Getting It Good!. Rhonda Nelson

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СКАЧАТЬ voice “—and raise you a secret fantasy.”

      Zora arched a brow and thoughtfully tapped her cards. A secret fantasy, eh? Tate was a conservative player, didn’t raise the stakes unless he was confident of the outcome, therefore one could reasonably assume that he had one helluva hand.

      With effort, she suppressed a small smile. Even a helluva hand wasn’t going to beat the one she currently held. The odds that he had the only hand that would beat it were too slim. Out of the realm of true possibility.

      In other words, she had him.

      Though every nerve tingled with excited energy, Zora pretended to consider her cards once more, then let her gaze tangle with his. She cocked her head. “Why don’t we make this a little more interesting?”

      Tate’s eyes instantly sparkled with smoky arousal. “Oh? How so?”

      She leaned forward. “Let’s forget Dirty Poker for the moment and talk about matchmaking between a couple of mutual friends.”

      The abrupt change in subject matter cleared the heat from his gaze. Tate heaved a long-suffering sigh and simultaneously slouched back in his seat. “Zora, do we honestly have to have this conversation again? We shouldn’t meddle. It’s rude.”

      “It’s only rude if we’re wrong. And we’re not. You know they’re perfect for each other.” An argument she’d presented for months, yet Tate still firmly refused to “meddle.”

      “No, I don’t. I suspect that they would suit. However, I don’t know and, more to the point, neither do you.” He paused. “Jesus. They can’t be in a room together without verbal bloodshed.”

      That was true, Zora had to concur. Frankie Salvaterra and Ross Hartford seemed to dislike each other simply for the pure sport of it. Though they both claimed to detest the other, they nevertheless never missed an opportunity to argue or disagree. One would think that where so much animosity existed, they would both go out of their way to avoid the other—and yet, curiously, they didn’t. In fact, Zora suspected they secretly enjoyed their little battles and she further suspected that there was an underlying reason for their exaggerated aversion—intense sexual attraction. The very air around them seemed to vibrate with it, shimmery and warm. Hell, she could feel it.

      Tate gave his head an uncertain shake and winced. “It would never work, Zora. They’re like oil and water.”

      “Or oil and gasoline,” she countered, more convinced than ever that she was right. After all, that’s what everyone had thought about them, too. Tate had been the bane of her existence, a thorn in her side, had crashed her first Chicks-In-Charge conference, intent on gathering unflattering book fodder for his next release…and she’d ended up marrying him. What had been the odds of that? That they’d ever suit? And yet she loved him more with each passing day. Zora let go a sigh. “I think you’re wrong, and if I win this hand, then you have to help me set them up.”

      He groaned. “That’s what you meant by ‘let’s make it interesting’?”

      She nodded. “Yep.”

      Tate glanced idly at his cards and something about that careless regard made her inexplicably nervous. “And what do I get if I win?”

      Since there was no way she could possibly lose this hand, Zora hadn’t considered what she’d offer in return. But she’d indulge him. She smiled, lowered her voice, and let her gaze purposefully drop to his mouth. “What do you want?”

      Tate was silent for the better part of a minute, then a slow calculating grin that made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end spread across his too handsome face. “I want you to hire Ross, let him come to work at Chicks-In-Charge.”

      “What?”

      Tate nodded, clearly pleased with his choice. And no wonder. As founder of Chicks-In-Charge—a national organization designed expressly for the purpose of empowering women—Zora was adamantly opposed to hiring men for any of her ventures. Sexist? Yes. But she’d been burned very badly by a former boyfriend/boss—which was how Chicks-In-Charge had gotten its start in the first place—and so far the concept had worked very well for her. She provided a completely testosterone-free workplace and all of her employees loved it.

      Zora frowned thoughtfully. Particularly Frankie, who’d been scorched pretty badly by her father. “You know I can’t do that,” Zora finally said, mildly irritated. Hell, she’d compromised her principles enough by getting married. Hire a man? No way. “Besides, he has a job. He wouldn’t take it.”

      “Oh, I can guarantee that he would take it.” An evil sort of glee clung to his smile. “If he wants the Maxwell account he’ll take it.” Tate’s advertising firm held the prestigious honor of catering to many of the larger men’s market accounts, and the Maxwell account was an especially juicy plum.

      Zora gasped. “Tate, that’s horrible.” And, yet so diabolical she found it sexy. “Hadn’t you planned on giving him that account anyway?”

      Smiling, he nodded. “Yeah…but he doesn’t know that. Besides, it would be worth it to see you add a man to your payroll.” He shifted in his seat, looked heavenward and heaved a dramatic sigh. “God, would it ever be worth it.”

      “You know I can’t do that,” Zora replied tightly. “Pick something else. Anything else.”

      “Nope. That’s what I want,” he insisted, to Zora’s supreme irritation. He thoughtfully considered her once more and one side of his mouth kicked up in a faintly smug smile. “Guess you’re not as confident as I thought you were. That, or you just don’t want this bad enough.”

      Though she knew better than to react, the somewhat mocking taunt overrode her initial hesitation. “Oh, I’m confident, and I most definitely want this.” Frankie needed someone. Desperately. And Zora simply knew—knew—that Ross was the man for her. Besides, there was simply no way Tate could beat her hand. The odds were too great against it. Still, if hell froze over and she did lose this hand, then it would be better to have set a few conditions and parameters. “Temporary employment?”

      “Define ‘temporary.’”

      “An hour.”

      Tate laughed. “Not long enough. Try a month.”

      “In your dreams. A week tops,” Zora countered.

      He nodded succinctly. “Done. What have you got?”

      Now, for the moment of truth. Zora grinned and carefully spread her hand down on the table. “I’ve got a straight flush, baby. Read ’em and weep.” She threw her head back and a giddy burst of triumphant laughter bubbled up her throat.

      Tate hummed under his breath and his head bobbed a single nod of agreement. “That is a good hand,” he conceded lightly. “But mine’s better—”

      Zora’s gleeful chortling came to an abrupt halt and the smile slid from her face. “What?”

      “—because I’ve got a royal flush.” Tate laid his cards down on the table.

      Stunned, Zora shook her head. Dread curdled in her stomach. “No,” she said faintly. “But you can’t—I—It’s not possible.”

      He smiled. СКАЧАТЬ