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You just need to have a little fun. Especially if the rest of your life is going to be the utter doldrums." Rachel continued to rummage in her purse, finally pulling out three little plastic packets. Condoms.
    "For crying out loud, Rachel," Paris snapped, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. "I don't need these."
    "Just take them," coaxed Rachel, opening Paris 's purse and dropping them in.
    Paris grimaced. The last thing she needed was to get involved with a guy who impersonated authors to get a date. Even one so intriguing and sexy? She shoved the thought away. She needed to focus on work … not long, steamy nights with Alexander or the waiter or whoever the hell he was.
    Still, a little more time together would give her a chance to figure out what he was up to. And why not have a one-night fling? How many women had the chance to cuddle up to their fantasy man? She shivered from the memory of his taut, tight muscles. Of the way her body had caught fire from just the touch of his fingertip.
    She sighed.
    Get a grip, Paris .
    No way was she going to bed with the guy. It simply was not going to happen. He wasn't Alexander, and that was the end of that. Plain and simple.
    Except…
    Already she missed the way her blood burned when he looked toward her, missed the way her skin tingled when he was nearby. She grazed her teeth across her lower lip. She did want an adventure. And a tall, dark and handsome one had just materialized out of thin air. So maybe Rachel was right. Maybe a little seduction was in order.
    No, no, no. She curled her hands into tight fists. Sleeping with him was out of the question. It would be a mistake—indulgent and foolish.
    But why couldn't she spend a little more time with him? A little flirting would be innocent enough. What would be the harm in that?
    Before her mind could think up a reason, she pushed herself out of her chair. "The party's wrapping up. I should go collect my Alexander."

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    Chapter 3
    « ^ »
    B y the end of the party, Devin held new respect for actors. He'd been "on" for five hours. Three hundred minutes of smiling and hand-shaking. Eighteen thousand seconds of an award-winning performance.
    He'd forgotten how much work it was to stay in character for so long. His head throbbed, fire lapped at his feet and demons tormented each muscle. If Paris knew how grueling the evening had been, she would gladly write his check.
    Paris .
    His body wasn't too tired to express extreme appreciation for the way the flimsy black dress hugged her, defying gravity with the help of two thin straps. He watched, enraptured, as she maneuvered through the last few guests, kissing cheeks and shaking hands. Primped and manicured, blond and bouncy, she was the complete opposite of the listless, life-weary women who had littered the streets of his childhood neighborhood.
    She hypnotized him. Paris was everything Devin had ever hoped to find in a woman, but knew he could never have.
    You don't belong here. Memories flooded back. His father, stressing diction and poise. His uncle, teaching him French. It never hurt for a grifter to have a touch of class, they'd said.
    His schooling had started with street sessions. He and his father pulling the old switcheroo and conning store owners out of change for a twenty, when he'd paid with only a flyer. The movie Paper Moon had shown that maneuver to the world, but still they'd never been caught. Easy cons, kid stuff. Then came the bigger deals. Scams that would prepare him for life on the street.
    He knew his father had only been looking out for him, and Devin loved him for it. But he didn't love his father's life-style. So he'd spent a lifetime working and studying, all so he could escape his father's shadow, and this is where he'd ended up. Pulling a con on the most adorable woman he'd ever met.
    "Hey stranger." She eased up beside him, linking her arm through his as if they'd stood together a hundred times. Her touch excited Devin as much as her