Love the One You're With (Sex, Love & Stiletto 2)

And this black dress was nothing like any of the conservative sheath-style dresses she had at home. Somehow the dress managed to be subtle and provocative at the same time. The draped cowl neck gave the impression of being demure at first, but the second glance revealed a rather dramatic drop. One that showed off the twins quite nicely, if she did say so herself.

Sure, the poor girls were maybe just a little uncomfortable being shoved up to her collarbone this way, thanks to a push-up bra that had cost almost as much as the dress itself. But it had been worth it for the flash of admiration in Jake Malone’s brown eyes.

And he hadn’t even seen the back of the dress yet.

She felt a bit scandalous. And just the tiiiiiiniest bit slutty.

She was loving it. This was a 2.0 dress.

“So you’re Grace Brighton,” he said, mostly to himself.

Grace pretended to jot her story notes on her hand. “First impression of Jake Malone—super quick on the uptake.”

He leaned back in his chair and breathed out a long breath. “I’m going to need another drink.”

“Have at it. We’ve got all night,” she said in a sultry voice.

His eyes snapped to hers, and Grace felt her belly tighten. What the hell was she doing? Where was this come-hither version of herself coming from?

It wasn’t her usual routine.

This vampy, sex-kitten routine had always belonged to Riley. And the flirty “gotcha” vibe had been Julie’s.

So what had been Grace’s shtick?

Hell, she couldn’t remember.

Had she even had one? Somehow she didn’t think that accidentally dropping your pencil in college and then planning to marry the guy who picked it up just because he had a nice smile counted as a shtick.

It was mostly just pathetic.

“So how do we do this?” Grace asked, tearing her eyes away from Jake’s. “How are we supposed to evaluate the other when we both know the other’s evaluating us?”

“We forget about all that.”

Impossible. “I don’t think so,” she muttered.

“You know, in some ways it’s actually fortuitous that we’ve met before,” he said cheerfully. His brief discomfort over her little surprise was seemingly a thing of the past. “Now we can pretend that this is happening organically. We can just forget that this is business, and think back to that taxi ride. Think about the goose bumps you got when I touched your hand before you went scampering out.”

She pursed her lips. How had he known?

“I did not have goose bumps,” she lied.

He continued as though she hadn’t spoken, slowly reaching out a hand to wrap his fingers around her wrist.

“Now, let’s pretend that instead of running away, you’d stayed,” he said huskily. “Let’s pretend that you gave me a chance to do what I wanted to do in that taxi. Let’s say I asked you out. Can you envision it?”

“No,” she breathed. “No,” she repeated, louder this time. God, was she sweating?

“I would have said, ‘Have drinks with me. Say, Lambs Club? Thursday?’ ”

Grace found she couldn’t look away. His hand found hers, and his thumb was moving over her wrist just as it had in the cab that morning.

Damn, he was good.

But this was exactly why she’d accepted this gig. To show the world that she was good too. And nobody’s fool. Grace 2.0 gave her a little slap. Get back on track. He’s playing you.

Grace leaned in just the tiniest bit, savoring the way his eyes dipped briefly to her chest. “Let me guess,” she said. “That little thumb across the pulse routine lands the date nine out of ten times, am I right?”