Brenda Jackson - The Millionaire's Club - Jacob, Logan and Marc - Black-Tie Seduction / Less-than-Innocent Invitation / Strictly Confidential Attraction

Well, she was going to ask some new questions. Starting today.

“Hi, Janice.”

Jake’s secretary looked up from her desk when Christine breezed in the door. “Well, hello. You’re looking…bubbly,” the secretary said with a curious smile.

Christine felt bubbly. And it was about time. “Is Jake in?”

Janice picked up the handset. “Let me see if he’s busy.”

Christine hadn’t even settled into a chair when Janice said, “You can go in. Great outfit, by the way,” she added with an approving nod. “I love what you’ve done with your hair.”

Christine’s new plan had called for new look. That’s why she’d headed out to the mall Sunday afternoon and spent some of her moldy money—Alison’s words—on some snappy new sandals, a pair of snug white capri pants and a white spaghetti-strap tank. Over top she wore an off-the-shoulder, light-as-air silk-scarf blouse in a soft pink print that gave the entire outfit a breezy, sexy and fun look. She’d also gotten a makeover. A short, sassy haircut and some makeup secrets made her look vibrant instead of invisible.

The look fit her mood. Right up until the moment she walked into Jake’s office. Then all of her hard-won confidence crumpled in the face of what she planned to do.

Can I really do this?

Jake had a smile firmly in place. The smile, however, deflated like a leaky balloon as he looked her up and down.

“Chrissie. This is a…surprise.”

More than a surprise. Christine could see that by the way his dark eyebrows were pulled together. He seemed wary about what her presence in his office meant. Was he worried about her reaction, given that he’d kissed her silly Saturday night, then galloped out of Dodge as fast as three hundred and fifty horses could take him? Maybe more than wary. Maybe he was worried sick that she’d read too much into that kiss.

Well, she hadn’t. But she did intend to stay the course.

“Sorry to barge in like this. I was wondering if you had a minute to talk.”

He leaned back in his chair. Tossed down his pen and gave her another appraising look. “Well, um, sure. What’s on your mind? Wait. Stupid question. You’re here about Jess Golden’s things.”

“Not exactly.”

Okay. This was much harder than she’d thought it would be. She took a deep breath, let it out and put it all on the line.

She blurted out what she wanted from him.

Then she waited for the fallout as a stunned and, if she wasn’t mistaken, panicked look froze on Jake’s handsome face.

“You want me to what?”

Oh, God, Jake thought. This was not what he needed today.

“I want you to make good on your offer. I want lessons on how to walk on the wild side.”

No. No. No. He’d had it all worked out. It was a done deal. He’d crossed the wrong line with Chrissie Saturday night—a line he’d decided he wasn’t going to cross again, no way, no how, no time. He was going to forget about her innocent, lusty kisses and go back to being her biggest pain in the butt.

That was the safe way.

But now here she was, all girly and gorgeous and pink and sexy as hell with that handkerchief of a top sliding off her left shoulder and leaving it bare. She’d done something to her hair, too. Cut it in a sassy do that gave the illusion she had just gotten out of bed and run her fingers through it—or a lover had.

And her lips. Lord, they looked plump and pouty, painted the prettiest shade that had him licking his own lips over the thought of licking the color off hers.

Double hell. Just when he’d had all his ducks lined up in a neat and tidy row, Miss Quick-Change Artist had come rushing in and sent them scattering in every which direction.

“Um…Jake?”

Her voice was thick with uncertainty, and suddenly he felt guilty. It wasn’t her fault that he wanted to turn back the clock to a time when the hot-looking woman standing anxiously in his doorway had been a stodgy, prickly, schoolmarm-of-yore type who had interested him only from the standpoint of how much of a rise he could tease out of her.

Funny how the tables had turned on that level. If he wasn’t careful, the memory of that amazing kiss they’d shared coupled with the way she looked today might make him rise to the occasion. Literally.

He manufactured a stiff smile when she eased his office door shut behind her.

“Chrissie. I was joking when I said that.”

You could dress the girl up in soft, sexy clothes, but you couldn’t quite iron the starch out of the girl. Her chin went up and her shoulders stiffened, and suddenly he understood how much this request had cost her. “So you didn’t mean it when you said you wanted to volunteer to teach me how to loosen up?”

“Um, well,” was the best response he could manage to say because he couldn’t stop looking at her, knowing that this new Chrissie presented a whole lot more complications than the old one. The one who would have poked him to death with her quills instead of melting into his arms like a candy kiss.

“Life’s short, Jake. You above all men should know that.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“And you got me thinking Saturday night. Well, not just Saturday night but all weekend. Do you know how old I am?” she asked, abruptly shifting gears.

She didn’t wait for him to answer but barged on like a steamroller on a diesel high. It was as if she had to get the words out all at once or she’d lose her nerve.

“Twenty-eight. I’m twenty-eight years old and I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I don’t truly know what I want out of life and you want to know why?”

“Um—”

“I’ll tell you why.”

He puffed out a breath between his cheeks and prepared to listen.

“Because I’ve never given myself an opportunity to think about what I really wanted. How sad is that?”

He opened his mouth but no sound came out because she continued to speak, her tone growing reflective and regretful.

“I’ve been too busy toeing the line. And what has it gotten me?”

He didn’t bother to try to respond. Clearly she’d come here on a mission to get some things off her chest—her soft, voluptuous chest that at the moment was pressed quite nicely against her silky blouse as she drew in a shaky breath.

“What it’s gotten me is respectability. Okay, fine. Respectability is good. And it’s gotten me security. Also good. But has it gotten me contentment?”

“I’m thinking the answer might be no?” he said cautiously when she paused and appealed to him as if she really did expect an answer.

“No is exactly right. I do not have contentment. Not for even a second have I led what I consider to be a contented life. Dull, yes. Contented, no. There has to be at least a little excitement for a person to be content, right? Well, where’s my excitement? Where are my thrills? Where are my…my magic moments?”

Oh, sweetie, don’t cry, he thought when her lower lip started quivering in the face of a self-assessment that was both harsh and humiliating. On top of everything else, he didn’t think he could take it if she cried.

He stood and made his way around his desk. Easing a hip on the corner, he crossed his arms over his chest to keep from holding her close and telling her there was still hope.

But then a big, glistening teardrop spilled down her cheek and he was a goner.

He reached for her and patted her back clumsily. “It’s not really so bad,” he lied kindly.

“It’s…awful. P-Prissy Chrissie,” she sputtered against his chest. “That’s what they call me behind my back. Did you know that?”

Oh, yeah. He knew. Was probably the worst offender. Her little sniffle twisted the knife of guilt deeply embedded in his gut. He patted with a little more sympathy.