Seducing Summer
The Four Seasons Book 1
By Serenity Woods
*
Copyright 2016 Serenity Woods
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
Newsletter
Other Books by Serenity Woods
About the Author
Prologue
Five years ago
“Whose stupid idea was this?” Neve grumbled.
Callie Summer glanced to her right and chuckled at the sight of her friend tugging up the bodice of her bridesmaid’s dress. “Will you stop fidgeting? You’ve got a ton of tit tape on—it’s not going to fall down.”
“One sneeze,” Neve stated, “and I swear my boobs will pop out.”
“Along with the best man’s eyes,” Bridget said.
Neve snorted, and the rest of the bridesmaids laughed. The best man, Rhett, appeared to have the hots for Neve. They’d been teasing her all morning that he’d make a move on her by the end of the day.
“I understand why men can’t take their eyes off us. I think we look fantastic,” Rowan said.
Callie had to agree. When Rowan’s twin sister had first told the four of them that she wanted them to be bridesmaids at her wedding, they’d all been super excited, as none of them had been a bridesmaid before. Then Willow had revealed that the wedding was to take place in Matamata, at one of the sets from the movie The Lord of the Rings.
“Please don’t say you want us to dress up as hobbits,” Bridget had begged.
“No, silly.” Willow had rolled her eyes. “I thought you could be the four seasons, with gorgeous, flowing Elven dresses.”
“There are six seasons in the Elven year,” Liam, the groom-to-be, had pointed out.
Willow had thumped him. “We’re not making a Tolkien documentary. I just want them to look beautiful.”
“I’d rather be an orc than wear a bridesmaid’s gown,” Neve had grumbled. “Can’t I have a pantsuit?”
But Willow had asked her sister to design their dresses, and as they stood together waiting for the photographer, Callie thought that even Neve couldn’t deny what a marvelous job Rowan had done. All four gowns were the same style—simple and strapless with a tight bodice and a full-length satin skirt—but they differed in their color and in the pattern on the flowing layers of tulle.
With the surname Summer, Callie’s choice of season had been obvious. She had a dress of sunshine yellow, and the tulle of her skirt bore a gold-and-orange pattern that looked great with her pale, English-rose complexion.
Between the four of them, they’d decided that Rowan should be autumn because the foliage of the tree after which she’d been named turned red at that time of year. A rich gold-and-red tulle covered her russet gown, complementing her brown hair.
“My name’s Latin for snow,” Neve had suggested. So she’d become winter, with a pale blue dress covered in a shimmering white tulle flecked with blue to make sure she looked different from the bride.
That left spring for Bridget, and as her nickname was Birdie they thought the season fitted her rather well. Tiny pink and purple flowers covered the tulle over her pastel pink dress.
Together, the four gowns made them look like a row of flowers, and Willow had cried when she’d first seen them all together at the rehearsal. Rowan had made her dress, too—a flowing white gown based on Galadriel’s, with thousands of beads and glittering thread. She’d also made all their underwear—beautiful lacy, strapless bras and matching panties—and it was when Callie had stood in front of her mirror and admired the garments that she’d had a revelation.
“I’ve had an idea I want to talk to you all about,” she said as they watched the photographer taking the final shots of the bride and groom. “I think we should go into business together.”
The other three looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Doing what?” Neve asked. “Running a circus?”
“No, silly. The Four Seasons Lingerie Shop.”
They all stared at her.
“What?” Bridget said.
“After we finish university, we should open a lingerie shop. Rowan can design the clothing, I’ll manage the business side of things, Birdie—you can run the shop, and Neve can be in charge of promotion. She can hold naughty lingerie and sex toy parties and spread the word.”
“I like it,” Neve stated while the other two burst out laughing.
“You’re serious.” Rowan’s smile faded when Callie didn’t join in.
“Perfectly. Don’t you think it would be fun? Between us, we have all the skills we’d need. We get on really well, and I’m sure we’d work well together, too. It would be fantastic. I can just see us all in five years’ time—rich, successful businesswomen, happily married, babies on the way… It’ll be great.”
Rowan smiled, Bridget looked thoughtful, and Neve rolled her eyes, but Callie could see she’d sown the seeds.
She turned her gaze back to Willow and her new husband. The photographer had finished their shots and beckoned to the bridesmaids and best man to join them, so they all walked forward to surround the bride and groom. Callie watched Rhett bend his head and whisper something in Neve’s ear. She shook her head, but a smile played on her lips.
Callie’s stomach bubbled with excitement and hope. She knew the lingerie shop would be successful. With Rowan’s artistic talent and the combined fashion and business knowledge the rest of them were amassing from their university degrees, they’d make it work through sheer effort and determination.
All the girls were warm-hearted and sincere, and Callie knew it wouldn’t be long before some decent guys snapped them up. Bridget had her eye on one of the ushers, Callie herself had plans to chat up the hot guy in charge of the catering, and even Rowan—with all her hang-ups—was casting sidelong glances at one of Liam’s cousins.
Five years, she thought as the photographer gestured for them all to move closer together. It would be five years, maximum, before their business was super successful, and they’d all settled down with roses around the door and babies in their arms. Just wait and see.
Chapter One
Present Day
Callie sat at her desk, her chin in her hands, and read the email that had just popped up on her computer screen. It was from Willow, thanking Callie
for the anniversary card she’d sent the previous week.
“I can’t believe Liam and I have been married five years,” the email read. “Where does the time go? And yes, baby’s due on February 29th—typical! The poor thing will only have a birthday every four years. Hey, I know my baby shower is going to be the day before Valentine’s Day, but I really hope you can come.”
Yeah, Callie thought, she’d go. It wasn’t as if she had anything better to do.
She pushed her chair away and walked over to stand at the window of her office, looking down at the bustling city center of Wellington, capital of New Zealand. Many of the shop windows were decorated with red hearts and Valentine’s Day gifts, and the usually quiet boutique chocolate shop across the pedestrianized high street had a queue out the door.
Love was in the air. Allegedly, anyway. Callie had yet to see any evidence of the fat baby archer and his bow.
So much for her predictions on the day of Willow’s wedding. She couldn’t have been more wrong if she’d tried. She sighed as she contemplated not just her own disastrous love life, but also the failed relationships of her three friends. Maybe she’d jinxed them with her prophecies.
Neve’s brief fling with Rhett had ended abruptly—Callie had never discovered why, and since then Neve had moved from one relationship to another without any sign of them being serious. Rowan had proven useless with men, having no clue as to what made them tick, and had yet to stay with any guy for more than a few months. Bridget’s on-off relationship with her boyfriend seemed more off than on lately. None of them appeared close to settling down and having families.
Callie’s own love life also seemed doomed. After a couple of failed relationships, she’d eventually moved in with Jamie, and she’d thought things were going well right up until the moment she’d walked in on him in bed with his secretary.
Her eyes stung, and she swallowed hard. She’d done her crying over Jamie Verne—over any man, in fact.
She lifted her chin. Not every prophecy she’d made had been wrong. The Four Seasons lingerie shop in Wellington had not only come to fruition, it had been hugely successful. They’d leased a shop toward the busy end of Cuba Street, and although it hadn’t been cheap, it had proved to be a worthwhile investment, especially as it came with a couple of rooms above, from which Callie was able to run the business. As well as selling well-known brands of lingerie and swimwear, they distributed Rowan’s own brand that specialized in lingerie for “real women,” built on the belief that all women liked to wear pretty undergarments, no matter what their shape or size.
And now she was about to embark on the next phase of the business. Today was Thursday, and on Monday she was setting off for a countrywide tour of high street clothing shops to promote Rowan’s Four Seasons brand of lingerie with the hope that a large proportion of the shops would agree to stock it. It was an ambitious move that could propel their brand from small scale to nationally recognized, and might even mean expansion to Australia and beyond.
She had far too much on her plate to even think about romance. She should have been thanking her lucky stars that Jamie had shown his true colors before she’d done anything really stupid like gotten married or—horror of horrors—fallen pregnant. Now she could concentrate on the business, which was what she was best at, when it came down to it. Finding love would stay at the bottom of her to-do list, where it belonged.
Checking her watch, she realized that several minutes had gone by since she’d buzzed Neve to send in the next interviewee. Becky, her heavily pregnant PA, had unfortunately had to start her maternity leave early when her blood pressure had shot up, and Neve was sitting in for a day or two until the temp agency came up with a replacement.
Callie turned and, to her surprise, saw someone waiting in the doorway.
She’d expected a middle-aged woman with graying hair, glasses on a lanyard, frumpy clothes, and possibly a hairy lip.
This person was neither middle-aged nor frumpy. He was about six-foot-two with short brown hair, and wearing what looked like a tailored charcoal three-piece suit with a sparkling white shirt and a stylish sky-blue tie. He stood with his hands behind his back, his head tipped a little to the side as he surveyed her, suggesting he’d been there for a while.
He was also the most gorgeous guy she’d seen in… well, possibly ever, if you liked your men hard and rather dangerous. He looked as if he could complete a million-dollar business deal for a piece of land, build a shelter on it with his bare hands, and drag a woman to it by her hair. Callie hadn’t thought that kind of guy appealed to her, but she had to admit that if she’d ordered herself a late Christmas present, or an early Valentine’s Day present, or indeed any kind of present, this was the kind of parcel she would have hoped for. All he needed was a bow tied around… somewhere interesting.
“Oh,” she said, confused, and flustered at his steady gaze. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here for the interview.”
She stared at him. Part of her was aware that her jaw was sagging, but her brain couldn’t process the information he’d just given her.
He raised a hand to scratch his cheek. “Ma’am? Is there a problem?”
Ma’am. That one word melted her a little inside.
She looked at the name she’d scribbled on her notepad. “I understood that the next candidate was called Jean Bond.” She looked back up, confused. “As in Simmons, Harlow. Miss Brodie—the Prime of.”
“It’s G-e-n-e,” he clarified. “As in Hackman, Wilder. Kelly—who sings in the rain.” He brushed a hand down himself, drawing her attention to his suit again and the undoubtedly male physique that lay beneath it. “I’m a guy, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
As it happened, Callie had noticed. And that was where the problem lay.
She put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. “Neve, get your butt in here!” she yelled.
Gene’s eyebrows rose, and then he moved a few steps to the side to leave the doorway clear.
Neve’s head appeared around the door. Her innocent expression informed Callie that she was well aware of what had just transpired. Neve sidled in and cast a quick glance at the man still standing in the center of the room before saying, “How’s the interview going? Not progressed to sitting down yet?”
“I’m supposed to find a replacement for Becky today,” Callie pointed out.
Neve nodded and gestured with both hands at the man standing by her side as if he were a magician and she was his assistant. “And here he is… Ta da!”
“It appears that 007 here is a man,” Callie stated.
“007?” Neve queried.
“Mr. Bond.”
“Ah.” Neve looked him up and down. “Do you know, I think you’re right.”
Callie gave her a wry look. “You knew damn well he was a man and you didn’t tell me.”
Earlier that morning, when Callie had complained about how useless the three temps they’d already sent her had been, Neve had told her, “Don’t worry, the agency’s sending someone called Jean. Apparently the best they’ve got. Came in early this morning after a long vacation, looking for a new post.” It was only now that Callie realized her friend had carefully avoided using pronouns.
She glared at Neve. “You told me they said ‘Efficient, organized, and hot as office skills.’”
“And?”
“Hot piece of ass is what you meant. Deny it.”
“I’m standing right here,” Gene said.
Callie ignored him. Since she’d broken up with Jamie, her friends had tried to fix her up on no fewer than three occasions with someone new. Callie had refused each time, but she was certain this appointment was another of Neve’s attempts to pair her up. “This morning, you’ve brought me a sixteen-year-old whose only experience was working in a DVD rental shop on a Saturday afternoon, another girl who spelled the word lingerie with a ‘j’, and a woman whose typing speed was twenty words a minute.”
“I can type faster than that with my
feet,” Gene commented.
She glanced over at him. He raised his eyebrows. She was tempted to laugh, but she wasn’t about to give in yet.
“Did you pick the other three on purpose?” she asked Neve suspiciously.
“Not at all.” Neve looked affronted. “When you leave it to the last minute, these are the kind of people left on the shelf.”
“Gee, thanks,” Gene said.
“I didn’t mean you.” Now Neve was laughing. “Come on, Callie. Give the guy an interview at least. He comes with great references, and he can do shorthand.”
Callie blew out a breath. It may have been old-fashioned, but she enjoyed dictating letters and reports while she paced her office looking out at the view. She’d been doubtful that she’d find anyone these days who could still do shorthand. That at least worked in his favor.
“You really can type?” she asked him.
“I can.”
“What’s your speed?”
“Ninety words a minute.”
That wasn’t bad at all. “Shorthand speed?” she queried.
“A hundred and thirty words a minute.”
Maybe not as fast as Becky, but still pretty good. She tried not to look impressed. “Anything else?”
“I can use old-fashioned Dictaphones and the new digital ones. I’m proficient in all the major word processing, spreadsheet, and presentational packages. I can book flights, organize meetings, make coffee, charm customers, and unjam printers. And I know my alphabet and can tie my shoelaces on my own.”
Neve burst out laughing. Seeing Callie’s glare, she turned and walked out of the office, still chuckling.
Callie turned her glare on Gene, whose eyes danced with humor. “Do you really think I’m looking for a smart-mouthed man to be my PA?” she demanded.
Pursing his lips, he looked at his shoes, giving her a moment to admire him. He had boyish good looks, but there was a touch of toughness to his hardened features, as if he were a guy she’d known since childhood that had been away to war and seen terrible things, returning a changed man. His face was grave and serious, and she had the feeling he didn’t smile much—and yet the corners of his eyes were creased with laughter lines, suggesting his seriousness hadn’t been there since birth, but had crept upon him as life took its toll. It was difficult to see what kind of physique he had beneath the suit, but he had wide shoulders and a broad chest, suggesting he worked out. His short hair stuck up at the front, although it was unclear whether it was natural or if he’d styled it like that.
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