Bedeviled Angel Read Online Free PDF Page A

typical, if it bit you in the butt—"
    "Hey, watch it!"
    Logan took a calming breath. "Right. Sorry. I haven't been sleeping well,"
    because she was wreaking havoc with his libido twenty-four/seven. "Look, if you really want this job, that getup's probably not—"
    "You said I should wear a dress."
    "Where did you find it, the attic?"
    "The Immortal Classic. Why? Is there another vintage dress shop in town called The Attic?"
    "I'm out of my depth, here," Logan said to no one in particular.
    "Well, drive, why don't you? I thought you said we were late."
    Logan sighed and vowed this was the last time he'd drive her anywhere. "Listen, Mel, Jagger Harrison Gardner, the man who'll probably do the interview, is—"
    "More of a tight ass than you are?"
    "Succinct, and correct, in one."
    "So?"
    "I just wanted to be fair and give you one last chance to change your clothes and make a good impression from this side of the century."
    Logan watched her brow furrow as she perused her offbeat navy suit. The tight-waisted jacket flared provocatively at her hips, that feminine touch offset by wide padded shoulders and mannish lapels. Though to give her credit, her mouthwatering, alabaster cleavage shot masculine all to hell. The slim, straight skirt, slit to her thigh, ended just above her ankles. Funny, he'd never found ankles alluring before. And did the top of that slit reveal a garter at the edge of one sheer, silk stocking? Ah, hell, now he wouldn't be able to get out of the damned car.
    "I love this outfit," she said. "A suit is perfect for an interview, especially this suit for this interview."
    Logan gave her as impartial an assessment as he could, given his current physical discomfort. "I like your hair piled on your head like that," he said to turn his thoughts. "But I've never seen anything like that suit before."
    "This is a turn-of-the-century walking suit in pristine condition, and I'm not changing, so you may as well go ahead and drive."
    "Your funeral."
    JAGGER Harrison Gardner, the station's general manager, not so affectionately known as the Ice Man, liked to say he was "a young fifty." He was rich, and he had power, and not a day went by that he didn't remind somebody of the fact.
    Logan acknowledged that Gardner was getting his reminder out of the way early this morning, when he waved off the director of human resources and commanded Logan to "stay."
    This was going to be an ugly three minutes.
    Melody stepped out of the powder room and stopped Gardner cold.
    Then again, maybe not.
    She flashed that smile of hers—the one calculated to raise male temperatures, and other anatomical parts—as she came toward them and extended her hand. And when Gardner's hand touched hers, Logan could have sworn he heard the sound of ice beginning to crack.
    Witch or not, Melody could make magic just by walking into a room.
    They followed Gardner to his posh corner office, where he invited them to sit on a white, silk, crescent sectional that curved around a circular glass coffee table.
    There, Gardner examined Melody's cleavage for so long, he had to lick his drooling chops. When the older man finally picked up her resume, Logan gave her a
    "tough break" look. After all, she'd held seven jobs in the past year.
    But the boss tossed the small sheaf back onto the table with no more than a cursory glance.
    Wait a minute, Logan thought. Hadn't his own resume been placed under a microscope?
    "Tell me, Miss, er, Seabright," Gardner said. "What makes you feel qualified to host a cooking show?"
    Bingo , Logan thought, as he sat back to await her answer.

    "Please," Melody said, with a little too much sugar for Logan's palate, "call me Mel." Then she stood and began to pace, swinging her cute little ass, and taking full advantage of that thigh-high slit. The stilettos didn't do her any harm either. She gave his boss an over-the-shoulder glance, using her amazing mink lashes to good advantage, before she turned to face them. "As to my