Heather Graham Read Online Free Page A

because of its potency. One thing he’d learned early in business was to take every advantage. He didn’t think twice about getting his prospective clients drunk, nor did he suffer the slightest qualm of guilt regarding the matter of seducing them.
    Ms. Ellie Exec, he thought of her, disregarding her real surname entirely. Sometime in the future, it would matter again. Tonight would be a special conquest. His secretary had learned that her coworkers considered her to be an ice queen with unbreachable defenses. She was the power behind one of the biggest travel agencies in California, and what she could do for his riverboat and hotel enterprises was phenomenal. A good night tonight and he’d not only prove himself beyond the shadow of a doubt, but after stripping her mentally throughout the day, he was truly intrigued about the possibility of discovering that her undergarments were as deliciously red and perfect as her designer nails and suit. He’d make it worthwhile for her; she’d remember New Orleans with fondness for a long, long time. By morning, he’d have a piece of both her business—and her.
    He lifted his wineglass to hers, smiling. “So you are enjoying Divinity’s?”
    “Le poison est magnifique!” she replied. Her French was good. Better than the usual dull, stuttering typical Anglo-American slaughter of the language. She had blue eyes and that perfectly coiffed platinum hair. He liked blondes. He’d learned when he was young that there was—no matter what the century—a certain contempt among many Creoles and Anglos for the Cajuns, Creoles being descended from the French and Spanish while the Cajuns were descended from the Acadians cast out of Nova Scotia. Coon hounds , his people were sometimes called. Coons . And from the most illiterate— coon asses . Yet lots of people got past prejudices. He thought he had, more or less.
    But most Cajuns were dark-haired. For some reason, he liked seducing blond women. Actually, he just liked seducing women. But blondes...
    The quick and easy conquest of a basically virtuous blonde always gave him the sense of a double-edged victory.
    He poured more wine into her glass from the bottle sitting in the ice bucket at his side. “I’m glad you’re enjoying our famous Divinity’s.”
    “Are you about to tell me it’s not popular with the locals?”
    He shook his head; his eyes locked with her blue ones. “New Orleans is world-renowned for its restaurants and food with sound good reason. The locals often come here. But there are many interesting places here. For music, for dance. Jazz. Café au lait. Beignets.”
    “Where is the best place for jazz?” she asked him.
    He arched a brow, a subtle, half smile slipping into his features.
    “A strange place.”
    “What do you mean, a strange place.”
    “You can walk down any street in the Vieux Carre and hear wonderful jazz. But the best...
    “Yes?” she said, leaning closer to him across the table. He spoke softly on purpose, drawing her nearer and nearer to him.
    “Would you hear some of the best jazz, then?”
    She frowned. “Is it in a—dangerous area?”
    He shook his head. “You’d never be in danger with me.”
    “Then...
    “There is jazz...and there is dance.”
    “What kind of dance?”
    She knew. Her blue eyes were wide. Her lips were slightly parted. She took a very long sip of her wine. Good. A few more sips of wine. A trip to the club. She’d be on him like a ball of fire.
    “Exotic dance,” he said quietly.
    Her mouth formed an O .
    “Perhaps too exotic for you...
    “Do...nice—I mean, er regular, women go there.”
    He smiled. His best, most devastating smile. “Even the most chaste of the Louisiana Old Guard go now and then. Yet, of course, it is a challenge, I imagine, for a woman like you.”
    “Do I look so stuffy?” she inquired.
    Another smile. “You are a beautiful woman.”
    “But a stuffy one.”
    He poured her more wine. “You are beautiful.”
    “I’d like to