Malory closed the door, carefully locked it, then wove her way to the bedroom. Unable to resist, she stood in front of the mirror and experimented with the new cut, tossing her hair, tilting her head at different angles.

She couldn’t tell, not exactly, what Zoe had done, but whatever it was, it was right. Could be, she mused, it paid to keep her mouth shut for a change instead of directing the hairdresser’s every snip.

Maybe she should feel guilty and drink wine every time she visited the salon.

She could try the combination in other areas of her life. The dentist, ordering in restaurants, men. No, no, not men. She scowled at herself in the mirror. If you didn’t direct men, they directed you.

Besides, she wasn’t going to think about men. She didn’t need men. She didn’t even like men at the moment.

In the morning, she would spend an hour working on the puzzle of the key. Then she would dress, very carefully, very professionally. A suit, she decided. The dove gray with the white shell. No, no, the red. Yes, the red suit. Powerful and professional.

She raced to the closet, scanned her wardrobe, which was arranged precisely according to function and color. With the red suit in hand, she danced back to the mirror, held it in front of her.

“James,” she began, trying out a sympathetic yet aloof expression, “I’m so sorry to hear that The Gallery is going to hell in a handbasket without me. Come back? Well, I don’t know if that’s possible. I have several other offers. Oh, please, please, don’t grovel. It’s embarrassing.”

She fluffed her hair. “Yes, I know Pamela is the devil. We all know that. Well, I suppose if things are that bad, I’ll have to help you out. Now, now, don’t cry. Everything’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to be perfect again. Just as it should be.”

She snickered and, pleased that all would soon be right with her world again, turned away to prepare for bed.

She undressed and lectured herself into putting her clothes away instead of just throwing them around the room. When she heard the knock on her front door, she was wearing only a white silk sleep shirt. Assuming it was one of her friends who’d forgotten something, she turned off the locks and opened the door.

And blinked at a grim-faced Flynn.

“I want to talk to you.”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you,” she responded, trying to enunciate each word instead of slurring them together.

“We need to work this out if we’re going to . . .” He took a good look at her, the wonderfully tumbled hair, the glowing face, the slim curves under clingy white silk. And the vague and glassy look of her eyes.

“What? You’re drunk?”

“I’m only half drunk, which is completely my business and my right. Your sister is fully drunk, but you’ve no cause for concern as Zoe, who is not in any way drunk, is driving her home.”

“It takes countless beers or an entire bottle of wine to get Dana completely drunk.”

“That seems to be correct, and in this case it was wine. Now that we’ve established that, I’ll remind you I’m only half drunk. Come in and take advantage of me.”

He let out what might’ve been a laugh and decided the best place for his hands—well, not the best but the smartest—was his pockets. “That’s a delightful invitation, sweetie, but—”

She solved the problem by gripping his shirt firmly and giving a good yank. “Come on in,” she repeated, then fixed her mouth on his.

Chapter Eleven

FLYNN found himself shoved back against the door, tripping over his own feet as it swung shut behind him. Most of the blood had drained out of his head by the time she’d gone to work on his throat with lips and teeth.

“Whoa, wait. Mal.”

“Don’t wanna wait.” Her hands got as busy as her mouth. Had she actually thought she didn’t like men? She certainly liked this one. So much that she wanted to gobble him up in quick and greedy bites.

“How come people always say you gotta wait? I want you to . . .” She clamped her teeth on his earlobe, then whispered a creative demand.

“Oh, God.”

He wasn’t entirely sure if it was a prayer of thanks or a plea for help. But he was sure his willpower had a very specific limit, and he was fast approaching it.

“Okay, okay, let’s just calm down here a minute. Malory.” She slid her body over his, and when her eager fingers danced down, down, he felt his eyes do a slow roll to the back of his head. “Now hold on.”

“I am.” She tipped her head back to send him a wicked grin.

“Ha, ha. Yeah, you are.” He closed his hands over her wrists and with no little regret lifted her busy hands to his shoulders.

He was out of breath and hard as stone. “We’ve got a choice here. You can hate me in the morning, or I can.” Her eyes sparkled up at him, and her lips were curved in a feline smile that had his throat going dry. “God, you’re pretty when you’re half plowed. You should go lie down now.”

“Okay.” She pressed herself against him, gave her hips a suggestive little grind. “Let’s.”

Slippery knots of lust tied and tangled in his belly. “I’m just going to back away from the beautiful drunk woman.”

“Uh-uh.” She rose on her toes to rub her lips over his again, felt the desperate plunge of his heart. “You’ll never make it out the door. I know what I’m doing, and I know what I want. Does that scare you?”

“Pretty much, yeah. Honey, I came by to talk to you, about something I’m currently incapable of remembering. Why don’t I make us some coffee and we’ll . . .”

“I guess I have to do everything.” In one fluid motion, she slid the sleep shirt over her head and tossed it aside.

“Oh, sweet Jesus.”

Her body was pink and white—delicious—with that elegant cloud of hair tumbling down to tease her br**sts. Her eyes, deeply blue and suddenly full of knowledge, fixed on his as she stepped close to him again.

Her arms had wound around his neck, and her mouth was a hot, silky temptation on his. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “I’ll take very good care of you.”

“I bet.” Somehow his hands had gotten lost in the sexy mass of her hair. His body was a maze of aches and needs, and reason couldn’t find the exit. “Malory, I’m no hero.”