Turn Me On (Man of the Month 7)

"Well, maybe you can take another peek sometime."

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Amanda froze. She hadn't intended to say that--the whole point of tonight was that it was a one-off. A way to scratch an itch without getting mired in complications.

Point being, she'd expected and intended this to be a one-off. But then he said that he got to Austin every few months for work and asked if he could call her. And the only answer that sprang to her lips was, "Yes."

"Good," he said, that simple word conveying so much emotion it seemed to wash over her.

"I should tell you, though. I don't do relationships. My business is my relationship right now, you know? It's where my focus is. Something like today would be fun."

"Indeed it would," he said,

"Here." She pulled a card from her purse and handed it to him. "Business and cell." She licked her lips, then bit the bullet. "I really do hope you call."

"I will," he said.

She smiled, feeling awkward and a little giddy, then headed for the door. She'd just turned the lock, when he spoke again.

"I never did answer you."

"I know a lost cause when I see one," she quipped, then added, "Actually, don't tell me now. If we don't see each other again, it doesn't matter. And if we do, you can tell me then."

Still naked, he crossed to her in four long strides, his eyes never leaving her face. Without a word, he pulled her to him, then made her legs go weak under the force of his hot, demanding kiss.

When he released her, she was breathing hard, her body begging her to chuck work for the day and spend it in bed.

His smile suggested he knew exactly what she was thinking, but all he said was, "It's a deal."

Chapter Three

Anthony Winston took a sip of orange juice as he studied his son.

The ritual was familiar, if unpleasant, and Derek sat up straight and stayed quiet, letting his father see whatever he'd see. Not that the inspection mattered much. In Derek's experience, his father saw what he wanted to, not what was there.

With Derek, Anthony saw a screw-up. A man more interested in having a good time than working for the family business. Which had been true a decade ago.

But he was thirty-six now, and things had changed. The family business was important to him, something that he proved every day in the office, where he did one hell of a fine job, if he did say so himself.

He had to say so himself, because his father damn sure never did.

And then there was Derek's sister, Melinda. Derek loved her dearly, but Mellie was a flake. In Anthony's eyes, however, she could do no wrong. According to the elder Winston, the fiasco with the pool remodel she was supposedly overseeing at the Winston family ranch had nothing to do with her scatterbrained tendencies. As far as Anthony was concerned, the construction manager had been entirely at fault. Not his precious Mellie.

Of course, Anthony Winston's vision was much more clear where his business was concerned. There, every detail was seen, analyzed, and comprehended in meticulous detail.

Which begged the question of why, if Derek was such a screw-up, was he the one going to Austin to negotiate with the owners of the South Congress Motor Inn. True, the deal had been Derek's idea, but Anthony Winston liked to be in the thick of things. He wasn't the type to hand off negotiations simply because someone else had conceived a project.

Could it be that underneath the constant criticism, his father had a clearer vision than Derek had realized?

He didn't know. All he knew was that if he screwed it up, his father would have his h

ead on a platter, breaded and fried for lunch. Probably served with a nice Chianti.

Now, Anthony took another sip of juice, then scowled when Derek finished off his cup of coffee. "You should drink your juice, not coffee. That's your third cup. Too much caffeine dulls the senses. You need to be sharp."

Derek bit back a sigh, ignoring his still-full juice glass. "I'm sharp, Dad. Sharp enough to know that you didn't order me to the ranch this morning just so you could criticize my caffeine habit."

The ranch was Winston Ranch, four hundred and ten acres in the Oak Cliff neighborhood of the City of Dallas. Right then, Derek and his father were under the cabana by the pool being served breakfast by a waitstaff so efficient every one of them could have worked at any top New York restaurant. They didn't, though, because Anthony Winston paid them too well.

Years ago, the ranch had spread out over a much larger area and had been an actual working ranch. But that was before Derek's time, and he only knew about it because the sale of that excess land, coupled with his great-grandfather's decision to build a showpiece hotel in downtown Dallas, had been the catalyst for the Winston family fortune. Which, frankly, was vast.