Sex, Lies and the CEO

A wave of longing washed through her. Darci recognized the danger, but she was so tempted.

His voice was deep, persuasive. “Nobody takes off their clothes, and no hands below the waist.”

“Can you stick to those rules?”

“I can if you can.”

“I can.” She had no choice.

He smiled. Heart thudding, she took the three steps that brought her in front of him. He reached for her hand and drew her into his arms.

She knew she shouldn’t relax. Still, she couldn’t help herself. Just for a few minutes, she promised. Darci felt the strength and the intimacy of his body pressed to hers. It was taut and sexy, and absolutely forbidden.

* * *

Sex, Lies and the CEO is part of the Chicago Sons series: Men who work hard, love harder and live with their fathers’ legacies …

Sex, Lies

and the CEO

Barbara Dunlop

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BARBARA DUNLOP writes romantic stories while curled up in a log cabin in Canada’s far north, where bears outnumber people and it snows six months of the year. Fortunately she has a brawny husband and two teenage children to haul firewood and clear the driveway while she sips cocoa and muses about her upcoming chapters. Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website, www.barbaradunlop.com.

For my son

Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Extract

Copyright

One

“Don’t answer that,” Darci Rivers called out, rushing across the hardwood floor of the cluttered loft apartment.

“It’s not going to be him,” said Jennifer Shelton as she dug into her purse.

Darci slid on sock feet around a pile of packing boxes while the phone jangled again. “It’s him.”

“It’s not—” Jennifer glanced at the display on her phone. Then she looked up at Darci. “It’s him.”

Darci deftly scooped the phone from her roommate’s hand. “You will not give in.”

“I won’t give in.” Even as she spoke, Jennifer cast a longing glance at the phone.

“He’s dead to you,” said Darci, waving the phone for emphasis as she backed a safe distance away.

“Maybe he’s—”

“He’s not.”

“You don’t know what I was about to say.”

Darci hit the end button to cancel the call and tucked the phone into the front pocket of her jeans. “You were going to say ‘maybe he’s sorry.’”

Jennifer pursed her lips together. “Maybe he is.”

Darci angled for the kitchen area of the open-concept space. A sloped wall of glass stretched up beside her, overlooking the distant Chicago skyline. Skylights decorated the high ceiling, while two lofts bracketed either end of the spacious, rectangular room.

The phone rang again, vibrating inside her pocket.

“Give it back,” said Jennifer, following behind.

Darci rounded the end of the island counter. “What was it you said to me last night?”

“It could be a client.”

“What was it you said to me?”

“Darci.”

“If it’s a client, they’ll leave a message.”

It was nearly seven o’clock on a Tuesday night. Though Darci and Jennifer prided themselves on being easily available to clients of their web-design business, it wouldn’t kill them to miss one call.

“What kind of customer service is that?”

Darci pulled the phone out of her pocket to check the display. “It’s him.” She declined the call and tucked the phone away.

“Something could be wrong,” said Jennifer, taking another step.

Darci couldn’t help but smile at that. “Of course something’s wrong. He only just realized you were serious.”

On the counter, she located a packing box labeled “wine rack” and peeled it open. She’d wisely packed the corkscrew with the wine bottles for easy access after the move. Now, if she could only remember which carton held the glasses.

She pointed at another box on the island. “Check the white one.”

“You can’t hold my phone hostage.”

“Sure I can. You made me swear I would.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“No backsies.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You said, and I quote, don’t ever let me talk to that son-of-a-bitch again. I think the wineglasses are in the white box.”

Jennifer clamped her jaw.

Giving up, Darci reached out and pulled the carton closer to her, stripping off the wide packing tape. “He cheated on you, Jen.”

“He was drunk.”

“He’s going to get drunk again, and he’s going to cheat on you again. You don’t even know if that was the first time.”

“I’m pretty sure—”

“Pretty sure? Listen to yourself. You need to be 100 percent positive he never has and never will, or else you have to walk.”

“You are so idealistic.”

“Aha.” Darci had located the wineglasses. She extracted a pair of them and turned to the sink to give them a rinse.

“Nobody can ever know for sure,” said Jennifer.

“Are you listening to yourself?”

There was a long silence before Jennifer spoke. “I’m trying hard not to.”

Darci grinned as she shook water droplets from the wet glasses. “There you go. Welcome back, girl.”