No More Mr. Nice - By Renee Roszel Page 0,19
been working at it all day. Scanning those close-fitting jeans, Jess was highly suspicious that they’d ever belonged to the chauffeur. The way they molded to Lucas’s hips and thighs was obscene. The chauffeur was scrawnier, bonier. He could never have faded those stress points in such a shamelessly sexy way.
Against her better judgment, she continued to peruse Lucas. He was wearing scuffed, black cowboy boots and a heavy gray turtleneck that accentuated his dark good-looks. She sighed. What a shame such a wickedly handsome exterior was wasted on this cold-blooded man. She reluctantly admitted that he didn’t look the slightest bit cold-blooded, right now. Neither did he look like a computer genius who spent his days crouched over microscopic chips and wires. No. This minute, Lucas Brand held all the allure of an Oklahoma broncobuster—a bold cowboy who lived and loved by the seat of his pants, not a coldly calculating executive whose only passions were raw data printouts and stock-market reports.
It was funny how clothes could transform a person. She found herself hoping those really were his jeans, and that every so often he let himself be recklessly human. He’d certainly confirmed he was human, at least as far as being capable of feeling physical pain. Why, he’d almost been vulnerable, and for a few crazy seconds she’d actually liked the guy.
Her cheeks burned from the memory of crashing into his lap. She bit her lip, guiltily recalling the pleasant hardness of his thighs, the mellow scent of his breath against her cheek and—
Lucas shifted his glance, catching her in the act of studying him. She swallowed, spinning away. “Come on, Jack,” she coaxed, oddly breathless. “There’s a spot up front, next to the coffee table.”
He screwed up his mouth in a frown. “Naw.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” she rebuked with a weak laugh and a shake of her head. “Give a girl a break, will ya?” She took his hand and tugged. “If anybody bites you, I’ll sock ’em. Okay?”
He looked her up and down, clearly doubtful that she could do much protecting. “You and who else?” he asked, sounding bored.
“Me and that big dude in the turtleneck sweater.” It surprised her that she was giving Lucas any credit for being interested in the well-being of these kids—a man who cared squat about anything but money.
“I don’t think he likes me much,” Jack bellyached, eyeing Lucas with uncertainty.
She tugged the boy along. “Are you kidding? He’s crazier about you than I am.” That was the truth. Jess doubted Jack’s ability to stick with high school, his attitude being so sulky, but Lucas’s decision was final. “Come on. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Once all the kids were seated, she joined their host at the front of the room. “You want to do this?” she asked him in a low aside.
With narrowed eyes, he said, “Take a wild guess.”
She smiled up at him for the benefit of their audience, making sure he could read the irritation in her glance. “You make an effort, just once, and I’ll have a heart attack and die.”
He grinned down at her, his brief flash of teeth striking and irreverent. “A tempting offer,” he drawled. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Clearing her throat with dire meaning, she turned around to face the boys and girls. Holding up both hands, she signaled for quiet to the few who were still rustling and wriggling. “Okay, folks,” she began, “it’s time to announce the essay-contest winners who’ll come back here tomorrow and spend a week at Mr. Niceguy’s Thanksgiving Retreat.”
There was renewed buzzing among the teenagers, so Jess waved them quiet again. “As you know, there are a fixed number of slots for the retreat, so we were limited to picking ten essays. But as far as Mr. Niceguy and I are concerned, you’re all winners.”
She’d had a hard time saying “Mr. Niceguy” without making a face. Lucas Brand had proven to be no shining model for the term, but she struggled on: “Every essay was well thought-out and worthy of a prize. And as you know, even if you don’t win today, you’re all still eligible for Mr. Niceguy college scholarships, as long as you finish school and your grades qualify you for college acceptance. Or you can choose a technical school if you prefer.”
She didn’t go into the reasons why these particular young people qualified. All of them were aware of their situations—children of poverty-level single-parent families, or wards of the court in foster care.