LITMIR.BIZ

       PROLOGUE

      IT WAS late on an unseasonably warm Friday afternoon in September, and all was right in Grant Landon’s world.

      The deal The New York Times had called “impossible” was almost wrapped up, the weekend stretched ahead, and tonight a long-legged beauty whose face graced half the magazine covers in the city was dining with him at his Fifth Avenue apartment—which didn’t dim his growing interest in the blue-eyed blonde seated on the other side of his desk.

      They had been dueling for the past several hours, each trying to gain the upper hand, but Grant knew better than to allow his attention to be diverted by something other than the intricacies of contract law. Now, with the deal concluded, he could see that she was all the diversion one man could handle.

      Alicia Madigan was bright, sophisticated, and coolly elegant. A woman to his liking—and Grant knew just the way she’d like to be handled. A shadowy smile curved across his mouth at the thought, softening the hard, handsome lines of his face.

      The Madigan woman noticed.

      “Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” she said lightly. “I’ll begin to worry that I gave away too much.”

      Grant laughed softly. “Come now, Miss Madigan. You know what they say about the fine art of negotiating. You give some, you get some.”

      She smiled, sat back, and crossed her legs. Her demure suit skirt inched above her knees. Grant’s eyes narrowed. Was that a flash of black lace, or was it his imagination?

      “I wasn’t born yesterday, Mr. Landon. We both know what the ‘fine art of negotiating’ really means. Her eyes met his. “Get as much as you can, while you can. Isn’t that right?”

      Were they still discussing the intricacies of contract negotiations? Or had they moved on to an entirely different sort of negotiation?

      “Perhaps.” Grant smiled. “But I’ve never taken pleasure in an arrangement that wasn’t mutually agreeable.”

      Alicia Madigan gave a throaty laugh. “So I’ve heard.” Her long legs scissored again. There was no mistaking the flash of black lace this time. “You know,” she said softly, “I was as excited at the prospect as I was wary of the consequences of dealing with the famous Grant Landon.”

      Grant’s smile tilted. “I have difficulty envisioning you as wary of anyone, Miss Madigan.”

      “Alicia, please. Surely, we don’t have to be so formal now.” The tip of her pale pink tongue peeked from between her teeth and slicked across her bottom lip as she rose from her chair. “In fact, I was thinking we might have a drink together. Perhaps dinner. And then—well, who knows?”

      Grant felt his body tighten as she came toward him. He looked her over slowly, his hazel eyes moving the length of her body in frank appraisal. Instinct told him that he could take her now, that she wanted to be taken now. All he had to do was go to her, put his hands under that seemingly demure skirt, shove it above her thighs…

      “You’re very direct,” he said, his voice a little thick as he pushed back his chair and got to his feet.

      “I am.” She put her

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