Escaping The Bewitching Madness Of His Heart

thout flinching, slammed back three

y count for someone like you," someone

red leaned in with a sly smile, nudging several more bottles h

before the room erupted in la

her watched her with languid intere

uld probably send Madelyn st

p the closest bottle, uncapped it, and took

she wanted to clinch the project and f

letting the empty glass clatter onto the table. Locking eyes with C

d steadiness, though her cheeks were already tinged with red. She dipped into a deep, earnest bow. "I never meant to embarrass

hed up another bottle, unscrewed the cap,

ushed, but she straightene

er need anything from me, just say the word," she finished,

of annoyance, but Madelyn kept her chin u

warming her veins, she knew it was time t

Mall project, no one fits as well as the Brennan Group. We're not just bringing bottles to the table-we're here

ntrigue replacing his earlier boredom. "Oh? A

etheart, with a body like that, why not give Mr. Yates a show? There's a pole rig

aucous laughter, the ai

ed, his smile turning wicked,

-modest, with nothing daring about it-still f

rely drag, the smoke curling lazily from his li

her hips. "That sounds perfect to me," he remarked, his mouth curled into a wolfish grin. "If I remember right, yo

faltered, her post

r veins or maybe the old humiliation-eac

he said

t her an impatient look. "Didn't you hear Mr. Yates? He as

ire back, to insist

e couldn't risk leaving the Brennan Group, not while Simon's trail

let herself linger in resentment before straightening her shoulders and flashing a smooth, pr

r hairpin free. Her loose, glossy waves tumbled down, f

ned at the edge of the room, squared her shoulder

nd the cold steel and let her body flow, ever

between innocence and dangerous charm-a bre

she radiated a captivating magnetism, transfor

voice piped up from the cluster of men. "Damn,

ike that had long si

uning them out, moving through th

h, making sure everyone noticed as he dialed Br

? Let's make sure Mr. Mills gets a front-row seat," he announced, al

er chest arched upward in a striking display, caug

Miss Dixon is-putting on this special performance for

ered, suddenly rigid, the music fading in

ng impatient. "What are you stopping

cence, "You don't mind, do you, Mr. Mills? After all, Miss

d the line-until Bryson's voice finally cut through, cold