I'm No Angel by Patti Berg Page B

introduced at Morganna’s this morning.”
    Emma stretched her elegant hand across the table in the polite, sophisticated manner they’d been taught at Mrs. Alexander’s. Her emerald bracelet glistened. So did her smile. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Donovan. I’m Emma Claire.”
    Tom took Emma’s hand and held it tightly and far too long. Was he trying to seduce Emma now? Was he just being nice? Polite?
    Or was he trying to make Angel jealous?
    Ha! Like that could ever happen.
    â€œYou’re the purse designer, right?” Tom said, his index finger toying with the emerald charms dangling from Emma’s bracelet.
    â€œI started with purses.” Emma’s eyes sparkled as brightly as her jewels. “I’ve recently added luggage and sunglasses to my product line, and I’ll soon be dabbling in watches and perfume.”
    â€œI love a woman with many talents,” Tom said, turning his dastardly charisma on Emma.
    â€œAngel is loaded with talent,” Emma cooed,her allure just as dastardly as Tom’s. “Did you know she’s an expert knife thrower?”
    â€œSo she told me.”
    â€œDid you know she carries a stiletto with her at all times?”
    â€œI discovered that just last night.”
    â€œIn fact, Mr. Donovan”—Emma smiled brightly—“I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she has her hand on her stiletto right this very minute.”
    Tom grinned wickedly. “Do you think she wishes to use it on me?”
    â€œNot at the moment,” Angel said, casually leaning back in her chair, “but the evening’s still young.”
    Tom’s undeniably sexy gaze shifted to Angel. “It would be a shame for you to slice my throat before we discuss how much more money you want from me and what you’re willing to do to get it. And we still need to discuss the reason you and the guy with the devil tattooed on his chest were spying on me.”
    So much for being sneaky. Obviously she needed to try another method of operation with such a perceptive man. Maybe flat-out honesty would have to be the best policy when dealing with Tom Donovan.
    Angel lifted her glass of Perrier and touched the cold and damp ice-filled glass to her chest, drawing it lightly toward the hint of cleavage visible over her strapless black dress. “My reasons were quite simple, I assure you.” Angel smiled coquettishly, as Tom’s gaze followed the movement of her glass. “First, as I told you last night, I’ll bekeeping an eye on you to make sure you don’t do anything to bother Holt Hudson. Second…I wanted to see you with your shirt off and my efforts were well rewarded.” She winked. “Your chest is quite impressive.”
    Tom plucked the glass from her hand and took a cold swallow of mineral water. “If I decide to bother Holt Hudson, you won’t be able to stop me. As for your second reason for spying on me…anytime you want me to take off my shirt, just ask.”
    â€œIt’s far more fun watching someone strip when they’re totally unaware of your presence.”
    â€œPerhaps. But”—Tom reached across the table with her drink and skimmed the cold and wet glass over her chest—“you had no way of knowing I’d be outside, nor did you know I’d take off my shirt.”
    Angel covered his hand with hers to keep the glass from moving, to keep his fingers from whispering over her skin. To keep that damned lightning from streaking through her insides.
    â€œSpeculation,” Angel said, “is all part of a P.I.’s life. You learn a little bit here and a little bit there about a person, you add two and two together, and then you act accordingly. Sometimes your instincts pay off; sometimes they don’t.”
    â€œDid your instincts about me pay off?”
    â€œAs I said, you look rather fine without your shirt on.”
    â€œAre you always