hear that line all night. What’s the ’tini flavor this month? It looks red and de-e-licious.”

      “A Ruby Valentini. Vodka, pomegranate juice, Triple Sec and lemon.”

      “Ooh, sign me up for that action. You sure you can’t hang with us, Lindsay?”

      “You have to!” Brooke said. “Tell the members to get their drinks at the bar so you can relax.”

      “No, no. I can’t.” Lindsay shook her head emphatically. She loved the Martinis and Bikinis events but as the organizer and observer, needed to keep her distance. She always had something to do, somewhere to be, a duty to perform. Besides, drinking had landed her in so much trouble so many times she couldn’t equate it with fun anymore. “I don’t mind working.”

      “We’ll see about that.” Brooke winked at her sisters, who grinned slyly back. “Right now I’m up for checking out the costumes and the booze. Who’s with me?”

      The three women moved past Lindsay so she could continue welcoming guests. By eight-fifteen even the latecomers had arrived. She helped Margaret pass around trays loaded with Valentinis, which were being consumed in generous quantities.

      Miraculously, even though the rest of the bar had filled up nicely as well, the evening seemed to be going smoothly. Justin had entered that state of fierce concentration where he appeared to be making five drinks at once. He’d been the best hire she’d made except for Denver, who wasn’t sitting down on the job either, serving drinks, keeping the appetizers flowing from the kitchen—in short, filling in wherever he could be useful without any direction from her.

      Just before nine they intersected at the end of the bar, Denver’s arms loaded with dirty plates, her own carrying a tray of fresh drinks Justin had conjured in record time.

      “Surviving?” He looked at her the way he always did, like he was trying to see past the surface, dark eyes calm and thoughtful in spite of his hurried pace.

      “You bet.” She steadied the tray, unable to look away from him. “You?”

      “Fine. Seems like a good time all around.” He smiled and moved away. She let herself look after him for a few stolen seconds before she went to rejoin the party—and encountered her three smirking half sisters.

      “What?” She stopped cold, suddenly vulnerable and uncomfortable.

      “My, my. I haven’t seen that many sparks since the Fourth of July.” Joey took a sip of her drink and moved to Lindsay’s right.

      “Looked awfully warm in that part of the СКАЧАТЬ