Set Up

Back Cover

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 eventually 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—”