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  He drained the rest of soda number one and popped open the second can. But if he hacked into Conover’s info to check on the guy, he’d be descending to his level. And while Hal might need some sessions at Suave School, he was not a cockroach.

  His thoughts turned to Shannon again as he entered commands into his computer. Focus on the problem at hand, you dumb son of a bitch. Shannon Shane is in your life right now because you are paying her. You’d best remember that, even if you’re getting some perks on the side.

  SHANNON PULLED on a pair of flannel pajamas and twisted her hair into its habitual knot. She made a bowl of microwave popcorn and flopped on her couch, where she fell asleep watching reruns of Will & Grace. Three hours later, she found herself sitting at a White House dinner. She was dressed in a ripped World Peace T-shirt and ratty jeans, and she’d acquired a tattoo of a sunflower on her left arm.

  She looked up from her endive salad to find that she, a lone Democrat, sat at a table of fifty disapproving Republicans. They didn’t like her toe ring, they didn’t like her tattoo, and they wouldn’t pass her the salt. At the head of the table sat the president.

  “See what I mean?” he asked the rest of them. “I did the right thing by giving her up for adoption.”

  She awoke in a cold sweat and blinked. A bad movie unfolded on the television—something to do with a psychic mule. She shut off the set. Her popcorn still sat in front of her, along with the saltshaker that nobody in the dream would pass.

  She grabbed for this, dumped a quarter of the container onto the popcorn and began to munch.

  Horrid dream. She checked her arm, just in case, for the sunflower tattoo. Thank God it wasn’t there.

  But it was obvious she couldn’t go on like this. She’d go nuts wondering about her biological parents if she didn’t take some steps to find them. She supposed she should start with the adoption agency.

  Shannon went to her laptop and logged on to the Internet. She found the Home for Little Wanderers site easily and discovered that she could, in fact, do a search.

  She began to proceed and then froze. What if…what if she didn’t like the results? What if she discovered things she didn’t really want to know?

  She logged off, feeling nauseated, and folded her hands on top of the laptop. Warm from the electrical current and batteries, it hummed under her palms, which began to sweat.

  She could do one of two things at the moment. She could write a letter for the Home’s files, which would give her biological mother or father an update on her life and/or even grant permission for them to contact her.

  Or she could initiate a full-fledged search by the agency to locate her true parents. Either way, they would have to agree to any request by her to contact them. Their privacy had to be respected.

  Shannon slowly ate another handful of popcorn. If her parents had been young college students at the time of her birth, then they very probably had other families by now. Each of them could have two, three or four other children—and spouses that they’d never told. She couldn’t simply turn up one day and disrupt their lives.

  What if neither parent wanted to meet her? Or perhaps only one did? What would she do? Would the sense of rejection grow even stronger and eat her alive?

  On the other hand, there might be a letter from one or both of them in her file, just waiting for her to discover it and contact them.

  The Home for Little Wanderers was located in Boston. Did her mother still live there? Her father? Did she have siblings?

  Her mind took her back to Rebecca Shane, and how she’d imparted this earth-shaking information so calmly over a salad of field greens. Shannon began to shake. She should have dumped the salad over Rebecca’s head.

  But, no. Her mother hadn’t been as calm as she’d liked to have been. Her hands had trembled as she lifted her wineglass, and deep, dark shadows had marred her lovely eyes. It hadn’t been easy on Rebecca. And at least she’d forced herself to finally tell the truth. She’d faced her daughter, unlike Shannon’s father.

  Shannon reached the very bottom of the bowl of popcorn, which now contained only hard kernels. She put a couple into her mouth and crunched on them, staring once again at her computer.

  Go on, do it. Start a search.

  I don’t know if I can handle the results. I just don’t know.

  Coward. How can you just not do anything?

  I’m not a coward. The people who raised me are my parents. For better or worse. Whether or not we agree about fashion, politics or even religion. My mother is my mother…and I feel that searching for another one dishonors her, somehow.

  That’s a cop-out.

  No, it’s an opt-out. For the moment. After all, I’m the wild and unpredictable Shannon. Who knows how I’ll feel tomorrow?

  14

  SUAVE SCHOOL started bright and early the next morning as Hal yawned his way into the gym. He spied Shannon easily by just following the gazes of every other man in the place. They were all trained on her body, while she, oblivious wearing a set of headphones, worked out like a madwoman on an elliptical machine.

  Hal checked his watch and wondered how long she’d been at it. She was damp with sweat and her face shone pink under the lighting. Though the woman would still look edible if she’d been rolled through tar, her eyes looked puffy, as if she hadn’t slept.

  That made two of them. Hal folded his arms and gazed at all the other men checking out Shannon. An older guy with a pinky ring and a gold chain around his neck couldn’t take his eyes off her breasts. An overtanned creep who looked like a refugee from Baywatch was absorbed in her rear end. A stocky college kid with a buzz cut appeared dazzled by the entire package. And yet another man lost his footing on a stair-climber and almost fell off while checking out her legs.

  None of them had given her an orgasm over the phone. He allowed himself a small, private grin and made his way over to her, trying to straighten his posture and suck in his stomach as she’d instructed.

  Hey…hey, behold the stud! He caught sight of himself in the athletic club’s wall of mirrors. While his skin was still fish-belly white, he didn’t look half bad. He even got a couple of glances from women as he crossed the room.

  Shannon saw him, waved and then frowned.

  What? Did he have a coffee stain on his shirt? Hal looked down. Nope.

  “Cool,” she said as he approached, “does not mean walking like a rapper.”

  “Huh?”

  She pulled off her headphones but didn’t slow down. “You’re doing something screwy with your head and you’re bouncing in the knees when you walk.”

  “Well, good morning to you, too. All I’m doing,” Hal retorted, “is keeping my shoulders back and sucking in my stomach, like you said.”

  “Well, that part is good. Just leave your knees out of it and don’t swing your arms. And don’t do that thing with your neck—you look like a bobble-head.”

  “Bobble-head,” Hal repeated, with growing wrath. “You didn’t seem to think I was a bobble-head last night.” His chest swelled and he looked down at her from his superior height.

  “Perfect,” said Shannon. “Oh, very good! It’s that kind of…casual arrogance…that we’re looking for. But no grimacing. It’s got to be a friendly casual arrogance.”

  Hal stared at her. “You are the devil.”

  “No. But you can think of me as an overgrown satanic elf, if you’d like. Now, hop onto this thing,” she commanded, getting off the elliptical machine. “We’ll start you out with some cardio.” In the absence of the personal trainer, she was in charge.

  Thirty minutes later she’d worked him into a soggy pulp. “Have you ever,” he gasped, “heard of starting at the beginning? With reasonable, manageable goals?”

  “No time for that crap,” Shannon said cheerfully. “We gotta make a he-man out of you in just a couple of weeks.” So saying, she slapped him on the ass.

  Hal froze.

  “C’mon,” she called, walking toward the weight room.
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  He sprang at her, furious, and caught up. He snaked an arm around her shoulders and honked a hooter.

  Outraged, she turned on him. “What in the hell do you think you’re—”

  “Do not. Ever. Slap my ass. In public. Again.”

  She opened and closed her mouth.

  “Understood?” Every man in the entire gym stared at them, expecting her to level him.

  “Message received, loud and clear,” she said. And then she added, “Sorry.”

  Hal relented. “But you can slap my ass in private, if you want.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “I might even demand it, since after all, you’re my sex slave for the next couple of months.” He grinned. “Remember?”

  She snapped her fingers in mock sorrow. “Damn. And I left my rubber dress and cat-o’-nine-tails in L.A.”

  Hal lifted a brow, intrigued. “We could always order a replacement dress, you know.”

  “Is that right.” She directed him to the lateral pull-down machine and started stacking it with weights. “Sit.”

  “I thought the master gave the orders.”

  “Not in the gym. Now let’s get to work.”

  HAL LAY in a tanning booth in Betsy’s ’Burban Beach and tried to ignore the annoying buzz of the thing. His eyes were covered with weird little goggles and he had placed nasty whitening strips on his teeth which oozed evil gel. They thoroughly disgusted him and made his chompers sensitive to hot and cold.

  He ached all over from Shannon’s workout, which had tortured muscles he hadn’t even known he’d had.

  In short, this whole process of becoming a stud was totally emasculating, and the irony of that was not lost on him. He felt like a lab rat.

  Worse, he was a lab rat wearing a tube sock and nothing else.

  He wasn’t stupid: he’d heard all sorts of horror stories about people who got sensitive parts of them fried in tanning beds.

  In fact, he could swear that his buns were smoking right now. And he was going to have to come up with a good story for people at work. How would he explain his metamorphosis from glow-in-the-dark pale to savagely tan?

  The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous this seemed. Even Hal had heard of bronzing cream. Couldn’t Shannon just smear some of that crap on his face?

  Hal shifted, adjusted the tube sock and began to sweat. He did not feel like a stud. Even Mr. Universe couldn’t feel like a stud under these circumstances. He’d had it.

  He pushed up the lid of the lighted coffin and sat up. The stupid little goggles fell to the floor. He let the tube sock drop to the floor, too, and pulled the disgusting whitening strips out of his mouth. He tossed them into the trash.

  Then he spoke directly to man’s best friend and life partner. “I’m glad you’re not toasted, there, buddy. Sorry I had to sock it to you…yeah, I know that was bad.”

  He stood up and shut the lid of the human roaster. He stuffed himself into his new clothes and took a swipe at his hair, which now fell in an ingenious wind-blown mess without him doing anything to it at all.

  And then he marched out to the reception area and the teenage Paris Hilton lookalike who’d sold him the tanning package. “I want a refund,” said Hal. “I am not doing this.”

  In a few minutes he opened the door to the cool April air and smelled freedom from feminine tyranny! One step. Two steps. He was almost outside when the Paris clone called, “Sir?”

  Hal turned, raising an eyebrow.

  “Sir, do you want your…tube sock?” She was holding it by a thread and trying to keep a straight face.

  It was a perfectly good sock. One that Shannon hadn’t swiped and thrown away. He saw no reason to waste it. “Thank you,” Hal said with great dignity. He took it and left.

  “WE ARE NOW in stage two of training,” said Shannon, circling Hal and evaluating every inch of him. She had invaded his office.

  “Uh-huh,” said Hal, who was hunched over his computer.

  “Stage two means further development of stage one, but new work to do on posture—” she poked him in the spine “—conversation/social skills and media training.”

  Hal ignored the poke and kept searching employee Internet logs.

  Shannon poked him again.

  “Didn’t I fire you?” he muttered.

  “You thought better of it. Now, straighten up, Mr. Underwood.” She moved to the other side of his desk and sat in the visitor’s chair.

  “Were you schooled by the Gestapo?”

  “Quit whining.”

  To her satisfaction, Hal gave up and pushed back from his computer. “You’re early. By my watch, I still had seven minutes of freedom.”

  She grinned sadistically at him. “I just couldn’t wait to see you.”

  “Mmm. Well, here’s what I’m thinking. As my sex slave, you should now get down on your knees and bark like a dog.” Hal shot her an evil grin.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “And here’s what I’m thinking. Not a chance in hell.”

  “Insubordination from the slave leads to all kinds of dire consequences,” Hal murmured thoughtfully. A wolfish expression spread across his face.

  “I could quit, you know.”

  He rubbed at his chin. “It’d save me from having to fire you again. But you’d have to remain my sex slave. You gave me your word that if I pulled you out of the Dumpster, I could have my way with you for two months.”

  She raised her chin. “I was…under duress.”

  “Oh, here come the excuses.”

  “I could probably even sue you for sexual harassment.”

  “Oh, yeah? Who brought up the whole sex slave thing to begin with? And how many witnesses saw you slap my ass at the gym? I think you’d better think that one over before you act on it.” Hal lounged back in his chair.

  “I was kidding. I wouldn’t sue you.”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  Shannon found herself admiring the rangy lines of his body and the raw intelligence of his face. His eyes held a mocking twinkle to which she couldn’t help but respond. “Because…I like you, Underwood.”

  “You like to bully me.”

  “No. Well, yes.” She grinned. “But I do really like you. You’re a good guy.”

  Hal leaned forward. “Oh, yeah? So what am I good at?”

  Her cheeks warmed. She gestured toward Hal’s server room and the whole floor. “Technology and programming, obviously.”

  He stood up and moved around the desk, his hands shoved into his pockets as usual. “And?”

  Her heartbeat quickened. “And…business. You’re about to go public, after all.” She tugged on his wrists. “Get your hands out of your pockets.”

  “What else am I good at, Shannon? Hmm?” He leaned over her and shot her a bona fide stud grin.

  Wow, he sure learns fast….

  He allowed her to pull his hands out of his pockets, but he caught one of hers. A flash of heat went through her body as he guided her hand toward his pocket, inserted it, and moved it inward toward the hard ridge that had appeared under his fly.

  Her breath caught.

  He put his thumb in the center of her bottom lip and rubbed it gently back and forth, looking down at her with an enigmatic expression. She caught it in her teeth and bit it lightly. Smoothed her tongue over the tiny ridges and whorls in the skin. Watched him catch his own lower lip between his teeth, and his pupils dilate.

  Hal took his thumb back and then brushed his knuckles across one of her nipples. It was as if he’d pushed her On button—fire shot from the sensitive tip to her belly and between her legs.

  She moved her head closer to his groin, her breath hot and teasing at his denim-covered erection. It swelled, straining to meet her lips.

  Shannon removed her hand from his pocket and grabbed his hips, pulling them toward her. She placed her mouth directly over the top of his zipper and used her teeth to tug it down…one inch, then another and another.

  She used her tongue to
edge the fabric of his boxers back until she found just a tiny bit of flesh.

  His breathing went ragged as she slowly licked it. She pulled her mouth away, looked up and smiled with the power of it—even though she knew what would happen next.

  Just like any other man, Hal would grab the back of her head and pull forward, trying to grind her mouth against his penis.

  He groaned, his eyes closed, and defied all her expectations. Hal simply ran a tender finger along her jaw. He caressed her lips again. He smoothed her hair.

  She blinked with the shock of it. And then she said “thank you” in the only way she knew how. She placed her mouth on him again and eased more fabric aside. She kissed his exposed flesh. Moved her hands up to undo the button over his zipper. And took him, heavy and thick and muscular, out of his pants.

  Hal gave an intense groan and groped behind him for the edge of his desk as she took just the tip into her mouth. She moved with him. She didn’t particularly care for this, but she wanted to bring him pleasure.

  He didn’t try to ram himself into her mouth. He simply waited to see what she would do and expressed his appreciation for the gift.

  She took her mouth away and caressed the shaft of him. How far was she willing to go?

  Shannon bent her head as someone pounded on the door.

  They both froze.

  “Hey, Halibut! I got a—”

  “No,” thundered Hal. “Open that door, Ryan, and you are a dead man.”

  15

  NOW WHAT DID THEY DO? Hal quickly shoved his pal back into his pants and zipped up, though it was difficult under the circumstances.

  Shannon, far from being shocked or mortified, just sat in his visitor’s chair and laughed.

  But even though they were decent at this point, how did he explain the urgency with which he’d forbidden Ryan to open the door?

  “Do you want to get under the desk?” he asked Shannon.