Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Trouble in High Heels
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Tongue in Chic
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
About the Author
Teaser chapter
Raves for Christina Dodd
“Dodd delivers a high-octane, blow-out finale. . . . This romantic suspense novel is a delicious concoction that readers will be hard-pressed not to consume in one gulp.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Warm characterizations and a caperlike plot make Dodd’s hot contemporary romance a delight, and the cliff-hanger ending will leave readers eager for the sequel.”
—Booklist
“Dodd brings her unique sense of plotting, character, humor, and surprise to this wonderful tale. You’ll relish every word, cherish each poignant moment and ingenious plot twist, sigh deeply, and eagerly await the sequel. Dodd is clever, witty, and sexy.”
—Romantic Times
“Dodd adds humor, sizzling sensuality, and a cast of truly delightful secondary characters to produce a story that will not disappoint.”
—Library Journal
“Strong and likable characters make this an enjoyable read. Ms. Dodd peppers the story with interesting secondary personalities, which adds to the reading pleasure.”
—The Best Reviews
“Sexy and witty, daring and delightful.”
—New York Times bestselling author Teresa Medeiros
“A master romantic storyteller.”
—New York Times bestselling author Kristin Hannah
“Christina Dodd keeps getting better and better.”
—New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber
“Treat yourself to a fabulous book—anything by Christina Dodd!”
—New York Times bestselling author Jill Barnett
Other Books by Christina Dodd
CHRISTINA DODD’S THE CHOSEN ONES SERIES
Storm of Visions
Storm of Shadows
CHRISTINA DODD’S DARKNESS CHOSEN SERIES
Scent of Darkness
Touch of Darkness
Into the Shadow
Into the Flame
CHRISTINA DODD’S ROMANTIC SUSPENSE
Trouble in High Heels
Tongue in Chic
Thigh High
Danger in a Red Dress
New American Library
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Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Trouble in High Heels and Tongue in Chic were previously published in separate Signet editions.
First New American Library Trade Paperback Printing, October 2009
Trouble in High Heels copyright © Christina Dodd, 2006
Tongue in Chic copyright © Christina Dodd, 2007
All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
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eISBN : 978-1-101-14537-1
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Dear Reader,
The way to fight a woman is with your hat. Grab it and run.
The guy who said that was a wise man. He knew what most men don’t—women are powerful creatures who should be handled with care, or they can become very, very dangerous.
When I wrote Trouble in High Heels, I knew exactly how lawyer Brandi Michaels would react when she discovered her lousy, deceitful fiancé got his girlfriend pregnant, then had the guts to ask for her engagement ring back. I knew she would become as dangerous as a wounded lioness, pawn the ring, and use the money for a new gown and killer heels. Then she would go to a society party looking for revenge. And a fabulous revenge she would find . . . in Roberto Bartolini.
Roberto is an
Italian count, sex in an Armani suit, Johnny Depp without the eyeliner. He has more than money, more than breeding, more than looks—he radiates power. Brandi considers him as challenging as Everest, and she’s ready to scale his heights.
What Brandi doesn’t know is that Roberto comes from a family of famous robbers; he’s been accused of jewel theft; and he’s in town to steal the magnificent Romanov Blaze, a priceless cursed diamond. Nor does she know that she’s part of his defense team.
Brandi is in deep trouble.
When I wrote Tongue in Chic, I knew Natalie Meadow Szarvas was a different kind of dangerous lady—less sophisticated, more wholesome, but just as determined to complete her mission of recovering her grandmother’s painting, even if it involved breaking and entering—and getting caught by the mansion’s owner.
Though Meadow is a fast thinker, Devlin Fitzwilliam is a fast talker gifted with the face of a dark angel. In Meadow, he recognizes the opportunity for revenge against her family, but he’ll soon discover the real reason he can’t seem to let the rash, eccentric, laughing artist escape his control . . . or his heart.
Brandi and Meadow are the kind of dangerous ladies I love to write—intelligent, funny, willing to stand and fight for what they believe, and oh so surprised when love sweeps them off their feet.
I hope you enjoy this chance to enjoy two of my favorite novels in one volume, and remember—in the right circumstances, every lady is dangerous.
Warmly,
Christina Dodd
www.christinadodd.com
For the wild at heart!
Trouble in High Heels
For Scott.
When I write about love forever,
I write about you.
Acknowledgments
Some books come to fruition without struggle.
So I’m told.
My thanks to my editor, Kara Cesare, for holding my hand through the battle, and to Kara Welsh, for being so patient through disaster and flood. To my plot group, Lisa Kleypas, Connie Brockway, Susan Kay Law, and especially Susan Sizemore and Geralyn Dawson, who answered my panicked phone calls with brutal wisdom and witty banter. And to my agent, Mel Berger, thank you for being a sounding board, mentor, and friend.
1
Nashville, Tennessee
Fourteen years ago
Eleven-year-old Brandi sat in the open door of her bedroom with the floaty princess curtains and the pretty canopy bed, and listened to the sound of her mother’s hysterical voice.
“But I don’t know how to write a check.”
“It’s time you learned.” Her father couldn’t have sounded more disgusted.
“But you always did that for us.”
“That’s right.” Daddy was sort of stomping as he packed. “I’d come home from a hard day’s work at the office and I had to sit down and pay the utilities and the house payment and the credit cards and all the other bills. I had to make the reservations anytime we traveled and arrange to have someone mow the lawn. Taking care of you was a damned pain in the ass.”
“But you wanted it that way!”
Daddy must have recognized the justice of her statement, because he sounded a little nicer. “It’s not hard, Tiffany.” Then he was back to impatience. “For Christ’s sake, my secretary can do it.”
“It’s her, isn’t it?” Mama’s voice shook with suspicion. “It’s Susan. That little slut is the one you’re leaving me for.”
“She’s not a slut,” he snapped. Then he took a long, audible breath. “And I’m leaving you because you don’t do anything except . . . groom.”
Brandi imagined her father waving his big hands at her thin, blond, immaculately coiffed and manicured mother.
“What do you want me to do? I can do whatever you want.” Mama sounded panicked.
Brandi knew Mama was panicked, because Brandi was scared, too.
“You can’t carry on an intelligent conversation. You can’t discuss my business with me. The reason you always get picked for jury duty is because you don’t know a damned thing about current events.” He snorted. “A man like me needs an intellectual challenge, not an aging doormat.”
Brandi had to know what was going to happen—to her parents, and to her.
Brandi’s mother gasped. “I’m thirty-two!”
“As I said.”
Why was he being so mean? Tiffany was beautiful. Everybody said so. All Brandi’s friends at ballet envied her for having a mother who looked like a movie star. Brandi didn’t think it was so hot having people talk to her all the time about Tiffany and ask if she was proud to have such a pretty mother, but she always smiled and nodded her head, because then they always said, “And you’ll look just like her when you grow up!”
“You never wanted to talk to me about your business before.” Mama’s heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she followed Daddy around their bedroom. “You said you left Jane for me because she was always talking about that stuff when all you wanted was a peaceful home where you could relax.”
Daddy grunted.
“Look around you. I’ve consulted feng shui experts and brought in decorators to make this a home that you could be proud of—”
“And I paid through the nose for that fool Japanese guy—”
“Indonesian!”
“And for some idiot decorator to change my curtains in my office four times a year.” Daddy was getting hostile.
“Drapes. They’re drapes. And you bring clients into that office, Gary, and we had to get them right!”
Brandi loved that when it came to something she really cared about, Mama got in Daddy’s face.
“Besides, our house headlined in the Frontgate catalog—”
The spread in Frontgate catalog had been Mama’s pride and joy, and had given her great cachet among her friends.
“That catalog brought you a lot of work. The Dugeren murder case and”—Mama’s voice quavered—“that high-profile divorce case. . . .” She was right.
So Daddy attacked from a different direction. “Do you think I don’t notice the bills to the dermatologist and the plastic surgeon? Your discreet little visits for your facial buffs and your body peels?”
“What’s wrong with that?” Honestly bewildered, Mama asked, “Don’t you want me to be beautiful?”
“I want something more than an empty shell who smiles vacuously and babbles about how Vicky at tennis has to do something about the cellulite on her thighs! And your daughter’s just as bad.”
Brandi wanted to cover her ears, to not hear her own father disown her by saying your daughter, but it was like listening to a car wreck—the insults and the rejection commanded her attention as surely as the screech of brakes and the crumple of metal, and for one wild moment she wondered if she would come out alive.
“All that girl does—”
“Brandi.” Mom took a deep breath, and Brandi pictured her squaring her shoulders. “Her name is Brandi.”
“All Brandi does is take ballet and gymnastics and cheerleading classes. She’s a mini-you. Why couldn’t she be more like Kimberley?”
Kim was his first daughter, his daughter with Jane.
“Kimberley plays softball, and she does it damned well.” His voice rang with pride. “She’s got a sports scholarship to UT. She’s going to be an engineer and make something of herself. Not like that kid of yours. Brandi is stupid.”
Stupid. Daddy thought she was stupid. Brandi closed her eyes to try to contain the anguish, and when that didn’t work she put her fist against her mouth and shoved, holding back her shriek.
She wasn’t stupid. He was. He was. She wanted to go down to her parents’ bedroom, stomp her foot, shout and rail at her father for throwing her and her mother away as if they were trash.
But Brandi didn’t make scenes. Brandi followed the rules in the hope that being good would somehow make everything okay.
Everything was not okay, but if she just tried a little harder . . .
“She is not stupid!” Mama
said.
“How would you know?”
Brandi gasped. How could he be so cruel to Mama?
“She’s your daughter as much as Kimberley. She’s smart, too. She’s never had anything but straight As, even in math.” Mama didn’t pay a bit of attention to Daddy’s insult to her, but leaped into the fray to defend Brandi.
Of course, Mama’s strengths weren’t taught in school. She was really good at making their house pretty and knowing the right thing to wear and smiling at men so they got flustered and turned red.
“Brandi’s probably going to be some kind of freaking English major and a drain on my wallet for the rest of my life.” He sounded so disgusted, as if being good in English were a waste.
“She’s the best in her class in gymnastics and ballet.”
“A bunch of skinny little girls in tights!”
Brandi gritted her teeth. She wasn’t skinny or little anymore. She had a figure, and at five-foot-ten she was an inch taller than Mama and four inches taller than any of the rest of the girls in her class. But around the house Daddy hardly glanced at Brandi, and he had never bothered to come to her recitals.
“Kimberley plays real sports,” he said. “Competitive sports.”
In a prissy tone, Mom said, “If you ask me, Kimberley is a lesbian.”
With a soft groan, Brandi dropped her forehead against the wall. It was true. Of course it was true. Kim had told Brandi herself. But Daddy was homophobic, and he sure didn’t want to know that his sports-inclined daughter was gay. Mama had just messed up big by telling him.
Daddy shouted, “Why, you jealous little—”
Mama gave a little cry of fright.
He was going to hit Mama.
Brandi started to her feet, picking up her beloved ceramic dragon to use as a weapon.
She heard the sound of glass shattering.
Heart pounding, she ran into the hallway, dragon upraised.