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  A Romantic Mystery Novel by Cheryl B. Dale

  Three divorces should teach a man something, but hotel heir Cal McIntyre can't figure out what. Then a flashy redhead–the kind he adores–shows up. Since he's off women, he reluctantly takes a bet to seduce her. One more hook-up won't matter. Especially with this temptress.

  But Amanda’s hair is dyed and she’s not about to be seduced. Her younger sister gambled with an heirloom engagement ring, and Cal won. If Amanda has to drug him to retrieve the ring and save Noelle's marriage, so be it.

  She doesn't count on Cal's kisses awakening a long-banished sexuality. Lucky for her, he passes out before she gets carried away. She escapes with Noelle's ring and virtue intact. Now to forget him.

  But Cal tracks her down. And tells her he bought the ring. From her sister. Worse, someone stole diamonds worth millions after she knocked him out. Cal wasn’t the only one set up.

  There must be an explanation, but Noelle can't give it; she's vanished. Now Amanda must help Cal find her sister or go to jail. She's determined to protect Noelle, and he's determined to recover his diamonds.

  Sparks are about to fly.

  Set Up

  Cheryl B. Dale

  MuseItUp Publishing

  www.museituppublishing.com

  Chapter One

  Amanda saw his double-take when he noticed her.

  The henna rinse might have caught his eye—everyone knew he was a redhead junkie—but the black dress cut to the waist stopped him cold. Across the small theater, he craned his neck.

  Oh, yeah. He was circling the bait.

  Can I do this? She swallowed nervously.

  Onstage, two big-name singers, imported for the grand opening of the McIntyre Grand Tartan Resort Inn near Houston, stood in the spotlight. Voices soared through the dim auditorium.

  In the opposite box, sleepy eyes focused on her with an intensity that allowed her plenty of time to take in his broad forehead that blended into defined cheeks and solid jaw. Not exactly handsome but all male, with a laid-back air that said, I'm easy to get along with. I'll let you do whatever you want with me. Everything about me is easygoing. My mouth, my hands, my...

  Not the place for these thoughts. Her stomach fluttered.

  And no reason for jitters.

  You may be rusty but you’ve played the game before. This one’s for Noelle, for little Teddy.

  A deliberate breath emphasized her breasts.

  He liked that. The mouth parted, looked ready to smile.

  As it did.

  She’d forgotten how easy flirting was.

  You aren’t here to renew bad habits.

  Lifting her brows, she turned away but not before a sidelong glance showed his smile widen. He edged forward in his seat.

  Nibbling at the bait. She almost had him.

  Conscience flared.

  She shouldn’t be here. For once in her life, she should have refused to help Noelle.

  No, maybe someday she could stop being the protective sister but not now. Not with Noelle’s marriage and child at stake.

  Across the auditorium, he watched her.

  She made sure he saw the glance flicked his way, and then snubbed him.

  Contrived, every movement. She knew exactly what she was doing because when it came to men, she’d always known what to do.

  But that was the old careless Amanda, who’d delighted in excelling at the game and breaking hearts galore.

  No time to dwell on the past. Play him till he bites.

  The performers finished their duet. The crowd at the newest gem to adorn the McIntyre Resort Inn chain burst into applause. When Amanda followed suit, a rebellious curl escaped and refused all attempts to tuck it back.

  With a shrug, conscious of the man’s scrutiny from across the way, she removed the hair clasp and shook out the red strands. While desultory fingers raked them back, she checked out his reactions.

  He leaned forward, his lips parted like primitive man stalking a fat deer for the kill.

  Amanda's hand clutched involuntarily, her heart leaping into her throat. He didn’t look like the irresponsible playboy Noelle had described.

  He looked like someone a woman would be foolish to dupe.

  No, nothing to worry about. He’s a man, isn't he?

  She scowled at him.

  He didn't stop staring.

  She sighed and swung her head back and forth as if to ask, what’s the world coming to when a woman can't let her hair down in peace?

  His sudden grin was charming. You’re wonderful, it said. Fascinating. Irresistible.

  When he kissed his fingertips to her, she let her chin drop but not until one corner of her lips turned up.

  Way too easy. And heady to find she could still send out the old signals.

  Stop being so pleased with yourself. If it weren’t for Noelle and little Teddy... If you’re caught, if anybody finds out...

  Fear dried her mouth.

  Calm down, calm down. No one would find out. No one would connect Atlanta's sedate Amanda Jane with a seductive redhead in Texas.

  He remained riveted, sitting on the edge of his seat, his box filled with men in formal tuxedos and women with glittering jewels.

  Noelle had mentioned he occasionally loaned pieces from his antique jewelry collection. Surely to goodness he wouldn't have lent Noelle's ring out tonight. It was impossible to see the women's hands clearly in the dim light, but one of the men in the back looked familiar. Where had…?

  No matter. Someone to avoid.

  The vivacious blonde seated beside Amanda’s quarry laughed at something he said before giving him her opera glasses.

  He aimed them toward Amanda.

  Hooked.

  Now to reel him in. She sank back into the plush seat to lose herself in the music. Her nerve was back.

  If only it was over.

  * * * *

  The show would never be over.

  Across the small auditorium, Callaway Mills McIntyre, III used the redhead as an antidote for boredom, chuckling silently at her pointed snub.

  What a knockout. A ripe peach. Ready to be plucked, savored and slowly devoured. Damn, she was tempting. Almost tempting enough to make him forget the last fiasco.

  Too bad he'd sworn off women like her.

  Didn't hurt to look though, especially when he'd seen this play a half-dozen times.

  At the end of the interminable act, the chorus came onstage for a rousing number. The lights in the ornate sconces brightened before Cal handed the opera glasses back to Miles de Graffen’s wife.

  “Thanks, sugar.”

  Sapphire rings sparkled as Patrice took the glasses. “You needed them more than I did.” Her cute French accent didn't make up for her smirk. A shame she was so snotty, but that was Miles's problem.

  Cal got up and stretched. “I'd rather look at her than listen to what's-his-name howling. She's a lot prettier.”

  Patrice swatted at him. “Howling? He’s one of the best-known tenors in America!”

  “Cal, stop teasing Patrice.” Meek Lynette de Graffen couldn't hide a smile at her stepmother’s irritation. In a pale yellow dress, with small diamonds in her ears and minimal makeup, she looked like a clean-scrubbed teenager rather than an assistant art professor. “You know he's her particular friend.”

  Cal winked at Lynette before assessing the opposite box.

  Red hair spilled to creamy shoulders. His peach pretended to be engrossed in a program, but he spotted the glances sneaked his way.

  She was interested. Should he go over?

  Probably not. As the official McIntyre representative for the opening, he’d written the night off as one more family duty until Sonny pointed out the redhead.

  Though he’d have ev
entually seen her himself. He always found women like her. Or they found him.

  “How do you come up with such trashy women?” his exasperated mother had once asked. “Don't you know they're only out for money? Find yourself a girl with character. Or do you even know what character means?”

  “Girls with character are invariably plain and have never heard of makeup,” he'd apologized. “No sense of humor, either. They don’t much turn me on.”

  Mother had snorted with her usual contempt.

  But those kinds of girls still didn't turn him on. Give him a brassy, butt-swinging female with big hair and big tits. One who could laugh.

  He bet the redhead across the way had the kind of body he relished. If he...

  Forget it. Why bother? If she were willing, she’d be airheaded. Or worse, deceitful. Nope, he understood her kind of woman only too well. He’d keep his distance and play the obedient genial host so he could earn his salary and keep Robert off his back.

  Melancholy threatened, to be impatiently staved off. Women might help, but he'd finally learned they weren't the answer to his restlessness.

  Robert Winslow, Cal's brother-in-law, pursed his lips. His ramrod posture reinforced disapproval. “If you’ve got any sense, you’ll pass on her.”

  Robert always expected the worst.

  Okay, maybe sometimes Robert had justification.

  “Just going out for a cigarette,” Cal said.

  The men hooted while the women exchanged knowing glances.

  Why the hell did they all think he was headed for the redhead’s box?

  Because they knew what he was. Miles and Lynette, lifelong friends, might overlook or excuse him, but they and the rest still knew. He was a hanger-on, as unessential as any minion in the corporation. Even though he was a McIntyre.

  Robert opened his mouth for the inevitable rebuke, but his aide, Sonny Kirkman, ran interference. “Cal, the plane's set to leave after the bigwig brunch tomorrow. You need to be up and at ‘em by ten at the latest.”

  “I'll make it.”

  Sonny held up his watch. “That gives you thirteen hours.” He glanced toward the redhead. “A hundred says she'll turn you down flat.”

  Cal started to shake his head.

  Robert burst out with, “For pity's sake. Leave the woman alone. Your flings always mean trouble. I begged Claire to come along and keep the reins on you,” he added bitterly, “but she wouldn't listen. She never listens. Her little brother walks on water.”

  Cal tensed, hot retort swallowed at the last minute.

  Since he would do anything for Claire, and that included avoiding a quarrel with her husband, he made himself relax. “You know why she couldn't come, Robert. She had to be home to deal with Johanna’s wedding.”

  Robert, stubborn man, acted like a dog with a bone. “Stay here. The last thing we need is the press digging up the ménage a trois with your last—”

  “Yes, I know.” Fool. Don't let the pompous ass get to you. “Don't worry about me.”

  “Someone needs to,” Robert snapped. “You certainly don’t.”

  “I can look after myself.”

  “Since when?”

  Dammit to hell, he didn’t need Robert of all people to dictate what he should or shouldn't do. If he decided to go over to the redhead's box, he'd go. Screw you, Robert!

  “Stop worrying.” The lady in question languidly fanned herself with a program. Whoa. Sexy. “I won't do anything to embarrass the family.”

  Sonny threw up his hands. “All I ask is that you be here for the brunch.”

  Robert muttered something under his breath.

  Weariness enveloped Cal. Why shouldn't he do what everyone expected? One hook-up wouldn’t spin the world off its axis. Why shouldn't he give Robert something else to carp about? “A hundred bucks. Right, Sonny? If she comes to the party after the play?”

  “Uh-uh, not nearly enough, buddy.” Sonny shook his head. “The whole nine yards or nothing.”

  Might as well light Robert’s fuse. Cal yawned, straightened a diamond stud on his cuff. “I'll collect at brunch tomorrow.”

  Two pairs of eyes belonging to Miles de Graffen and his daughter fastened on his wrist.

  Miles, an old family friend, had introduced Cal, as well as Lynette, to the joys of antique jewelry collecting. Both de Graffens openly envied Cal his studs because Miles’s jewel assortment, though more voluminous, didn’t include a set of legendary diamonds.

  “Watch your Antoinette diamonds,” Miles said. “I intend to have them one day. And there are women who—” he looked across the auditorium, “—wouldn’t think twice about stealing them.”

  Lynette laughed. “Too true, Dad. I’m one of them.”

  Cal touched a glittering stone. “That’s why I keep them away from you. Don’t worry, Miles. I’m always careful with my good luck charms. But I promise you'll get first crack at them. If I ever decide to sell.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  The chorus finished its number. The house lights brightened.

  As Cal left, Sonny called, “Remember the brunch. You can stay another day if she's worth it, but don't forget the brunch.”

  “Ten-thirty, right? I’ll remember.”

  Robert started in on his assistant. “He can't stay, Sonny. You'd have to be here to keep an eye on him and you know I can’t spare you. You’ve got to get to Las Vegas tomorrow to do the groundwork for the new resort.”

  Keep an eye on me. Cal gritted his teeth but kept going. He hated confrontations as much as he hated lectures. Especially lectures from Robert.

  He’d liked the serious student Claire brought home, the man putting himself through college by working as a mechanic. But one accounting degree and fifteen years later, Robert Winslow had turned into a prick. How could Claire stand him? No wonder resort managers were complaining about his high-handed tactics.

  No matter. Robert was the Board’s problem, not his. He had no say in running his family's corporation. His mother had seen to that long before her death.

  In the lobby, Cal gave indolent waves or nods to familiar faces eager to catch his eye. Men stopped him to shake his hand or clap him on the shoulder while effusive women called his name before engulfing him in hugs and clouds of perfume. Despite pauses to respond and give sincere smiles in return, he didn't deviate from his destination.

  Some of his popularity, he was smart enough to understand, was due to money. But people fascinated him. He genuinely enjoyed them. Claire insisted he ought to be in purchasing or public relations, but he knew his limitations.

  Robert would be resentful if the black sheep tried to horn in on company affairs after all these years. And they couldn't afford to lose Robert. Claire’s husband might have his faults, but he knew his stuff.

  No, best to leave running the business to Robert and the Board. That gave Cal plenty of time to plan next month's vacation in Greece or schedule a business trip coinciding with a horse race in England.

  Or relax in the company of a tantalizing redhead.

  His attentions had piqued her curiosity. He grinned, thinking of her expression when he’d thrown her that kiss.

  Yep, she was the type woman who could be persuaded, and he was the man to do it.

  Damn his vow to leave all women, especially redheads, strictly alone. A little flirtation never hurt anybody.

  At her door, he entered without knocking.

  “This box is taken,” she said. Her voice was husky and low. As enticing as her looks. “Oh!” The quick gasp conveyed recognition, surprise, and imperfectly concealed interest.

  Mid- or late twenties. Her halter dress plunged down the “V” of her cleavage to where nipples nudged the thin black silk.

  Sexy. Real sexy. The familiar need stirred.

  “Don't you think I know it's taken?” When he stepped behind a chair at her left, a scent of oranges drifted by. “I've been watching you watching me all evening, sugar. I'd be ashamed, if I were you, flirting with me that way w
hen I was trapped in my seat till intermission. You’ve got to stop ogling me.”

  “Ogling you?” Breasts mounded with a disbelieving gasp. “I wonder why you’d think that. If you'd bothered to look anywhere else in the building, you would certainly not be under the mistaken impression that I was ogling you.”

  “I couldn't possibly have looked anywhere else. I was too busy watching you.” Uninvited, he sat down beside her. “You're the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  The same old words he always said. He always meant them, too.

  “You must not know many women, then. Go away.” Red-tipped fingers tightened around a beaded evening bag. The diamonds at her throat—not very good ones, though the lighting might have accounted for the off-tint—couldn’t hide the rapid pulse beating in one of the tiny hollows. Brows were delicate arches nearly hidden by red curls falling over her forehead. A dignified nose showed off a short upper lip that peaked delectably.

  Made for kisses.

  A pink tongue licked the peak. “I hate ugly scenes so don't make me call an usher to throw you out. I don't know you, and I don't want to talk to you.”

  Strange. Oranges were common, but on her their fragrance was intoxicating. “No, you don't know me, but if I leave, how'll we ever get to know each other? You'll enjoy talking to me. I promise.”

  Her complexion was the unblemished cream redheads sometimes possess. Her eyes, accentuated by green eyeshadow and fake fringes half an inch long, were large and emerald and abnormally bright.

  Contact lenses, probably. Near sighted with astigmatism? Maybe dull intellectually and ordinary conversationally, but irresistible physically. Packaged just the way he liked.

  Cal moved closer. “I'll tell you who I am, and you tell me who you are. Then we can sit and talk. I'm Cal McIntyre. And you're...?”

  The corners of her mouth tried to curve upward. After a full five seconds, she giggled. Not a titter, a breathy gurgle. “I'm astonished.”

  “Hello, Astonished. How quaint. Is that an old family name?” He held out his hand. “How do you do?”

  Ignoring his hand and execrable humor, she looked around for help. “I'll do much better when you're gone.”