Calculated Risk

Available now: eBooks by
Elaine Raco Chase

Calculated Risk

“Another first – Elaine gives us a
rib-tickling tale of the older woman. All readers with teenage
children will split their sides over the descriptions of life on a
high school date!” Romantic Times Magazine

Special Delivery

“The dialogue and verbal sparring is a
standout with sexual tension in spades.” Reviewer - Cathy
Sova

Designing Woman

"This is the funniest book we've ever
read and the love story is terrific. Plugging it with Kleenex to
wipe tears of laughter." Barbara Critiques

Video Vixen

"A real sizzler. A marvelous conjuror
of provocative and delicious situation comedy. Elaine has worked
her magic again in Video Vixen." Romantic Times Magazine

Coming soon to an eBook near
you by Elaine Raco Chase

Dare the Devil – available
in late June

Double Occupancy – available
in July

Lady Be Bad – available in
July

An excerpt from Calculated
Risk

She launched her verbal attack before
the door latch clicked in the lock. “Let me make one thing
perfectly clear, Mr. Ward. I do not now have, nor have I ever had,
sexual –“ millions of shivers bubbled over her skin “—designs on
your son. In fact, until late today, I wasn’t even aware that
Robert Ward existed. He is just another invisible mail clerk in my
building.”

Her bold affront continued. “I think
the kid is just starved for female affection.” She paced back and
forth in front of Quintin’s military-like stance. “Although why he
didn’t pick a high school cheerleader, I don’t know. Maybe he’s shy
with girls his own age.

“
My office staff is like an
extension of my family.” The metallic skirt rustled around her
ankles. “We laugh, we joke, and the atmosphere is very informal.”
Stevie stopped pacing to view his stoic features. “Bobby has
misinterpreted my every smile, my every statement. He thinks all
those freebee promotionals were personal gifts.”

Her raised palm stopped his forthcoming
interruption. “Mr. Ward, you have my word. Monday I will sit Bobby
down, explain the facts of life to him and if push comes to shove,
I’ll just have to terminate his employment.” Stevie favored him
with an encouraging smile. “Will that make you happy?”

“
So you weren’t even aware
of Rob?” Quintin arched a disbelieving brow. “Then why turn up on
our doorstep all dressed for a party, or is this –“ his finger
flicked a ruffle “—your usual evening attire?”

Stevie emitted a low growl. “I was on
my way to a concert at the Opry. I made the time to come to
straighten out this misunderstanding.”

“
Really?” His head nodded
cockily. “And did I misunderstand that little tryst
upstairs?”

“
Tryst!” Her hands curled
into impotent fists that punched the air. “Haven’t you heard a word
I said? Damn, but you are a stubborn, bullheaded, totally
–“

“
I saw you kissing my
son.”

“
Kissing!” Her head reeled
back in shock.

“
I know what I saw, Miss
Brandt.”

“
I was not kissing your
son,” Stevie hissed. She stood on her toes; her face was
nose-to-nose with Quintin’s. “You son gave me a peck on the cheek.”
Noting his disbelieving look, her hazel eyes turned dangerous.
“This, Mr. Ward, is what I call a kiss!”

Her fingers grasped the lapels on his
evening jacket, crushing the expensive fabric into her palms. She
leaned against him; the force of her body bent him backward over
his desk. Her mouth slanted over his half-parted lips, effectively
smothering his astonishment. Her tongue made a quick intimate
taunt, finding enjoyment in the subtle taste of scotch.

When she realized what she was doing,
Stevie pushed herself free. “Now you know the difference.” Her eyes
radiated an intoxicated glow. “I don’t need to seduce boys, Quintin
Ward.” With a swish of her skirt, she turned and disappeared out of
the door.

Quintin stared at the white-knuckled
hands that still gripped the edges of the desk. He was at a loss to
understand what had happened. He had been in control. He had been
so positive. And then … His forefinger smoothed his lips. He had
never encountered a woman like Stephanie Brandt before, but he’d
certainly like to again.

Calculated Risk

By

Elaine Raco Chase

Smashwords
Edition

eBook Editions Published by
Elaine Raco Chase on Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License
Notes

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Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

©1983 by Elaine Raco Chase Original
Silhouette Desire Romance #104 ISBN 0-671-46227-X

©2011 by Elaine Raco Chase Updated
with new scenes and dialogue

All of the characters in this book are
fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

“Stephanie Brandt?”

Hazel eyes were jarred from
their intense involvement with the pages of
Variety
by the yellow hard hat that
was slammed on the white linen tablecloth.

“Are you Stephanie Brandt?” Grated the
forceful masculine voice.

Blinking in surprise, she looked up to
confront the man who threatened her with her own name.
“Yes?”

“I want you to stop seducing my son.
Leave him alone, lady. Stop all the presents. Stop everything! If
you don’t, I’ll file sexual misconduct charges against
you.”

The man’s rough-hewn face
was livid, but his words were coherent, emphatic, and loud enough
to capture the attention of the other early dinner patrons
at
Le Chalet
.
Quickly regaining her composure, Stevie rose to her imposing
sixty-eight inches, her voice a low, fierce whisper. “Who the hell
are you and what the hell are you talking about?”

“Shut up.” The stranger’s large hand
conquered her black tweed suit-covered shoulder. Strong fingers
pressed into her fragile collarbone, effectively forcing Stevie
back into the Queen Anne dining chair. “Rob’s only seventeen,” he
growled, “and you…you’re…what thirty two? Thirty-four? Hell,
there’s room for a whole other person!”

Stevie was doing a herculean job of
damming her own cresting anger. She was not a screamer or a
shrieker, but no one ever told her to shut up. “Now wait just a
minute – I don’t …”

“Shut up, lady!” He ordered again, his
hand pressured her agitated figure to remain seated. “All I’ve
heard is Stephanie, Stephanie, Stephanie! When Rob first started
talking about you, I thought you were a high school cheerleader.”
His massive chest heaved under deep breaths. “It took me a while to
put two and two together. Is this a quirk with you, lady? Are you
one of those Cougar’s? Do you get your kicks sexually dominating
young boys?”

Her mauve tinted mouth dropped open.
“Hey…now…you…” Stevie’s abject denial stuttered into silence under
the bruising dark gaze and animal rage that contorted her accuser’s
features.

“I’ve talked to a lawyer.” A blunt
forefinger punctured the air inches from her nose. “I can have you
arrested from gross immorality, moral turpitude, contributing to
the delinquency of a minor and exploitation of a professional
relationship for personal gain.” The dark haired stranger reached
into the breast pocket of his denim work jacket and yanked out a
paper. “And don’t think I’m sucker enough to pay this!”

Mesmerized, Stevie witnessed the
ensuing action unfold as if in slow motion. The green letterhead
briefly fluttered like a kite on a current of air before it drifted
down to cover her dinner plate. His white-knuckled fist pounded on
top of it. The voucher merged with the half-eaten quiche
Florentine. The egg-custard-and-spinach filling oozed off the china
plate onto the pristine white cloth.

Finally, to her utter relief, the hard
hat and its granite owner stalked out of the restaurant, his work
boots ringing every step against the polished wood
floor.

Rose-tipped fingers pulled
at the high collar on her pleated-front blouse. But the tightness
that constricted Stevie’s throat came more from the whispering
patrons and their speculative glances than the magenta silk collar.
That trite phrase
wishing to fade into the
woodwork
had never held so much
meaning.

The tuxedo-clad maître d’s jaunty
figure bustled toward her. “Mademoiselle Brandt, I apologize.
That…that man said he had an urgent message for you or I would have
never allowed him in.”

Bernardo’s hands fluttered
like dizzy butterflies over the table. “No suit. No tie. No
reservations!” His black eyebrows bounced in alarm.
“
Zut!
What
is
this!
” Two
perfectly manicured male fingers lifted the egg-stained stationery
from the dinner plate. “That…that uncouth brute! Look at my
quiche!”

Stevie winched, noting that Bernardo’s
cry of pain fostered another burst of attention toward the tiny
table, which was partially secluded by potted parlor palms. “The
quiche, as always, was magnificent.” Her husky contralto sought to
soothe. She took the letter from his hand, wiped it on her napkin
and made it disappear into her jacket pocket.

“Put dinner and a generous tip on my
account.” She stood and brushed pastry crumbs off her black wool
skirt. “Could you please have my car brought around, Bernardo?”
Stevie smiled slightly as the restaurateur went away, mumbling
French-fractured English and waiving expressive European
hands.

Pride backboned with willpower walked
Stephanie Brandt through the dining room. She even managed enough
aplomb to enter into a few brief, meaningless conversations with
casual acquaintances. Once outside, her composure was soon
destroyed by the anger she had been too stunned to
express.

By the time the blue Mercedes completed
its two-block swing through Music Row, Stephanie had chanted her
mantra a thousand times and fumed it into a word mother had never
taught her! Parking the sedan in the space marked reserved, she
grabbed her purse and leather attaché case and bolted from the car,
slamming the door with fury.

She inhaled six deep lungful’s of crisp
January air and forced herself to assume her usual cool control.
“Sorry about that.” Her hand patted an apology against the luxury
car’s handcrafted precision door.

Gloria Lansing looked over the top of
her bifocals when her boss walked into the reception area. “That
was a quick dinner. I haven’t finished these contracts, and
–“

Stevie’s hand waved her quiet. “Do we
know anyone named Ward? Rob or Rod? Or –“ she made an expressive
face as she took another look at the crumpled and stained invoice
“—how about Quintin Ward? Cedar Lane off Franklin Road?”

Turning from her computer, Gloria
studied her seething boss with awe. In the two years during which
she had been administrative assistant to Stephanie Brandt, nothing
and no one had ever evoked this type of reaction. As president of
one of Nashville’s most prestigious talent management firms,
Stevie’s name was synonymous with personal discipline and
self-control.

Gloria quickly sifted through the
massive Rolodex™. “You know a Carleton Ward in Los Angeles, Harry
Ward in Queens and Kyle Ward, the backup drummer for the Pursuit of
Happiness Singers.” She pulled a pencil from the neat gray bun on
top of her head and tapped a blank address card. “No Rod, Rob or
Quintin Ward.”