Free Paradise Burning by Blair Bancroft Page A

done for him.
Including a young, sensitive, gifted wife. Not that he hadn’t tried
to take Mandy with him. He’d been Eleanor Kinglsey’S fair-haired
boy, the stud hand-picked to carry on the line. But when he’d
wanted to take Mandy away, Eleanor had turned vicious. Had she been
protecting her baby or AKA’s most talented technoferret? For
whatever reason, the CEO of Armitage, Kingsley & Associates had
had enough vitriol to spew out over the whole organization. Peter
left. Mandy stayed. And developed a tongue all too much like her
mother’s.
    “ I pre-ordered lunch,” Peter finally
responded. “When the girls are all here, we call downstairs, and
that’s it.”
    “ Fine.” With an exaggerated sigh of
relief Mandy sank down onto a sofa covered in a sea of flowers so
brilliant they almost hurt her eyes. “Tell me, am I merely a
chaperon, or do I get to ask questions?”
    “ Be my guest.” Peter gave a negligent
wave of his hand. “If you want to expand your horizons, learn a new
trade, that’s okay by me.”
    “ Shoes pinching a bit this morning?”
Mandy inquired sweetly.
    “ Damn it, Mouse! I wish I had one of
those chadors so you’d have to
hold it in your teeth. If this is the new you, let me tell you I
don’t find it attractive . . .”
    Peter broke off as the doorbell sounded,
hastening across the room to buzz the visitor in. Mandy debated
whether or not she should stand up to greet their guest, opted for
slinking farther down into the bower of flowers. Curiosity,
however, sparked in her gold-flecked green eyes, overlaid with a
lingering glint of belligerence. She’d been reading real life
hooker stories, courtesy of the local library. The idea of Peter
and hookers did not sit well at any time, but after what she’d read
. . .
    Mandy’s spark of hostility faded into
oblivion as she took in the vision in the doorway. Dejection
swallowed her whole. Not all the pizzazz of her new wardrobe, not
all the cosmetics in the world, would ever make her look remotely
like the gorgeous creature whose confident professional poise
flashed into dazzling come-on mode as soon as Peter opened the
door.
    Escort Service, Mandy assessed, trying not to
wince. This was the kind of girl demanded by men of discriminating
taste. And whether businessmen, tourists, or retirees, the citizens
of Manatee Bay tended to have standards as high as their pockets
were deep. If it was possible to sink any farther into the sofa’s
comfortable pillows, Mandy would have done it.
    The young woman—probably in her late
twenties—was tall, though not as awkwardly tall as herself, Mandy
judged. Perfectly layered blond hair fell below her shoulders,
dangling artistically over a turquoise linen dress short enough to
reveal shapely legs that seemed to go on forever. Her makeup was
flawless, her purse small and tasteful. So small, Mandy thought
sourly, if the girl had sense enough to carry condoms, she must
have taken them out of the box.
    “ I’m Jade,” the young woman pronounced.
Suddenly, her eyes moved past Peter to Mandy. Her smile
disappeared. There was no doubt Jade had spotted a menace. “I don’t
do threesomes,” she announced, her lush voice hardening into steel.
“And if you get your kicks from watching girl on girl, you can
forget it. I don’t do kinky.”
    Mandy came off the sofa in one swift move,
cutting off Peter’s attempt to explain. Every jot of her stern
professional training was drowned in shock, distaste, and a hot
wave of pure female jealousy. “That’s sick!” she spit out, fists
clenched. “How dare you imply . . .?”
    ” Man-dy!” Peter groaned.
    She never took her eyes off Jade who was just
standing there, poised, glamorous, sexy as hell, and, worse yet,
now faintly amused. Mandy ground her teeth. Trust Peter to find a
bimbo, however superior.
    “ Now look, ladies . . .” Peter
cajoled.
    “ Miss Missionary Hooker,” Mandy mocked.
“Sorry, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Men don’t pay for what