Dangerous Ladies by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online Page A

bath, massage, manicure and pedicure, spray tan, haircut and -style, the biggest shopping spree in which she’d ever indulged. . . . It was amazing how quickly one could spend seven thousand dollars when one was determined.
    Oh, and she’d spent time arguing with Kim about the execution
of her plan. Kim, who’d become surprisingly stodgy when it came to her younger sister’s morals.
    Who’d had time to call Tiffany?
    The faint sound of choking brought her attention back to Jerry.
    His broad shoulders stiffened. A slow, bright red crept up his pale skin from his necktie to his receding hairline.
    Good. She hoped he was embarrassed. She understood the need for him to search her bag, but she didn’t have to like it.
    He swallowed as he lifted the brief, thin scrap of silk and lace that would cover her breasts so erotically. She knew it would; she’d tried it on in the shop, as well as the other various sheer undergarments and bits of hedonistic sleepwear.
    He tried to refrain from looking at her, but he lost the battle. His brown gaze darted over her bosom.
    He saw nothing but a woman huddled in her black London Fog. As much as she would have liked to appear swathed in a gossamer cape, she refused to go out in this godforsaken Chicago deep freeze without her heaviest coat—and even it wasn’t heavy enough.
    He pulled his hand free of the bag as if escaping some fatally baited trap. “Okay. Do you want to, um, check the bag? I mean, do you want to check it so you don’t have to carry it? You know, get a check tag so you can have it when you leave?”
    “That would be delightful.” She kept her voice pitched at that tone she’d heard her mother use so many times when she wanted a man to do something for her. “Jerry, would you take care of that for me?”
    “Yeah.” He pulled at the collar that circled his linebacker-size neck.
    “And my coat, too?” She fluttered her eyelashes, the ones with the mascara the makeup artist had promised was like tar.
    “Oh, yeah,” he said.
    When the other guards coughed and shuffled, he realized how he’d been manipulated. Looking stern, he said, “The checkroom is right over there. . . .”
    She smiled into his eyes.

    In disgust he said, “Oh, never mind. Just give me the coat. I’ll do it.”
    She unbelted the coat. Unbuttoned it. Taking a deep breath, she slid it off her shoulders and down her arms.
    The silence in the foyer was profound.
    She looked around. Jerry’s mouth was hanging open. One black security guy had his arm braced against the wall. The other had taken a step forward. The Asian security guard was smiling as if she’d just had a vision—Brandi hadn’t realized she was a lesbian, but obviously she was. And of the Hispanic guests, the husband looked enthralled and the wife furious.
    So Mother was right. A red dress worked.
    A long, silk, sleeveless scarlet dress with, as Mr. Arturo said, “Two really elegant design features, darling, and both of them hold up the bodice.”
    Of course she was wearing underwear—a thong—and her stiletto heels, and a crystal blue bracelet and those sapphire earrings, those great sapphire earrings. But she hadn’t been absolutely sure whether she’d achieved the effect she sought.
    Until now.
    Yes, it appeared this dress, this body, and these shoes could stun every race, every economic strata, and both sexes. In any language, she called that success.
    Unfortunately none of these men were candidates for her plan.
    She’d made a list of her requirements.
    She wanted a man who was handsome, mature, rich, discreet, and most important of all, from out of town. That way, with any luck, she would never see him again.
    Even if she did, she was determined not to care. Nobody cared about their honor or their reputation anymore—witness Alan—so she sure as hell didn’t, either.
    A large arch led to a broad hall, and from beyond Brandi heard the chatter of men’s and women’s voices and the clink of glasses. She strolled