“Stop fighting what you feel.”

Ryan took a step closer. “You know we’ve been headed for this moment from the beginning.”

Sunny didn’t—couldn’t—stop him as he covered her mouth with his own, slipping his tongue inside, caressing her inner warmth in rhythm to the pounding of her heart. Then his fingers moved to the tightly drawn sash at her waist, loosening it and letting her robe fall open. He reached in and touched her breast, skimming it lightly, starting a thousand fires just beneath the skin, fires that ran down every pulsing vein in her body and settled between her legs.

Ryan didn’t try to hide his arousal as he pulled her hard against him. “I have to make love to you, Sunny. We both have to know if this is just a fantasy or if it’s real.”

Her knees trembled, her pulse raced. This was the moment of truth. Then, almost of their own volition, her fingers tugged down on his briefs. She looked at him and caught her breath.

“You said your bed or mine,” she whispered. “Looks like it’s going to be mine.”

Dear Reader,

Joining the grand roster of Temptation authors is unbelievably exciting. And being asked to write the first book in the Sweet Talkin’ Guys miniseries was a particular thrill and a challenge. After all, it’s not easy creating a hero who personifies every woman’s secret fantasy.

I hope that this will be the beginning of a new and very personal relationship between you and me. So let me tempt you with my first to-die-for Temptation hero, Lord Sin. He’s an enigmatic, internationally famous exotic dancer, who’s determined to keep his true identity a secret—until he runs into a bright-eyed, idealistic young reporter who’s determined to expose him to the world. Lies meet the truth, sunshine meets shadows and the unmasking begins.

I try to put a lot of humor, joy and love in all my stories. After all, I come from the land of moonlight and magnolias where true love, hot sex and happily ever afters are very real to me. When you’re finished reading Baring It All, take a cold shower, then let me know what you think. You can write to me at: P.O. Box 67, Smyrna, GA 30082.

Sincerely,

Sandra Chastain

Baring It All

Sandra Chastain

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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For Ann White, who always asks, “What’s he/she feeling here?”

For the over one million readers who’ve read my stories.

Writing is the wellspring of my life from which I draw sustenance. You make that possible. I hope I entertain, satisfy and bring you joy.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

1

RYAN MALONE SAW HER the minute she walked into The Palace Of Sin. She was all legs in an emerald-green gown that was split from the floor to a spot high on her hips that screamed of her lack of undergarment. Her hair was Pretty-Woman-red, falling in a wild mass of curls across her shoulders. He had a sudden mental picture of those red curls cascading across a white satin pillow. He didn’t have to ask, he was already certain the color was natural. She was hot, ready to brand any man who dared to touch her.

A totally irrational jolt hit Ryan in the pit of his stomach—like nothing he’d ever felt before. He knew now what “knees going weak” meant. This kind of reaction was supposed to happen to the women in the audience, not to him. Wearing no jewelry, nothing to take a man’s eye away from the woman, she was spectacular. Still, an almost imperceptible slump of her shoulders said she might not be entirely comfortable.

Although he’d quit performing five years ago, this night would be the public ending of Lord Sin’s career as the most successful male stripper in history. And Ryan Malone, always in control, was suddenly awash in feelings he couldn’t identify. Nostalgia? Intense desire brought on by emotion? He didn’t know how to explain or control the turbulence of his physical reaction to the woman.

Normally, as Lord Sin, he would have passed on a woman like her and chosen a patron who was what he politely termed “lonely.” But nothing about tonight was normal, certainly not his physical reaction to the siren in green.

The redhead walked past one of the booths selling roses, paused and gave a puzzled look at the buyers. He frowned. Any other woman would have given the baskets of roses a smile or a glance of longing. But not this one. She took a deep breath and kept going, as if she were looking for someone.

But no one came forward to join her. Maybe she was alone. He liked that idea, then wondered why. A beautiful woman alone was a Ryan Malone thought and tonight he was Lord Sin. He also wondered how she’d react to Sin’s performance. Would she focus her concentration on him? Or would she be as indifferent to his dancing as she was to the roses?

He considered that and felt his lips curl into a reckless smile. Indifferent? Not if he had anything to do with it. Tonight he’d change his routine. Tonight Lord Sin would give his best performance; he’d play to her—alone. By the time the curtain came down, she’d leave The Palace Of Sin aching with desire. He certainly was.

As always, the front row of tables along the stage was vacant. His assistant, Lottie, earphone discreetly hidden in her left ear, waited below for him to decide who’d occupy them. Tonight, because the entire program had been designed as a fund-raiser, catering to the wealthy, she’d allowed for the possibility of escorts for the women, but so far, the redhead seemed to be alone.

As if she knew she was being stared at, the object of Lord Sin’s attention looked around once more, then glided toward the entrance with long fluid movements that verified his earlier speculations about what she wasn’t wearing beneath her dress. As she walked, he caught the flash of bare flesh, a warm peach color that said she liked the sun as much as he. He wondered if she looked like that all over.

A dancer or perhaps an athlete, her grace was obvious in her walk. But who was she? Ryan Malone thought he knew every single society woman in Atlanta. The cost of the tickets tonight should mean that the attendees were all well-heeled. Only wealthy women had been invited to the Valentine Gala at the Palace this evening. She spoke briefly with a big burly man carrying a television camera who handed her a microphone. When she stepped up and began talking to a couple just entering the theater, he had his answer.

She was a member of the press. One he hadn’t met. Must be new in town. He grimaced, a charged feeling rippling down his spine at the challenge. “Lottie,” he spoke into the mike attached to his jacket pocket. “Put the redhead in the green dress in the center seat.”

On the floor below, the elegant older woman looked up at his spot in the shadows and frowned. “The redhead may look like a society girl, boss, but she’s a reporter. Lay off.”

“I know. None of the reporters who tried to interview me ever looked like her. If they had, I might have been a lot more cooperative. Tonight, in honor of Lord Sin’s final performance, Lottie, I’m going to give myself a treat and give her the royal treatment.”

“What’s got into you, you rascal? You’ve avoided the press for ten years and now you’re playing to a reporter?”

“Playing. Yeah, I like that.”

“Too big a risk, boss. Tonight Lord Sin retires. As Ryan Malone, you’re free, just like you planned. Why take a chance on her finding out that you’re really Jackson Lewis Ivy? Unless you’ve changed your mind and want the world to know what kind of scoundrel your late father was.”

“I don’t care about Jack Ivy or his father. This is Lord Sin’s night. With the redhead for inspiration, my performance will be his crowning glory. Sin’s been good to me and he deserves to have a little personal fun.”

“Hah! Don’t tell me that. Lord Sin always had fun. I don’t know why you ever quit performing. You were a master showman. You loved the stage.”

“I loved the money, Lottie. I could make all those rich women feel good, take their money, and they never knew who I was.”

“It was more than that. You loved to make women feel special. You loved making love with your body and with that low, sexy whisper.”

“Still do, darling. I just do my lovemaking in private now.”

“Take up with that redhead and your lovemaking won’t be private long. She’s with WTRU.”

“Of course. The station known for its exposés.” He laughed. “I like it. That makes it even more of a challenge for Lord Sin. In spite of that dress, I don’t think she’s happy about covering Lord Sin’s farewell. I’m going to have to win her over.”

“Sin, don’t get crazy now and take a chance on ruining what you’ve built. You know that if anyone found out you were really Jack Ivy it could put you at risk again. That’s why you gave yourself a new name. Now Sin and Jack will be gone and Ryan Malone, real estate tycoon, is above reproach.” Her voice turned serious. “I think it’s time for you to find a respectable woman and get married.”

“Respectability,” he repeated. “Respectability was always the goal, Lottie, but it wasn’t mine I was concerned about.” His voice went suddenly tight. “I just wanted to give my mama what she never had. She may have been a nobody, but when I’m done, all those people who turned their backs on her, including my dear daddy’s family, will know and remember her name long after Lord Sin and Ryan Malone are distant memories.”

“Your mother would have been just as proud of Lord Sin. She would have loved the man you became, no matter his profession or what name he used. Now, are you sure you want the reporter to have the seat of honor?”

He nodded and watched as Lottie moved across the lobby and spoke to the redhead. Damn! He should have asked her name. No, that was part of her mystery. He’d know her soon enough. But more important, she’d know Lord Sin. At least, he planned to make her want to. For now, he’d just listen.

SUNNY FELT AS IF she’d been swept away to the land of the Arabian Nights. The building, with its onion-shaped domes outside and Eastern decor inside, was a bit worn but it was still amazing. She stood in the reception area stalling while she looked around. If this was the big time, she was going to have to find a way to fit in. Covering a Valentine’s Day charity fund-raiser where the prime attraction was a male stripper known as Lord Sin was a far cry from the investigative reporting she’d expected to do on her new job with WTRU TV. What was she doing here? She ought to be back in South Georgia covering the February meeting of the Kiwanis Club for the Martinsville Times.

“Well?” Walt, her cameraman, prodded. “Shall we go to work, or are we just a couple of groupies ogling the rich and famous?”

“We…we go to work.” But she didn’t move.

“Look, this isn’t exactly my cup of tea either. I videotape sporting events, not strippers.”

“And I’m an investigative reporter, not a…a voyeur,” she snapped.

“Not yet, Miss Clary. So far, you’re neither one and you won’t ever be unless we go inside.”

Sunny swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “Sorry, Walt. Guess I’m just a little nervous.”

He gave her an amused glance. “Hum. I would have said cold.”

In his Falcons’ Starter jacket, Walt was as out of place in this gathering as Sunny was in the slinky dinner gown. The butterflies in her stomach reminded her that she was country casual, not a glamor girl. The joke about everyday reporters was that you could always spot them because they were the grungiest people at any function. She still didn’t understand why the station had been willing to spring for a dress for her, even if it was her first official appearance as a representative for WTRU.

Her new boss, Ted Fields, had taken a chance on hiring her after she’d been…released was the polite term…from her job as a reporter for the Times. Calling herself a reporter was just an exaggeration. She’d covered local events and meetings, sold ad copy and written a column called Happenings in Martinsville, which didn’t even have her byline on it. If she’d described Candy Smithwick’s wedding dress wrong, she could have understood what happened, but she still couldn’t believe that her discovery of political wrongdoing had cost her job. Her editor, the man she’d thought was becoming more than just a friend, explained that the truth could hurt the county and her story would not be printed. When Sunny argued, wild rumors began to fly that her ambition had led her to speculation and exaggeration. Her credibility tumbled. In the end, she became the scapegoat and the politicians still had their jobs. Money spoke louder than words.

A flood gave her a chance to do some remote coverage for WTRU which brought her to Ted Fields’s attention. The hardest thing about relocating was leaving her father behind.

Lord Sin would be her first story for WTRU. Maybe it did make some kind of sense. A reporter whose credibility was zilch ought to be just about right for covering a scandalous event where a stripper was donating a million-dollar piece of real estate formally known as The Palace Of Sin to the Atlanta Arts Council for a community theater.

For now she was trying to get past the tattered grandeur of that Moorish palace and get her bearings. Ted had given her a tiny tape recorder, now hidden in her purse, and a guest list for the gala affair, with a few lines of description beside each name. Even if she was new to Atlanta, she didn’t need the notes to recognize two of the beautiful people, Sam and Nikki, hosts of Atlanta’s top morning radio show—their billboards were everywhere. With them were the mayor and his wife and the president of one of the local colleges. As Ted had forecast, the audience was mostly women. But what surprised Sunny was the number of younger women in attendance, and something told her that charity wasn’t what attracted them. She hadn’t expected to get a personal interview with Lord Sin tonight, but the number two man on her interview list, Ryan Malone, the real estate tycoon who was running the show, was missing as well.

She was ready to signal for Walt to begin taping when she was intercepted by a statuesque silver-haired woman in a purple dinner gown. “With Lord Sin’s compliments,” she said coolly, handing Sunny a ticket. “He’s arranged for you to have a seat, close to the stage.”

Sunny was taken aback. “Me? Why?”

The woman in purple forced a faint smile. “Lord Sin always selects a special guest to honor.”

“And he selected me?” She spoke with the same frosty air that Lord Sin’s messenger had used. “Where is he?” She looked up, studying the private balconies hugging the stage, feeling an odd sense of being watched nudging at her. Why would he select her? She shifted her tiny shoulder bag higher on her shoulder and said, “I’d like to meet him.”

Ignoring Sunny’s request, the woman withdrew her hand. “This seat is normally considered an honor, but if you’d prefer to sit elsewhere, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Sunny would prefer to sit anywhere else, but Lord Sin was her focus and she was not about to blow any chance of meeting him. This might not be real news, but Sunny Clary always did her job. When Ted Fields had told her that after ten years of unbelievable success, Lord Sin’s identity was still a mystery, she knew that was her story—her chance to prove herself. And she had to succeed.

Her father had gotten past the lies that ruined his reputation and sent him to jail for a crime he didn’t commit. On his release, he’d made a new life for himself, and so could she. She’d made a vow not to rest until she’d done here in Atlanta what she’d been blocked from doing in South Georgia—report the truth. She just hadn’t expected the truth to be about a male stripper.

“No, thank you, I’ll accept his gift,” she said primly, then squared her shoulders. If he’d selected her, he had to have seen her. Somewhere he was watching the proceedings. Maybe the green dress was worth her discomfort. He didn’t know that it was rented, that it was her badge of courage. “Tell Lord Sin I’ll look forward to being favored.”

The woman in purple cleared her throat in resigned disapproval. “You should also know that photographs are not permitted during his performance.”

At that moment the lights flickered and summoned Lord Sin’s representative and his guests into the club. Sunny suggested that Walt should stand against the wall out of sight and tape as much of Lord Sin’s performance as possible. “Let’s try to get a good close-up of his face,” she added.

Clutching her seat of honor ticket, Sunny stepped inside the main room and gasped. From the streets of Cairo she’d left Egypt and entered the Sheik’s palace. The stage was draped with a red velvet curtain that wasn’t one of the Valentine’s Day decorations. Overhead there was no ceiling, rather a night sky filled with twinkling stars. As the orchestra played “Some Enchanted Evening,” Sunny took her center stage seat at a tambourine-size table only large enough for her purse and a fat cream-colored candle that twanged when she flicked it with her fingernail. It wasn’t real. Somehow that seemed appropriate.

When the last strains of music died away, the curtains parted and a man holding a microphone and a rose stepped out. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Ryan Malone and, on behalf of the Arts Council and our benefactor, Lord Sin, I’d like to welcome you to our Valentine fund-raiser for the new Community Theater.”

From the moment Ryan Malone stepped from between the folds of the curtain, Sunny’s mind went into some kind of surreal overdrive. Her heart literally lurched and she could hardly breathe. The man was magnificent. In a black collarless tux with a crisp white shirt, Ryan Malone was tall and lean and dark. Ten years ago, every afternoon soap opera would have cast him as their resident bad boy. Now he might be older, more polished, with a hint of silver in his midnight-black hair, but the suggestion of danger was still there.

There was an enthusiastic outbreak of applause followed by “We hope to raise enough money tonight to turn this building into a state-of-the-art community theater. So, if you haven’t already done so, stop at one of our booths on the way out and buy your sweetheart a rose.” He laughed lightly and added, “Of course we’d appreciate it if you’d wrap the rose in a nice check for the Arts Council.”

Ryan Malone was close enough to Sunny that she could have reached out and touched him. He never made direct eye contact with her. It was just as well. She’d have imploded, leaving nothing but the green dress in her seat. Every molecule of her body was, for lack of a better word, shimmering. There had been men in her life before, but there had never been an earth-moving relationship. Not even close. Now she was experiencing such an acute physical reaction that she entirely missed what he was saying. Unexpectedly, he leaned down, handed her the rose he was carrying and winked, then stepped back between the curtains. The stage went black, leaving Sunny Clary stunned in the darkness. Ryan Malone knew how to get to a woman and he’d done it without saying a word.

There was a rectangle of paper wrapped around the stem of the rose that was probably a check. Great bit, Malone, she thought, letting out the breath she was holding. He was setting an example for the other guests. Apparently Lord Sin wasn’t the only showman present. And if he was half as sexy as this Malone, she was beginning to get a hint of the stripper’s appeal.

Next a local rock group recently nominated for a Grammy performed their hit song to tempered applause. Then the outer curtain was raised for a beautifully choreographed modern dance presentation, and, finally, an original composition by the symphony who’d donated their services as the orchestra for the evening. By the time they’d finished, Sunny had gathered her senses and given herself a stern talk about staying focused on her assignment instead of Ryan Malone. She’d turn the check over to the council and send the rose home with Walt for his wife. For now, Sunny Clary, inquiring reporter, was ready for the grand finale, the last performance of Lord Sin.

Once more the theater went dark. The orchestra began to play a haunting melody. The curtain went up, revealing the skyline of a Far Eastern city in the background. The stage had been transformed into the balcony of a palace in old Baghdad. Someone in the audience must have rubbed Aladdin’s brass lamp. Stars twinkled in the distance while clouds moved across the night sky. Sunny opened her purse and flicked on the recorder and placed it on the table beside the fake candle. The melody would be good background sound for the interview. The music increased in intensity, as did the tension in the audience. Then came a crescendo of sound and a swirl of smoke and there he was.

Wearing the flowing purple and golden robes of an Arabian prince, Lord Sin sat astride a white stallion who held its head as proudly as the masked performer he was carrying. The horse stood motionless, until his master dismounted, administered an affectionate pat and let him go. A shake of his mane and the horse raced offstage and vanished into the wings. Then the smoke rose once more and Sin was alone on the balcony. Clouds seemed to surround him as he moved stealthily forward, his body swaying to the tinny sound of the flute and the heartbeat of the drums. An intense inner passion seemed to drive the dancer’s fluid movement.

From the cobbled floor, Lord Sin nimbly leaped onto a wall, his golden robe billowing out, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of flesh beneath. Somehow, the music and the man gave the illusion of distance. Then, swaying and dancing nimbly along the top of the wall, he moved closer to the front of the stage.

Sunny felt herself leaning forward, shook her head and sat up straight. She didn’t know what the other women were doing, but she knew that this man was a master of seduction. Finally, he reached the front of the stage that extended in the audience. The music died down and she realized that he was speaking. At first the voice was just lyrical, deep and throaty, not so much words as sounds. Finally, he looked down into the audience and, for just a moment, straight at her.

He wore a mask that covered his face and head. Only his eyes and mouth were exposed. From beneath that mask a mass of golden curls fell across his shoulders.

“Hello, my lady in green. Welcome to Sin’s house. You know about sin, don’t you?” He paused and waited, as if he expected her to answer.

She swallowed hard and let out a deep breath.

“No? Then I’ll consider it my pleasure to make you want to.”

Someone behind Sunny whispered, “Oh, Lordy, he’s looking at me. I’m going to faint right here in front of God and everybody.”

The woman was wrong. Lord Sin was looking at Sunny Clary and he was talking to her. She felt every word reach inside her and snatch her breath away. There was no air. The crowd all seemed to inhale at the same time. She stared up at him, trembling, shaking with a need that came out of nowhere. The fantasy setting. The hypnotic effect of the music. Lord Sin was a David Copperfield illusion, a dream lover. The voice, a melodic whisper, indistinguishable, yet compelling, saying the kinds of things women secretly wanted to hear. All combined to weave his magic and create desire.

Sunny Clary was caught up in the spell of a master craftsman, the mysterious, passionate Lord Sin. At that moment, her rational mind knew that the story, whatever it turned out to be, was more than she’d bargained for. The sensual woman within her knew she’d never give up until she’d experienced the truth—whatever it was.

2

SUNNY GAVE HIM CREDIT, Lord Sin knew how to set a scene. There was a subtle scent of jasmine in the air, and the heated kind of stillness that would drive a passionate woman from her bed to walk on the balcony in the moonlight. The music softened to the lonely wail of a single flute. In the distance a drumbeat echoed across the night.

The low whisper of his voice began once more. “Just use your imagination, darling. Close out everything. We’re alone together. Feel how I touch you.” She could have sworn she felt a faint feathery sensation skitter across her breasts, as though she’d been caressed.

She gasped. How in the world could the man’s voice create such feelings? It had to be some kind of hypnotism. But how could that be? Though Lord Sin’s face was turned toward her, she could see neither his eyes nor his mouth. The deep fire of his voice was an illusion. Still, its very timbre fed the unmistakable arc between them. In spite of her best efforts, her breath quickened and she felt an answering throb inside her. “No,” she said. “You’re not getting to me.”

“I want you,” he whispered, as if he’d heard the words she hadn’t known she’d spoken aloud. “You don’t have to speak. I see the blaze in your eyes. Let yourself go. Think of how we would be—our bodies joined, our lips together.”

Sin waited for a moment. Then his expression registered surprise, as if some unseen spirit had touched him. He caught his robe, ruffled it and pulled it over his face so that he disappeared into the darkness. A collective moan rose from the audience. But not one woman moved. Other than the plaintive cry of the music, there was not a breath of sound in the theater.

As mysteriously as he’d vanished, Lord Sin reappeared in midair, atop an onion dome at the corner of the balcony. A violin joined the flute and drum and Sin rippled his robe once more, giving the audience a tantalizing glimpse of his body beneath as he leaped to the floor. Then the robe was gone and the man stood, silhouetted by the illusion of moonlight, his body nude, yet not, shimmering in the light. She could see the muscles in his thighs and chest quiver as he breathed. Like some jungle creature poised to ravage its prey, he was truly magnificent.

Sensually, slowly, his fingers began to move. He reached out, his palm touching the face of an unseen lover, lingering there, then moving down the column of a neck and lower, cupping the breasts of a woman who existed only in the mind of the watcher. He bent his head and there was no doubt that he was kissing her. With his other hand he reached down and seemed to pull her lower body to his. You could almost see her clasp his neck and arch her body upward. Like graceful, ghostly figures dancing through the silver smoke and golden clouds, he moved across the balcony with this imaginary woman. Like a man enchanted, he pulled her against him so that his lips could touch what no one but he could see.

Sunny didn’t have to be told that every woman watching could feel his mouth on her own. His breathing, fast and shallow, grew louder. Then, just when he seemed to have reached the point of an explosion, Sin flung out one hand, sprinkling the audience with particles of fiery embers that flared, burned out, leaving only the shadow of their path in the darkness. The stage went black.

Sin’s disembodied voice remained. “Oh, yes, my lady of fire. You want me, too. You feel my lips touching yours. Tonight, you’ll have erotic dreams of me and maybe I’ll come to you in secret. Not on a stage in a fantasy but to your bed, at the darkest hour of the night.”

A moment later he was back at center stage, on one knee, his arms extended. Imploring. His imaginary lover was gone, leaving him bereft in the artificial moonlight. He lowered his head and, almost in anguish, flung one arm across his chest. He looked as if he was nude but he was not. Instead, he wore a flesh-toned fabric that fit him like a second skin, revealing every ripple of movement.

The drumbeat grew louder. The man was on fire and so was his audience.

Sunny shifted her weight, trying to erase the responding quiver of heat building inside of her. Lord Sin stood and reached out for her. A moan and a leap took him to the top of the wall and back to a spot directly in front of Sunny. The skintight costume was so transparent that she could see the hair on his chest, the clenching of muscles in his thighs, the fullness that hinted of arousal. He was caught up in desire. If he was faking, Lord Sin was a master at his craft. He moaned, his breath turning into a gasping pant in the sudden dead silence. In search of his imaginary lover, the dancer swept about the stage, each move more desperate. The tempo of the music began to build once more. A woman across the room let out a husky gasp. Sunny shook her head in a useless attempt to regain control of her own mind and body.

Sin was moving toward her. Reaching the spot where she sat, the dancer stopped. “Don’t lie to yourself, darling. Your body is reaching out to mine even if your mind denies it. You and I were meant to be one. Together we’ll make a fire like you’ve never known. And when we love, the world will burn.”

The music rose to a crescendo and the stage went dark for the final time.

For a long minute, not one person in the audience moved. Sunny sat transformed, stunned. What had happened here? How had the man taken such overwhelming control of his audience? She felt her unused notepad slide from her lap but she hadn’t the strength to retrieve it. Her nerve endings were still tingling, protesting the abatement of the fire that had flamed them.

“What? How?” she finally whispered. “How did he do that?”

“I don’t know,” Walt’s booming voice said as he crouched in the darkness beside her table. “But I wish he’d bottle the stuff. I’d take it home and spoon some into my wife’s cereal.”

Sunny looked at Walt. She shook her head, trying desperately to gather her senses. “Did we get him on tape?”

“No, I didn’t videotape anything.”

“Did they stop you?” Sunny’s voice might be in outer space, but the rest of her was still in a fiery pit. The theater lights came on, softly, maintaining the mood.

“You bet. The minute I hoisted my camera onto my shoulder there was a man beside me, shaking his head. He didn’t say anything but I got the message. From then on, I was just a member of the audience. Never saw anything like it. I feel like I’ve been barbecued. From the inside out. Me—a guy. Don’t you ever tell my wife.”

“He’s using some kind of mass hypnosis,” she said, her voice tight and low. She leaned over to retrieve her pad.

Then she heard him. “Did you like my dancing, darling?”

“What the hell?” she swore.

“Not hell, darling, heaven,” Lord Sin whispered.

“A microphone,” Sunny said. “You put a microphone in the candle holder.” She stared at the device on the table. “When my boss, Ted Fields, sent me over here, he said you spoke directly to the women in your audience. I didn’t believe him.”

“Not to all of them. Tonight, I spoke only to you.”

Walt groaned. “The boss was right. The man’s a hypnotist. He’s got you talking to a candle. And heaven help us all, the candle’s talking back.”

“Shush!” Sunny said, her finger against her lips.

“Not women,” Sin corrected. “Couldn’t you tell? Tonight my performance was just for you.”

Sunny shook her head vigorously. Maybe she was kidding herself but she had the intoxicating impression that he was still as aroused as she. Was that the secret of his success, making every woman feel as if she were totally desirable? Pulling on every ounce of her professional control, she marshaled her thoughts and switched into reporter mode. “Thank you for the special attention, Lord Sin. But if you believe you were arousing me,” she added more bravely than she felt, “you’re out of your mind.”

“Oh?” He didn’t try to conceal the amusement in his raw-silk voice. “I don’t think so. I watched you. I know what I feel. Don’t pretend I didn’t get to you.”

Sunny swallowed hard. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m not easily—seduced—by a voice. You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Sorry, my love, that’s impossible. Didn’t you hear? This is Lord Sin’s last performance.”

“But I have it straight from your own lips.” She was thinking desperately. “Lord Sin promised me that he’d make love to me soon. What’s the matter? Aren’t you up to seducing a real woman? Or do you just talk out of your candle?”

He laughed, his deep voice soft and hoarse. “Oh, I’m up to it, all right. I’ll even admit it, you aroused me, too. It’s been years since a woman has had that effect on me on stage. Why do you think I didn’t strip to my G-string like I usually do?”

That thought almost did her in. “Considering the fact that whatever it was you were wearing was like wearing nothing at all, I hadn’t thought about your G-string one way or the other.”

“But you will, my beauty. You will. And if you really want me…I suppose we might meet again before I disappear forever. I’ve never indulged myself. For once, I just might.”

“When?”

But the voice was gone. And she hadn’t pinned him down for an interview. Her big chance and she’d failed and it was her own fault. Where had her mind been? Drowning in the physical sensation he’d created, that’s where. The scoundrel was everything they’d said he was. But who was he?

Sunny came to her feet. “Get to the front door, Walt. If Lord Sin comes that way, video him, his car—whatever.”

“Where are you going?”

“To his dressing room. Please, we have to hurry!”

“You got it,” Walt said, muttering as he left. “Wish I’d brought my wife. She’ll never believe what I saw.”

But a quick trip to his dressing room confirmed to Sunny that it was empty. Not even his costume remained. Sunny was beginning to wonder if Lord Sin was real.

“MAY I HELP YOU?”

Sunny turned to face the same woman who’d delivered her seat of honor ticket. “I was looking for Lord Sin.”

“I’m sorry, Miss…”

“Clary,” Sunny said. “Sara Frances Clary. But everyone calls me Sunny.”

“…Clary, but he’s already left the building.”

“I don’t understand how I missed him, Miss…?”

“Lamour. Lottie Lamour,” the gray-haired woman answered pleasantly.

“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to—to make an appointment for tomorrow,” Sunny said dejectedly.

“I’m very sorry but that won’t be possible,” Lottie said and turned to walk away.

“Just a minute,” Sunny said, “you don’t understand. This is my first assignment. Lord Sin donated this building to the Arts Council and I’m covering the fund-raiser for WTRU.”

Lottie kept walking, drawing Sunny away from the dressing rooms. “And I’m certain you’ll cover it very well.”

“But surely Lord Sin would want to be given credit for this wonderful evening.”

Lottie stopped and turned back to face her. “Of course, my dear. And you’ll do that, won’t you?”

“I need to talk with him,” Sunny insisted. “Every reporter gives his subject a chance to respond.”

“But Lord Sin isn’t your subject,” the older woman said patiently. “Your story is the theater.”

“No, the theater is only window-dressing,” Sunny said. “My story is the man.”

Lottie’s lips curved into a smile but her eyes were cold. “Good night, Miss Clary.”

Sunny watched her walk away. There was no possibility she was going to reach Sin through Miss Lottie. She’d have to find another way to get to him. Sunny called after her, “Please thank Lord Sin for the seat of honor. Tell him I look forward to meeting him again.”

She’d check with Walt but she already knew that he wouldn’t have seen the mystery man leave the theater. There were probably secret entrances and exits that nobody but the dancer knew about. She swore again under her breath. Then, confirming the presence of her tape recorder in her purse, Sunny hurried across the stage and down the steps. With the recorder directly beside the candle she had to have captured the dancer’s voice.

Dancer. She’d called him a stripper before but he was truly more than that. Showman, entertainer, magician, hypnotist. She’d totally underestimated the extent of his sorcery and the difficulty she’d faced. Even knowing what was said about the man, she’d admit it, she’d let him get to her. Well, she wasn’t giving up her search, but tonight she resigned herself to going after her second choice for an interview, the bad-boy real estate tycoon, Ryan Malone.

RYAN MALONE HAD perfected the quick change from Sin’s bodysuit nudity to tycoon tux. He’d broken every rule he’d ever made by continuing the conversation with the redhead after the curtain fell. But tonight seemed to be a night for change. Instead of leaving the theater as he’d always done, he was standing in the wings watching the reporter thread her way through the tables toward the reception area. Still more unsettled than he’d admit, he decided that Lottie was right. He’d be better off delaying his meeting with the woman he’d imagined he was making love to during his act. He’d told himself that his performance was merely a flirtation meant to show her she wasn’t immune to Lord Sin’s talents. Instead, without even trying, she’d turned the tables on him. That had never happened before.

Even Ryan knew that Lord Sin’s last performance had been his best, for it had become a two-way seduction. That hadn’t been an act. It had turned into a sexual tease that had left him totally shaken. What in hell had happened? And what was he going to do about it? What he wanted to do was find her, take her to his bed and make love to her in ways he’d only suggested. That couldn’t happen. Lord Sin had closed up shop.

But—

Ryan Malone could.

Reeling from the aftermath of that thought, he moved quickly past the guests, toward the front entrance. He didn’t know how he’d manage it, but tonight he was Ryan Malone the official representative of the Arts Council; he could do whatever he wanted later. He thought he’d avoided her when he felt someone touch his shoulder.

“Mr. Malone? I’m Sunny Clary, WTRU News. Will you give me a moment, please?”

Ryan turned. She was even more beautiful up close. Ripe, tangerine lips parted as she drew in a quick breath of air. She held out the mike with one hand and used the other to shove a tendril of red hair behind her ear. For a moment he allowed himself simply to look at her. Knowing that the camera was running, Ryan forced himself to focus on the future of the theater. Any seduction of Sunny Clary would have to wait until he was in better control. He smiled and said, “Of course. What may I tell you?”

Tell me? Tell me to remember this is business. To forget I’ve just been practically seduced by Lord Sin and that Ryan Malone is practically undressing me with his eyes. “Mr. Malone,” Sunny began, trying to control the jitter in her voice, “you are not only a member of the Arts Council but you’re also responsible for the events of the evening, the fund-raiser here tonight. Can you tell us how successful you were?”

“I understand that we did very well, but I only put the program together, Miss Clary. You’ll have to give the credit for the idea to the man who donated the building for a Community Theater.”

Stage fright was new to Sunny. She’d done plenty of interviews, but she’d usually been wearing slacks and she hadn’t been twelve inches away from the ultimate Valentine heartthrob. “Of course.” She smiled. “You’re referring to the entertainer known as Lord Sin. A friend of yours, I believe?”

“We worked together on the program, yes,” Ryan admitted, neatly turning her question into a benign statement.

“Like many of the women tonight, I have a rose that…someone gave me. Perhaps you’d like to explain its significance.”

“Certainly. On Valentine’s Day every lover gives his sweetheart a rose. In this case, the roses started at one hundred dollars. Most of our guests paid with a cheque, a very large check. I hope your gentleman was generous.”

She turned over the check wrapped around the rose and gasped. Ten thousand dollars. “Oh, my goodness. Yes, the gentleman was more than generous. Will you tell our viewers what the money will be used for?”

“Renovating the building. But the work will take more than the money raised tonight. The entire community has to become involved. We hope members of your viewing audience will call the Arts Council and volunteer. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Ryan turned and started to walk away when he heard the reporter call out.

“Mr. Malone? Mr. Malone!” She hurried. “Will you please see that this check gets to the right person?”

He stopped and turned back, his mouth tight with the strain of walking away when what he wanted to do was throw the redhead over his shoulder and carry her out to his car and—Damn! He was losing it. Making Sunny Clary the recipient of his last performance had fired his hormones to killer proportions. He’d better get away before he revealed the state of his arousal. At that moment, his tormentor stumbled on a worn place in the carpet and reached out to steady herself. He had no choice but to catch her. Big mistake. He felt a jolt from his fingertips to the spot on his chest where her shoulder touched and straight down to his knees. He couldn’t tell whether the gasp he heard came from him or her. “You seem a bit rocky,” he finally said. “Did Lord Sin get to you, too?”

“Of course not,” she protested a little too quickly as she stepped away. “It’s the shoes and dress. I’m not used to wearing them.”

His gaze flicked from her face to her feet and back. “Oh? Is nudity the dress code for WTRU?”

She shook him off. “I meant that I’m not used to three-inch heels and long dresses. I’m more the blue jeans type.”

“Too bad. And I was thinking that WTRU had given new meaning to exposing the truth.” His control was coming back. “Are you happy working there?”

“I’m happy. Or I will be if you’ll let me interview you.”

“Me? Why would you want to interview me, Miss Clary?”

She could have lied, made up some story about his being one of Atlanta’s most eligible bachelors or she could have told him the real truth, that what she wanted was to fly off to some South Seas beach and spend hours making love in the moonlight. But, she remembered why she was here and went after a truth she could tell. “Actually you weren’t my first choice. I wanted Lord Sin.”

Ryan laughed. “I imagine most of the women here want Sin.”

“Not wanted him. I wanted to interview him,” Sunny insisted. “But he disappeared before I could get to him.”

“Why would you be so intent on finding the man?” Ryan asked. “You really don’t look like a woman who is attracted to male…dancers.”

“I’m not. I’m a country girl. This is my first assignment for WTRU. Frankly, I consider this a fluff piece. I want to do more. But I have to prove myself. Revealing Lord Sin’s true identity is my ticket out. If I find out who he is, I get transferred to investigative reporting.”

Her eyes were green, not the emerald color of her dress but something softer. Now they sparkled with the challenge. Lottie was right. His attraction to this woman could be trouble. WTRU had a reputation for hiring people who went for the jugular. As innocent as she appeared to be, Sunny Clary would be a serious threat. If there was any way to tie Ryan Malone to Lord Sin, this woman might be the one to pull it off.

“And you want to report all the tough stuff?”

“Yes,” she answered seriously. “I need an interview with Lord Sin. I’d really appreciate your assistance. Will you help me expose the man’s identity?”

Ryan blinked. He’d been so caught up in wanting her body that he wasn’t thinking clearly. Her innocence was dangerous. She drew you in before you realized you’d been caught. She was not going to just let Sin fade away. He would have to find a more public ending to make Lord Sin disappear forever. Suppose he let Sunny Clary write Sin’s final story, the one Ryan Malone had created. Why not? Sure, Malone, and you’ve got your spaceship anchored in the parking lot for your next mission to Mars.

If the world learned that Ryan Malone earned his fortune from investments made as a stripper, he’d become the laughingstock of Atlanta. He had to get serious and find a way to stop her—quick. “Maybe I could help you. Let me get you a glass of champagne and we’ll find a more private spot to talk.”

“No champagne. I’m not much of a drinker. Couldn’t we talk right here?” she asked, moving into an alcove off the lobby. “Just a minute.” She reached down and slipped the back of a strappy sandal from her heel and kicked it off. The other soon followed. “Now, that’s better.”

Ryan clenched his teeth. Her long legs and her remark just blew off his newly gained control. He frowned. Misdirection, he decided. Put her on the defensive for a change. “I’m just curious. Most women love Lord Sin. Apparently he didn’t seduce you.”

“He tried. I guess I just didn’t buy it,” she lied. “Even years ago, this palace would have cost a bundle. He couldn’t have made enough money stripping two nights a week to buy a building like this, could he?”

Ryan swallowed his impulse to tell her that not only could he, he had. And Lord Sin had owned a hotel and two restaurants as well, one of which he still owned on the Riviera. Instead, he said, “Sin doesn’t call himself a stripper. And I’m told he owned several clubs—profitable ones.”

“Where I come from, strippers only perform at the truck stops and they don’t own them. Why did he keep his life secret if he had nothing to hide?”

“Maybe he had good reason,” Ryan said. “Maybe dancing was the only way he could get what he wanted. What would you do to get what you wanted?”

She frowned, chewing the corner of her lower lip. “What do you mean?”

“You talk a good game, Ms. Clary. Tell me, have you ever cared about something so badly that you’d do anything to get it?”

“Yeah, the truth. But it cost me everything. This story will give it back.”

“But you won’t get it, Miss Clary, not without my help.”

He watched her face as that thought churned in her mind. She seemed so sure of herself, so full if idealism. He couldn’t believe that Sunny had ever been rejected. Not the way his mother had been. The pain of that rejection had killed her and driven him to succeed. Now he’d finally done what he’d set out to do. The dream would be fulfilled in two more weeks. The children’s wing at Doctor’s Hospital, named for his mother, would be dedicated. Then he could relax and enjoy his life as a successful businessman. And the only way to be sure of that was to make certain that Sunny Clary’s zeal didn’t interfere.

He leaned back against a fluted column and gave her a heated smile, intended to intimidate. “You say you want an interview with Lord Sin. What would you do to find him?”

His question stopped her for about ten seconds. “I’d do anything, so long as it’s not illegal or immoral!”

Ryan didn’t doubt for a minute that she meant it. But he was certain the “anything” that came to his mind was not what she was envisioning. In spite of the risk he was running, he was more intrigued with Sunny Clary than he had been with any woman in a long time. She’d put down the way he’d made his money and she doubted his success. Topping it off was her challenge, “What’s the matter? Aren’t you up to seducing a real woman?” Her taunt was still nagging at him. Lord Sin might not be up to seducing Sunny Clary, but Ryan Malone was. “Suppose I could arrange an interview?”

“Name your price.”

Before he’d thought it out, he heard himself say, “I’ll do what I can to help you find Lord Sin, if I can have you.”

“Have?” Her voice quivered slightly. “Define have, from a legal and moral standpoint.”

“Well, I’m not talking marriage so that covers legal. And moral? I’m not even certain morality exists anymore. But, hey, I’m a businessman turned lover, not a philosopher. What do I know?”

Sunny was taken with a bout of coughing. First her attraction to Lord Sin, now Ryan Malone was making her feel like she was in South Georgia on a riverbank in the middle of June. Hot. This was not what she’d learned in Journalism 101. “I think I will have that glass of champagne now.”

He could tell she was delaying, looking for a way out. But he wasn’t going to give her one. Once he’d made up his mind, having Sunny Clary felt right. Like a business deal ripe for the taking. He told himself that burying Lord Sin forever was all the justification he needed for the risk he was taking to get Ms. Sunny Clary in bed. He deserved to have just one woman from all those Lord Sin had seduced over the years. He’d keep her so occupied with Ryan Malone that she’d forget Sin. “Don’t go away, Ms. Clary. I’ll be right back.”

But he was saved from the necessity of leaving her by the timely appearance of a waiter carrying a tray of slender glasses still bubbling. Without taking his eyes off Sunny Clary, he snagged two. Handing her a glass, he said, “I get you and I’ll try to persuade Lord Sin to grant your interview. Are you game?”

“What makes you think you can do that?” she asked, tempted, in spite of the danger Malone represented. Her father would have said, “follow your instincts.” She wondered what her mother would have said if she’d lived to see her daughter grow up.

“Let’s just say, given the right situation, I might. I can’t be sure but I know some people who can help you.”

“I’ll have to think about it,” she said, delaying her answer again. How had she let herself get into this kind of situation? Was the story worth the risk?

“Don’t think too long.” Malone warned. “I understand Lord Sin is leaving town. You may only have a couple of weeks.”

She took a sip of her champagne, wrinkled her nose and took another, seeking the courage she’d always heard came from alcohol. It didn’t come. “I can’t imagine that you’d want to sleep with me,” she said desperately. “I’m just a country girl.”

“I’m not sure I believe that, and I don’t sleep with women, I make love to them.”

She took another sip and realized her glass was empty. “And what exactly would you expect from me?”

“Some of your time, that’s all.”

“What about my job?”

“I won’t interfere with that. In fact, if I talk to your boss, I think he’ll agree that spending time with me will get you some special stories. I think it’s a win-win situation for both of us.”

She was shaking her head, one finger tugging at an errant curl. “And what would you do? About us? About me?”

“Make love to you, of course.”

“Ha!” The laugh was a bit shrill and ended immediately. “You can try,” she said, frantically trying to find words that made her sound more in charge than she felt. “But, frankly, Mr. Malone, you’re just not Lord Sin.”

Suddenly he leaned forward and kissed her. Just a light, quick kiss that warmed the marble floor beneath her feet. She felt stunned for a moment, then held out her empty glass like some kind of shield. “Mr. Malone, I think I should tell you that my father is a minister who once served a prison term for a crime he didn’t commit.”

He took her glass, placed it along with his on a table beside them and said, “I think I should tell you that I never knew my father but he should have been in jail. Does that matter?”

She shook her head. “No, of course not. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t. Shall we get back to our negotiations? You want Sin, I want you. We’ll take it slow. We’ll spend some time together. Two weeks ought to be just about enough time to give us both what we want.”

“My father would say that I’d either have to accept your offer or ‘cut bait and run.”’

“I think I’d like your father.”

“Most people do. You’re sure you’ve actually met Lord Sin face to face?”

“He and I had a face-to-face discussion about his performing before he finally gave in.” Miss Clary didn’t have to know the discussion took place via a mirror while he was shaving.

“If I were to agree—and I haven’t yet—I’d insist on one little condition. During the next two weeks, you’ll let me interview you. That way, if I don’t find Sin, I’ll still have a story.”

“Oh, you’ll have a story—even if you don’t land Lord Sin,” Ryan said, knowing that the thought of those red curls on satin sheets was clouding his vision. “I promise you that—lots of stories.”

Sunny smiled, hesitantly at first, then more bravely. “Lord Sin doesn’t have a chance.” She reached down, picked up her shoes and turned to the exit, padding along as if she’d always gone barefoot in a formal dinner gown.

“Neither,” he murmured to her retreating back, “do you.”

3

THE STAFF WAS GEARING UP for the eleven o’clock wrap-up when Sunny stepped into the newsroom still wearing the slit-to-the-thigh green dress. A couple of wolf whistles were silenced by Walt’s dry comment, “Be careful, guys, she’s just been on the receiving end of Lord Sin’s personal treatment followed by the Malone rush. We didn’t have to drive the van back. We flew.”

“Hush, Walt,” Sunny said in exasperation, “or I’ll tell them you got on the phone and talked dirty to your wife all the way home.”

“Yeah,” one of the announcers said, “and Pamela Anderson Lee is hot for my body.”

“That’s enough.” Ted Fields, the news director, walked from his office into the main room. He gave Sunny a long look, stopping at the top of the split in her dress, and grinned. “When I hired a South Georgia reporter, I didn’t know I’d found a sex goddess. Hold that skirt together and come in the office before I have to sweep up eyeballs.”

“But what about editing the videotape?” she asked.

“Walt can handle it,” was Ted’s answer.

At Walt’s nod, she followed Ted into his glass-enclosed office and sank down in the chair opposite his desk. “I hope I never have to do this again,” she said, removing her shoes. “This isn’t me. I’m the kind of girl who likes being barefoot—”

“I hope you’re not going to say ‘and pregnant,”’ Ted said, perching on the side of his desk.

“I was going to say ‘in the country.’ I really am a country girl, or…” she added with a note of wistfulness in her voice “…I used to be.” She twisted a tendril of auburn hair behind her ear. “If this assignment was some kind of kinky orientation, Mr. Fields, I hope I passed.”

“Let me see the video and I’ll let you know, and Sunny, call me Ted. I may be old enough to be your father, but I don’t like to be reminded of it.”

Rolling her eyes, Sunny sucked in a quick breath. “All right, Ted. It’s just that I thought when I came to WTRU I’d be doing stories on real issues. I might as well have stayed in South Georgia. At least the drought and fire ants were life-altering events.”

“Be patient, Sunny. This story on the theater is news, even without an interview with Lord Sin. I don’t suppose you got a picture, did you?”

“I wish.” Sunny rolled her shoulders and leaned her head back. “Oh sure. I got shots of the usual VIPs, the mayor and a couple of well-heeled contributors, but no Lord Sin.”

“I didn’t expect you to. If you’d managed to video him, the Sin Patrol would have confiscated it.”

“Sin Patrol?”

“Just kidding, Sunny. So far as we know, Lord Sin has been squeaky clean. What about the interview with Malone?”

She gulped and wondered whether or not she should tell him the truth about Malone’s offer, then decided that was personal—at least for now. “I did have a very strange conversation with the tycoon, but I didn’t get to talk to him for very long. He’s as complex as Lord Sin, and—” she added almost as an afterthought “—just as intriguing. He has promised me another interview, and possibly some inside stories—if I spend some time with him.”

Her boss let out a dry laugh, eased himself off the desk and moved to his chair. “Sunny, I don’t normally get involved in the personal life of my employees but I feel I ought to warn you. You’re new in Atlanta and you don’t know your way around yet. Ryan Malone is a pretty sophisticated guy, rarely seen with the same woman twice. He’s known for being a two-week man. Although I like the idea of some inside stories, you’re not ready for the Malone rush.”

“I’m not a child, Ted, I’m a reporter. Malone has offered me a good deal.”

“You sure you’re not just caught up in Lord Sin’s spell? I think the aging superstud got to you. My wife said he was…extraordinary, and she’s not easy to impress.”

“Aging? Boy, are you wrong. An old man could never have made the moves he did. He’s pretty remarkable—if you like that kind of thing.”

Ted smiled. “You’re right. The first rule of a good journalist is to keep an open mind. Let yourself experience the event first. Then decide.”

Experience the event? Sunny shivered. If she’d experienced any more, she’d have turned into a cinder in her seat of honor. “He’s impressive, like one of those new-age magicians, alluring, mysterious and hypnotic. I think he graduated magna cum laude from the School of Lust. But I’m going to unmask him. And I’m going to use Ryan Malone to do it.”

“I like it, Sunny.”

“You do?”

“I do—but the station can’t close down while you work on one story. I’ll give you two weeks and you still have to take assignments.”

“That’s all I’ll need,” she assured him. “If I don’t get something you’ll like, I’ll write promos and make the coffee.”

“You’re on. But remember what I said about Malone. I don’t want you to miss opportunities but I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Thanks, Ted.”

“By the way, how’s your coffee?”

“Lousy.”

“That’s what I thought. Now, go write your story.”

She took a deep breath. Get hurt? She’d been there, done that and had the “I’ve Been Downsized” T-shirt to prove it. She didn’t intend to let that happen again, either personally or as a reporter. “I don’t want to be hurt either,” she said softly.

Sunny stood, gathering her strappy shoes in one hand and holding herself upright by leaning on the desk with the other. She was physically drained. Thank goodness she wasn’t one of the anchors who’d deliver her story. All she had to do was type the words to go along with Walt’s shots.

“Hey, Sunny,” someone called out, “better hustle, thirty minutes to air time.”

“Thirty minutes?” She was a beginner on television, but she knew how to write a story. And she intended to get home in time to watch the story—only to see how well it looked.

She slid into a chair behind her desk and began to type.

The premier of Gone With the Wind at Atlanta’s Rialto Theater in the thirties couldn’t have been any more remarkable than the Valentine fund-raising gala held tonight at The Palace Of Sin, soon to become a community theater. But the star responsible, both for the donation of the building and the highlight of the evening’s entertainment, is no Clark Gable. Instead, he is the internationally famous, golden-haired male stripper known as Lord Sin. Tonight, Lord Sin packed the house with well-heeled contributors. This is to be his last performance. Now, here’s our own Sunny Clary with more.

Sensational journalism, she decided, cheesy but attention-getting, as had been her dress. She hoped the story worked better than the slit in her skirt. On stage, Lord Sin had professed his desire for her but apparently it hadn’t been enough for him to stick around for a more personal meeting. The only personal meeting she’d been invited to was by a dangerous real estate tycoon, Ryan Malone, who was sexy as sin and thought his father ought to have been in jail. At least he was honest if not honorable. He wanted her in his bed, and he’d told her that up-front. She’d never had a man be so blunt about his intentions, at least not at first. And she’d never been tempted to accept before.

But you’re considering it, Sunny Clary. Malone is your means to an end. If you enjoy him a bit along the way, consider it one of the perks of the trade, like a parking space or a company car. Like the green dress and Ted’s promise of a real assignment. Yeah…

She shook her head. It had to be the spell Lord Sin had put her under. She was thinking about him and Ryan Malone as if they were a dish of M&M’s on her news desk. She’d just eat one. Then the bowl would be empty and she’d swear off sweets until the next deadline. Still, she was in the big time now and to succeed she’d have to be tough. She didn’t have to give in to Ryan Malone if she didn’t want to. She just had to let him try to seduce her.

Malone couldn’t actually be serious about anything more than just getting to know her. He probably used that line about wanting her in his bed with all his dates. And she’d bet her last dollar that every one of them fell for it. He didn’t know it, but she’d be the exception. Her career was at stake. She’d win the bet. Using Ryan Malone to get to Lord Sin would be a challenge, but it would be fun. She could even turn the tables on him. What she wouldn’t give to bring him to his knees.

Bad image, Sunny. The picture of Ryan Malone on his knees was one of the places she didn’t want to go. She could only think of two things that came from a man kneeling before a woman, and a proposal wasn’t the thing turning up her pulse.

“Whoa, girl! Let’s get back to work.” WTRU reported the news and she had about two minutes left to finish the story. Walt’s opening shot was of the building, then he’d cut to her as she explained what the Arts Council had in store for the facility. The mayor would talk about the cultural offerings of the city and a few of the affluent Atlantans who turned out to make the building renovation possible. They’d close with her interview with Ryan Malone.

She ran a quick spell check and the story was timed and ready for broadcast. One of the advantages of being a local all-news station was that the story lineup was flexible, allowing for additions and changes at the last minute. If a story didn’t get on one segment, it would be picked up on the next one, then it, or an update, would be repeated at thirty-minute intervals until the news was stale.

Still carrying her shoes, Sunny slid the strap of her evening purse over her shoulder and threaded her arms into her jacket as she made her way to the parking lot. Outside she stopped and looked up at the night sky. In South Georgia a million stars would have showered the night with brilliance. Here they paled in the city lights, but nothing could conceal the energy she felt. It seemed the very air, filled with new sounds and smells, promised new beginnings. She took a deep breath of cold air and felt a tingle of excitement raise goose bumps on her arms. Staying in the southern part of the state to be close to her father was no longer necessary. He’d gotten through his own tragedy. Now, as a minister, called late in life, he had his own church, made up of senior citizens who needed him. He’d let her go with his blessings and a promise to visit as soon as she was settled.

Leaving the newspaper had been harder; she felt as if she’d betrayed her neighbors when she was forced to suppress her biggest story “for the good of the community leaders.” What she never mentioned was that leaving was, in some way, for her father, too. This new job was her chance to restore the integrity of the Clary name and she intended to do it. The one thing she wouldn’t do again was conceal the truth, no matter whom it hurt.

With a shake of her shoulders, she opened the door to her loyal old Cutlass and crawled in. The first thing she’d do when she got her raise was buy a new car, one with heat. Leaving the small building that WTRU called home, she turned north on Peachtree, driving quickly, lest she miss the airing of her first story on her new job.

Atlanta was famous for its peach trees. Except the only peach trees she’d seen were streets and there were dozens of them: Peachtree Street, Road, Avenue, Hills, Drive and more. But the Atlanta landscape boasted dogwoods in the spring and magnolias in the summer—no peach trees. Now, in February, the worst month of the year, there were no blossoms and, except for the Georgia pines and magnolias, few leaves. Still, there was an energy about the city that made her want to run with the wind. Soon she’d check out the jogging trails at the nearest park.

Turning into the driveway that led to her new apartment which had been creatively described in the realtor’s ad as a carriage house, Sunny smiled. It was a separate concrete block building constructed behind the house. At some point someone had used a pressure washer to blast away some of the layers of white paint, leaving a muted surface of old bricks on which the bare remains of rose vines and honeysuckle clung. She parked her car, climbed the steps to the upper quarters and went inside, flicking on the television just as the announcer introduced her story.

Walt was good. His camera work showed off the exotic decor of the building and caught the picture of affluence as the guests were served champagne and hors d’oeuvres.

Just as she slid out of the green dress and flopped down on her bed, plumping the pillows behind her head, the phone rang. Who would be calling her so late? “Hello?”

“This is Ryan Malone. I’m watching your story.”

Damn him, she hadn’t recovered from the last sensual onslaught. It wasn’t fair of him to invade her private sanctuary without warning. “How’d you get my number?”

“From the guest list. Your employer must have filled out the form for you.”

“Remind me to tell them not to do that again.”

“Doesn’t matter. I have it now.”

The camera was sweeping the reception, panning the mayor and his party, then, it moved across the lobby to the two people standing near the exit, a tall redhead in green and a dark-eyed, intense man in a tux.

“That’s some dress,” he said.

“Best free air time could be traded for,” she quipped. “I suppose your tux is custom-made, isn’t it?” Dumb, Sunny. It wasn’t the tux, it was what was underneath it that made her quiver like an adolescent.

“It is. Does that bother you that my tux is custom fitted?”

“Of course not. It’s just that like you, Lord Sin, this kind of thing isn’t the real me. I’m not accustomed to dealing with men like you.”

“We’re just men, Sunny.”

“Yeah, and I’m just a woman, a woman who never owned a dress like that.”

“Personally, I think the green dress was the real you. Of course, I don’t know what you’re wearing now.”

She glanced guiltily down at her nude body, at nipples dusky rose and erect and felt a hot flush spread across her cheeks. “And you’re not going to. Have you called Lord Sin?”

“I’m working on it.”

“I wasn’t sure you were really serious,” she said.

“Oh, but I was. I can see that I’m going to have to teach you how to play the game.”

“And this is a game?”

“Of course. We’ve already set the stakes. I have two weeks to get you in my bed.”

“No, you have two weeks to try. In the meantime you’re going to set me up with Lord Sin and I get to interview you along the way.”

“I’m going to try, but only if you’re trustworthy.”

“I’m trustworthy. I was a Girl Scout and Girl Scouts never tell a lie.”

“Then tell me we have a deal.”

There was a long silence where nothing but the sound of breathing filled the phone lines. Finally, she took a deep breath and said softly, “I won’t say okay to you taking me to bed, but if that’s your offer, I’m willing to let you try.”

“Good. Now, tell me what you’re wearing.”

“I will not.”

“In that case, I’ll create my own fantasy. I’d say your bed is covered in white satin sheets and, since you just got home, you’re still wearing what you were wearing underneath that green dress.”

She smiled, allowing herself to enjoy his teasing. “Oh, and what is that?”

“Nothing. Nothing except a suntan. How am I doing so far?”

She swallowed hard. “Missed by a mile. My bottom sheet is burgundy stretch knit and there isn’t a top sheet, just a comforter.”

He laughed. “You’re wrong, darling. It’s my fantasy and I’ll create it any way I like. Don’t you want to know what I’m wearing?”

“I do not. I’m going to hang up now, Mr. Malone. Phone sex isn’t my thing.”

“Nor is it mine, but it’s as close as I can come to experiencing the real thing tonight. But that will change. Tomorrow I’m going out to buy knit sheets and a comforter. Just tell me what you like. As a lover, I aim to please.”

Forget the telephone and modern conveniences like beds, she thought. They might as well have been alone in the tent of some Bedouin sheikh. Obviously Malone was a man who let nothing come between him and what he was doing. And what he was doing was seducing her, word by word, image by image. Even if the words weren’t whispered in that erotic, spellbinding rasp of Lord Sin, the husky timbre of Malone’s voice set her breathing aflutter. She sucked in a deep breath and turned off the television. The silence was worse.

“Tell me, Sunny, what do you want?”

“I’d like to meet Lord Sin.”

“You’re impatient, too, aren’t you?”

“Always,” Sunny agreed. “You can never count on having enough time later. So for me, there is no later—only now.”

“Oh, but there’s always later. There has to be. A person needs the promise of tomorrow. You use today to fulfill that promise.”

Sunny shifted the phone to her other shoulder, glad to substitute a good argument for the sex talk Malone seemed intent on engaging in. “Not me, Mr. Malone. I’ll take today. It’s right here. I can touch it, feel it, use it. Tomorrow? I don’t trust the hussie.”

“You have an interesting philosophy,” he said. “One that gives a reporter permission to expose, to bully, to abuse, even to be dishonest.”

“Sometimes you have to. Otherwise, given enough power and time, the truth can be withheld.”

There was a long pause. “And sometimes there are reasons to withhold the truth,” he said in a low voice. “But for now I’m going to take a page out of your book and use today—tonight—to get started.”

“Get started? On what?”

“On getting you into my bed.”

The man had a one-track mind. “That is not a done deal. I told you, you can try.”

“But you’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you?”

She squirmed and held her breath. She’d thought about little else. Even caught up in his fantasy, a tiny grain of logic still held. How could she be so acutely responsive to two men? Lord Sin was the fantasy, the unknown dream lover. But Ryan Malone was real. Thinking about him? If he could see her, the color of her cheeks would be a dead giveaway. “No. I’ve been busy,” she lied.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then you must be the most conceited man in the state. Besides, I’m beginning to wonder if you really can get me close to Lord Sin.”

“I can get you close.”

“When?”

Ryan let the seconds tick away as if he were formulating his answer. “When you prove yourself trustworthy.”

That stopped her. She wasn’t prepared for the seriousness of his answer. That was the second time he’d mentioned being trustworthy. What had happened to Lord Sin to make truth the most important thing in his life? Or was it Ryan who was so cautious? Finally, she answered. “You don’t know me, Malone, but if you did you’d understand that no one puts a higher value on trust than I do. It comes second only to commitment to the truth.”

“I hope you’re right, Sunny Clary. I’ll pick you up at the television station at three o’clock tomorrow.”

“Where are we going?”

“To get you one of those inside stories, at a birthday party.”

“Whose birthday party?”

“You ask too many questions,” he said.

“I’m a reporter,” she argued, “a good one. Or I will be. Asking questions is what I do best.”

“I don’t know who licked the red off your candy,” Ryan said in exasperation, “but I wish you’d stop bristling and go along with me. It will be worth it.”

Licked the red off your candy? That didn’t sound like a sophisticated business tycoon. To elicit that kind of reaction, she knew she’d gone too far. But she couldn’t let the man run over her. “You forget, Mr. Malone, even if I did agree to go to a party, I have a job.”

“The party will be part of your job. I called Fields.”

“You did what?” He’d said he’d give her stories, but this wasn’t what she’d expected. And to call her boss before he’d discussed it with her was inexcusable. “Malone, I’ll decide what stories I cover.”

“You don’t have to bring a gift,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “That’s already been taken care of. One hundred red roses.”

Sunny couldn’t resist. “Were they wrapped in a check?”

“Well, yes, they were.”

“From you or Lord Sin?”

“Does it matter?”

It mattered, she told herself. Attending a party with Malone was much too disturbing. But if it would get her closer to Lord Sin, she couldn’t afford to pass it up. “Just checking the facts, WTRU’s first rule of journalism,” she said. “The second is to tell the truth.”

“Is it? I don’t think I believe that,” he said dryly.

Malone’s conversation was taking a serious turn she hadn’t expected. “It is for me.”

“As a reporter, do you always tell the truth?”

This time it was Sunny’s time to hesitate. “When I’m allowed.”

“Good. Tell me, what are you wearing?”

She glanced down at her body and watched her nipples turn into dusky rose-colored berries. “Excuse me?”

“I said, tell me what you’re wearing.”

“Perfume and a smile,” she replied and hung up the phone.

Ten seconds later it rang. He was laughing. “What kind? And where do you put it?”

Before Sunny could throw the phone across the room, it went dead. Ryan Malone was obviously taking lessons from Lord Sin. Excite, titillate and leave the object of your attention panting in the dark.

It was working. Every part of her seemed to be shivering, pulling in a different direction. She pulled on a faded Miami Dolphins T-shirt, hoping to erase the tingling sensation of her bare body against her sheets. It didn’t work. She ought to just sleep in the green satin dinner gown. There’d be no friction there. The infamous dress lay puddled on the floor like a melted lollipop. Melted. She’d got that right. Still flushed and totally frustrated, she grabbed the dress, hung it in her closet out of sight and climbed into her bed. Switching off the light, she lay in the darkness.

Back home, as she unwound, she’d have heard the night birds calling, or the occasional wail of a coon dog hot on the trail of a wild animal. She felt a little like that animal. Winded, out of breath and being pursued.

Overstimulated from the excitement of the evening, she felt as if she were hurtling through the darkness in fast forward. Facing down hardened criminals or politicians under fire couldn’t be as difficult as the emotional turmoil she’d been through tonight, first as the object of Lord Sin’s attention, then Ryan Malone’s, the two sexiest men in Atlanta.

She came to her feet and moved to the window. Here she only heard the sound of traffic, an occasional car horn and the scrape of a branch against her windowpane. She leaned her forehead on the glass and wished she could pick up the phone and call…whom? There was no one she could talk to about this. She was alone, just as she’d been ever since her father had gone to jail. She’d lost him for a time to depression and despair. Even now that they were past that, things were not the same. She was still his daughter, but she wasn’t his little girl anymore.

The phone rang again.

Sunny grabbed the receiver. “Now listen to me. If you don’t let me get some sleep I’ll spend the next two weeks in my own bed—alone.”

It was Ted Fields’s amused voice that said, “I’d say that’s the smart thing to do. But I need you at the station tomorrow and I think Walt’s going to have a hard time pushing your bed up Peachtree Street.”

She closed her eyes and counted to ten before she said, “Malone called you.”

“He did. But you don’t have to go. I could always send you and Walt to cover the Southlake Mall beauty contest instead. They’ll be crowning a Sweetheart of Love in three age groups, starting with the toddlers.”

Sunny groaned. “First a stripper, then a beauty contest for rug rats. Please, Ted, give me something with teeth.”

“Sorry. If you’re looking for teeth, I don’t think this birthday party will qualify. Unless you’re willing to accept the false kind. The youngest guests will probably be in their sixties.”

“Senior citizens?” Sunny groaned. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because Malone asked for you and Malone is good news. I’ll see you in the morning, Sunny, but I’m sending you to the retirement home tomorrow afternoon—with Walt. If you want to go home with Malone, it’s up to you.”

“It’s a conspiracy. I came here to expose corruption and you’re shipping me off to an old folks’ home for tea and crumpets. I suppose you have instructions on what I should wear?”

“No. You made a good choice the last time, I’ll leave your wardrobe up to you.”

“Fine. But I’ll need to be a few minutes late in the morning. I have to do some quick shopping.”

“Shopping?” Ted said, his voice a bit puzzled. “You’re not going for a wheelchair are you? Having Walt push your bed was a joke.”

“Don’t worry, Ted. You can trust me not to embarrass you. I’m the Good-News Girl, remember? At least until I get my big story.”

At least Ted’s call took care of her decision. He’d made it for her. But in her gut she’d known she would have gone with Malone anyway. She was glad Ted hadn’t forced her to be specific about her shopping expedition. He’d never understand why she was buying sheets, plain, white cotton sheets with old-fashioned lace on the hem. She didn’t intend to allow Ryan Malone to ever see her bed, but knowing that she’d destroyed whatever new fantasy he was creating would make her feel as if she’d won her first skirmish.

She went to her closet and considered what she would wear. No more green dresses. Tomorrow Sunny Clary would be strictly business, from the inside out.

Tomorrow she’d be dressed in black. And, this time, the dress wouldn’t be all she was wearing.

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