Free Silk Confessions by Joanne Rock Page B

different from the handful of guys she’d dated in the past.
    Through Blind Date, she could remain anonymous, which suited her needs perfectly. Now, any guy who chose her profile wouldn’t be dating her for her family connections. Too often in her sparse dating history, men had only been interested in her for one thing and—disappointingly enough—it wasn’t even sex.
    This way she could find out for herself if the Inter net dating business worked legitimately. In her gut, she knew it did, damn it. Still, wouldn’t it be nice to have proof firsthand to wave in front of Wes Shaw’s hand some face?
    Filling out the rest of the form, Tempest submitted her application for her first ever Blind Date before she gave herself time to change her mind. Didn’t the old saying preach that what was good for the goose was good for the gander?
    With a little luck, maybe she’d find someone else to quench the slow burn Wes had started deep inside her.
     
    D AYDREAMING HER WAY through a board meeting Monday morning, however, Tempest had to admit some things were easier said than done.
    Put Wes out of her mind? She must have been engaged in some serious wishful thinking over the week end if she thought she’d forget about the hottest kisses on the planet. After a day and a half of catching herself remembering Wes’s touch, she had to admit that no stray guy she found through a dating service would match up to the red-hot detective investigating her intruder. Entering her profile in the Blind Date system had been a rash act she had no intention of actually following through on.
    At this moment, fantasizing about Wes held far more appeal than listening to her board bicker about who to appoint as the next CEO of Boucher Enterprises, so she allowed her imagination to run free. She’d learned that being a good manager involved a fair amount of listening to other people’s concerns. Or at least, allowing other people to vent their frustrations even if she wasn’t listening quite as closely as she should.
    Hands smoothing over the napkin beside her cooling cup of darjeeling, Tempest’s gaze dropped to the expanse of shiny mahogany conference table while Kelly Kline, VP of global development, found one excuse after another for why Boucher should look internally for a CEO.
    The general consensus among the board was that Kelly wanted the top slot for herself—a feat that wouldn’t happen as long as Tempest had any input. Kelly thrived at her job as a public relations guru who spoke three languages and made frequent trips abroad. But she seemed a little too calculating for Tempest’s tastes. Kelly had proven to bea corporate shark and a bit of a tyrant in her department, yet extremely effective.
    Allowing the woman to have her say, Tempest’s thoughts ran to having Wes Shaw at her mercy on the mahogany conference table. She could envision the dark, strong wood as a perfect backdrop for the detective’s lean, sculpted muscles.
    The private conference room was her stronghold, the one place in the world where she reigned supreme. Because even if Tempest didn’t enjoy her stressful job all the time, at least her personal meeting space was familiar terrain and she could be in control here. The sensation was a welcome one after she’d felt so helpless during the weekend with her apartment trashed and her sculptures destroyed. Wes had practically taken over the place with his big, I’m-in-charge presence and his knowledge of catching criminals.
    If he set foot in this facet of her world, he would see a very different woman. And next time, Tempest wouldn’t give him the upper hand over her again. She might lick every delicious inch of that primo male form of his, but she’d be damn sure to remain in control of the situation.
    Remembering his horror at holding the broken clay penis in his hand, Tempest wondered how her artwork measured up to the man. Was he as impressive as her fanciful imaginings? Judging by the eyeful she’d got ten