Confidence Tricks (41 page)

“You’re disgusting,” she said, though Michael noted she didn’t actually move away. He launched right ahead.

“See, what I figure is you owe me. I’ve been doing some thinking, and I decided how I want you to make it up to me. And you’ll be happy to know it doesn’t involve honey or the pot it comes in. Or nipple clamps. Yet.”

She pokered up even more, so much that a light wind would have caused her to go crashing to the ground. Michael was man enough to admit that it turned him on. Big-time. A magnificent redhead, magnificently angry. If he could wind her up with a few breezy words, just imagine what some intense, one-on-one face time would lead to. Rolling. Pinching. Slapping.
Teeth.

His cock stirred, and his balls shifted. God bless those boys of his.

“I’m aware of…of a debt of gratitude,” she’d said stiffly. “But if you think I’m going to—”

“You have no idea what I’m talking about. I’ll have you know that director in there offered me the male lead for this naughty little play of yours.”

“You’re lying. He wouldn’t dare.”

Michael went smoothly on. “Oh, he did dare. And for your sake, I turned him down. I know how much it would kill you to stand opposite me up there every day—there are sex scenes in this story of William’s, right? Or is it just kissing? Maybe some heavy petting?”

Her eyes grew wide, the color in her cheeks mounting. He knew it must be costing her to remain silent and still.

“Well, the point is, I thought about how you might react to such news and said no. I hate to cause a lady’s head to explode. It’s one of my Ten Rules to Live By. Do you want to hear the other nine?”

“No. I don’t want to hear another word out of your stupid, oversized mouth.”

He held up one finger. “Rule Number One. A gentleman always sleeps on the wet spot. Rule Number Two. A really good gentleman does his best to ensure that there are, in fact, nothing but wet spots. If you know what I mean.”

She was unmoved. “Can you be a little bit less revolting for one second? Are you or are you not telling me you turned the role down?”

“Of course I turned it down. I’m now officially the Antony Understudy, unlikely to ever see the lights of the stage. And you are so overcome with joy that you will, obviously, say yes to coming to my party. I could probably even make some good headway on our underground love nest by then.”

“Wait a minute—you’re using my career to blackmail me for a date?”

“Well, shit. I guess I am. A fancy date too—meat and beer at my house, three o’clock. My cousin Jennings will be there, though, and he’s slightly off. I’d wear pants if I were you.”

Her brow wrinkled. “And then we’re even?”

“As even as my sword of truth.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” she muttered. “Fine. Just text me the address later. And for the record—I’m not promising to have fun.”

“With Michael O’Leary, baby, the fun is guaranteed,” he said solemnly, the twitching of his lips ruining an otherwise stone-faced remark. “You can always count on that.”

“I have never met anyone so unjustifiably enamored of himself than you.” Her words were biting, but there wasn’t a whole lot of energy behind them.

“I do my best,” he said, shrugging. “Oh, and Rachel?”

“What now?”

“My dad was the same way. For years, all while I was a kid, I was up there, walking the tightrope with him. It sucks, you know?”

She stared at him for a full minute. “Yeah. I know.”

“What’s the Welcome Home banner for?” Rachel looked up at the decorations—correction, decoration—and did her best to swallow her smile. She was not here to have a good time, and she certainly wasn’t going to admit how welcome an afternoon away from her mother’s house, where the whole happy family lived together, actually was.

But that didn’t mean she was above taking delight in the fact that Michael O’Leary was hosting an outdoor barbecue in the melting spring of the first weeks of April. Or that he lived on a working lentil farm, in one of a pair of twin Airstreams parked at random angles at the top of a hill.

Not that she’d had expectations, of course, but this—this went beyond ridiculous. The Mule couldn’t even be bothered to live in a
house
. She would have bet her life savings that the family toilet lay somewhere off in the distance, between a patch of trees in a hole dug just for the purpose.

“Maybe he just got back from a long trip,” Molly suggested. “I think it looks nice and festive. You’re going to be nice and festive too, right? You promised.”

Molly was like a giddy child, and Rachel didn’t have the heart to back down now. She could have, though—promise or not. Contrary to what the Mule might believe, Rachel didn’t technically owe him anything related to the theater, as he’d suggested. Dominic said there had never been a man more aghast than Michael at being invited to star in one of his productions.

“His exact words were, and I quote, ‘Awww hell no’,” Dominic had said with a shake of his head. “I think I may need to retire.”

No. It was the knowledge that she owed Michael O’Leary for the unspoken favor that was the real driving force behind her actions. Attending a thousand parties of his would be easier than talking to him about her mother, thanking him face-to-face for being a better friend than even her sister was.

She’d come. She’d see. Maybe she wouldn’t conquer anything, but she could at least determine if there were any chinks in the Molly-Eric armor she could exploit. Starting with the fact he hadn’t bothered to offer them a ride.

Already, the gallantry was wearing off. That was the first step. Next, he’d be texting Molly at all hours of the night and growing possessive whenever she looked at another man.

Confidence Tricks

Tamara Morgan

A life of crime is easy…until love goes all ninja on your ass.

Asprey Charles has always assumed he would one day take his place in the family art appraisal and insurance firm. “His place” meaning he plans to continue to enjoy his playboy lifestyle, lavish money on his Cessna, and shirk every responsibility that dares come his way.

But when a life of crime is thrust upon him, he is just as happy to slip on a mask and cape and play a highwayman rogue. After all, life is one big game—and he excels at playing.

Poppy Donovan vows that her recent release from jail will be her last—no more crime, no more cons. But when she learns that her grandmother lost her savings to a low-life financial advisor, she’s forced to do just one more job.

It’s all going smoothly until the necklace she intends to pawn to fund her con is stolen by a handsome, mocking, white-collar thief. A thief who, it turns out, could take a whole lot more than money. If she’s not careful, this blue blood with no business on her side of the tracks could run off with the last thing she can afford to lose. Her heart.

Warning: This book contains masked crusaders, a remorseless con woman, and plans to boost a ten-million-dollar painting. Expect high speeds and fast hands.

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

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Confidence Tricks

ISBN: 978-1-61921-329-6

Edited by Linda Ingmanson

Cover by Angela Waters

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First
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
electronic publication: February 2013

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