SILVER BELLA by Lucy Monroe
She is the only thing he wants to unwrap.
Bella Jackson models clothes only the most sexually confident woman would dare to wear. But there’s a secret hiding behind the bad-girl reputation and barely there couture. Under the covers, she’s a total novice.
At least it was a secret. Not anymore, thanks to an ex’s blabbing. Now she’s been branded with a potentially career-ending label: Ice Queen.
Only years of practice keep the nerves at bay, and her signature walk rock steady—until a tall, sexy Texan’s gaze fixes like a laser beam on her scantily clad body. And her stiletto heels miss a step.
From the moment Jake Barton locks eyes with the smoking-hot woman on the catwalk, he knows it’s only a matter of time. He never expected the heat between them to melt away her aloof façade before they’ve even touched, revealing the vulnerable woman underneath.
Suddenly he realizes he wants more than a roll in the hay. Now to convince her to take a chance on Texas—and him—before their fragile relationship is bulldozed by tabloid lies and innuendo.
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Copyright © 2012 Lucy Monroe
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication
The words reverberated through Bella Jackson’s head as she stepped out onto the catwalk.
“A man could get frostbite touching you. You’re all smoke and no fire, babe. If the world knew what a total fraud you are, you’d never get another modeling job again. Who wants the original ice queen modeling clothes for today’s sensual woman?”
Curt’s vitriolic accusations echoed around her, drowning out the announcer’s modulated voice, even though the confrontation had taken place miles away and days ago.
She couldn’t forget.
Maybe because Curt had taken his story to the press, and her face and body were plastered all over the tabloids with headlines that made her cringe.
Bella Jackson, Ice Queen or Sexpot?
Model Freezes Boyfriend Out of Bed.
Lexi’s Creations Cover Model Fraud.
Ex-boyfriend Says This Model’s Bed Needs an Electric Blanket to Stay Warm.
And the one that had given her mother heart palpitations: Ex-boyfriend Speculates Bella is Gay.
She’d done hundreds of trunk shows in her ten-year modeling career, but never had she been so nervous stepping onto a stage.
Had everyone in the audience seen the stories? Were they laughing behind their hands as she modeled clothes that only a woman extremely in touch with her own sexuality would wear?
That woman was not Bella.
She didn’t have hang-ups, no matter what that jerk Curt said. It was just that she’d been so career minded since her teens the whole man-woman thing had pretty much passed her by. Not to mention the fact that she wasn’t interested in getting intimate with a man who couldn’t see beyond her body to the woman inside.
She’d had her bad experiences with idiots who thought her bra size was equivalent to her IQ, and men who wanted a trophy on their arm, not a living, breathing woman in their life, so she’d pretty much stopped dating. Until Curt.
When he’d pressed for sex, she’d been unable to share her secret—or her body—with him.
The truth was, she hadn’t wanted to.
His kisses and what he’d wanted to do afterward had left her as cold as he’d accused her of being.
She was a twenty-six-year-old virgin with a reputation for extravagant sex and a supposed list of lovers the length of the Miami Yellow Pages. It wasn’t her fault that the press speculated, or that men who hadn’t made it to first base had bragged about their homeruns, but neither had she denied the rumors. Lexi said her reputation was good for the line and Bella had considered it another cost of her career.
Her bad-girl reputation had done its own job keeping her insulated from the type of men she could actually want. The men attracted to the persona she presented to the world were very rarely the type of men she could be honestly attracted to.
Curt had been different, or so she’d thought.
She’d found out too late that the conservative accountant had only wanted the bad girl, not the real Bella. He’d wanted to take a walk on the wild side with her as his tour guide.
The last daywear model was returning up the catwalk when the announcer introduced Lexi’s eveningwear and Bella began her signature glide down the Plexiglas stage, her hands damp and her heart beating too fast.
Subdued lighting made it possible for her to make eye contact with the audience, but that was the last thing she wanted. Still, she couldn’t help subtly scanning the patrons seated in the ultraclassy Dallas hotel, looking for signs that the tabloid stories had done their damage.
But this audience seemed just like all the others, their gazes fixed on her shocking white silk dress.
She was halfway down the catwalk when her gaze snagged on a pair of green eyes. The color of new grass, they were set in a face as hard as granite and as sexy as sin.
The look in those eyes caught her as effectively as if the man’s hands had closed over her shoulders and halted her midstep. She did in fact stop, her body freezing with a blast of sensations totally alien to her. Sensations that belied every one of the nasty headlines.
Her pause lasted only a second, but she felt the first blush she’d had in years crawling hotly up her skin.
The man’s thin lips quirked in a knowing smile.
Obviously aware that he was the cause of her hesitation, his expression reflected a mixture of mocking humor and blatant male approval.
She’d spent years learning to ignore the masculine admiration her body elicited. For her, the perfectly proportioned curves were a tool of her trade, nothing more, but this man’s look went zinging to the very heart of her.
Frissons of awareness skittered along her nerve endings, leaving goose bumps of sensation in unlikely places.
She stopped at the end of the stage, which happened to be right in front of his table, while two other models wearing eveningwear came down the catwalk to flank her.
His eyes flared with pleasure as she stood in a mannequin-still pose before him and his dark-blond head tilted slightly, as if he was adjusting his angle to look at her better.
An electric current vibrated across the space between them, inexorably connecting her with the mysterious green-eyed stranger. Unbelievably, her nipples grew hard and her breasts felt tight, while her thighs trembled with the effort it took to maintain her pose.
She’d never reacted this way during a show. Not ever.
Only years of practice and discipline made it possible for her to move through her choreographed routine with the other two models. However, no matter which direction she turned, she felt that amazing connection.
It was scary.
Relief mixed with disappointment when the announcer cued her to return up the catwalk. She walked away from the green-eyed man, supremely aware of the almost nonexistent nature of the back of her gown.
It dipped to a V that ended right above her bottom, the white silk semitransparent. She wore minimal undergarments and if he was looking closely enough, he would see the shadow of her cheeks and the outline of her legs beneath the fabric. Shards of excitement speared her inner thighs at the thought.
For the first time in her modeling career, she felt exposed, as if her body was more than a living mannequin used to show off a designer’s creations.
That the dress was in fact showing her off.
She could not help wondering what he thought of an outfit that left so little of her body’s secrets to the imagination.
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