“No, you don’t understand. I need you.”
“I’ve been telling you that, chérie,” he said with a raised brow and a slow smile.
I smacked his arm. “Beau. Not now darlin’, I’m being serious. Come work with me.”
He sat silently looking at me as if waiting for a punch line.
“Beau Montgomery...stunned into silence? Now this I don’t believe. What is it? You have to know that you have an eye for this.”
“I know what looks good. That’s all.”
“That’s a talent, Beau. You have the ability to look at a garment and figure out how to make it better. It took me six weeks to design these clothes; you upgraded them in an hour and a half.” I tilted the book toward him.
“Are you serious about me working for you?”
“Would you have a problem working for me?”
“What’s your policy on interoffice relationships?”
Laughing, I patted his thigh. “They are strictly forbidden, sugar. I don’t do drama.”
“You really want me to come work for you?”
“Why are you so surprised? Been a while since someone saw you as more than just a pretty face?” I meant it as a joke but he shifted as if uncomfortable with the topic, and I hurried to reassure him. “Beau, I’m serious. You have a designer’s eye, a model’s experience, a quality-control mindset, and a little something extra. I don’t know what to call it.”
“Lagniappe.” He nodded, taking the design book out of my hand and setting it on the table. I suddenly was very aware of the fact that I was in a short nightgown practically sitting in the lap of a really fine specimen of man. Ah jeez.
“Lagniappe?” I asked as he leaned in closer and braced his hands on the table, bracketing me in.
“Mais oui. It means a lil sumthin’ extra, down on the bayou.” He nuzzled the side of my neck as he explained. “It’s an indefinable sumthin’ sumthin’ that adds just the right touch of spice.” He stroked a hand down my back and I couldn’t help but shiver a little.
“Beau?” I tilted my neck to give him better access. Dammit! I didn’t mean to do that. I tried to lean back but there was really nowhere to go.
“Umm hmm?” His tongue came out and traced along the curve of my earlobe. Something started to melt inside me. Good Lord, the man should come with a warning label.
Concentrate, Mirabella, I scolded myself. “What are you doing?”
His lips paused as he trailed his way from my ear to my cheek. “If I have to explain it, either I’m not doing it right or you are way out of practice, fille.”
I was way out of practice, but he didn’t need to know that. “I guess what I’m really asking is why are you doing this?”
“You said you have a strict no-fraternization policy in the office, right?” His lips grazed mine, and I literally forgot to breathe for a second.
“Right.”
“Since I’m coming to work for you in the morning, I thought I’d get my fraternizing in tonight.”
I raised my eyes to meet his gaze. We stared at each other trying to get a read on what the other was thinking. Just a quick taste wouldn’t hurt anything, would it? I could tell the moment he saw my decision. He leaned in and I closed the distance between us. His lips pressed against mine and my breath hitched in my throat. He sucked my bottom lip into his sinfully warm mouth before releasing it. Then he placed light, soft kisses around the perimeter of my lips.
I leaned closer and angled my head to taste more of him. I felt his lips curl into a smile before he took my face in his hands. I opened my mouth to take a deep breath and he slid his tongue inside. In slow and deliberate movements, he entangled his tongue with mine. It was a sensuous dance. He led and I followed. His mouth learning mine in delicious determination. He circled once, gauged my reaction, and delved in to try a different tempo. It was the most blatantly sexual kiss I’d ever received. I’d never quite been kissed like this before. As if the kiss was the whole thing and not a prelude to something else. His lips lingered and tantalized for long, heated moments. It was . . . divine. He literally took my breath away. Slowly I pulled back, shook my head, and eased backwards on the chaise. “No. We’re not doing this.”
“We’re not?” His voice was a silky rasp against my already inflamed senses.
My hormones were screaming the same question. We’re not? “We’re not.”
He dropped his hands to his lap and nodded slowly. “Why not?”
“You’re better than this. I’m smarter than this. I’m not going to seal an employment offer by having wild, raunchy sex with you out on your sister’s balcony.”
“Wait...was it going to be wild and raunchy?” he asked teasingly.
Hot and steamy, too. “Focus,” I said to him and my wayward thoughts. “I’m not doing it as some sort of power play between us.”
“Why not do it because you want to?”
“Too easy.”
“Does it have to be difficult?”
“Sex is your fallback position, I get that. But I like you, Beau.”
He frowned. “I’m confused. You like me. You want me. But you won’t sleep with me.”
“Not tonight and not tomorrow.” I eased away from him and stood up. Plucking the book off the table, I headed back toward the sliding glass door. “If you like, we can ride into work together; I’d like to start at eight. We’ll discuss salary and job description on the way. Good night, Beauregard.” He would never know how much I longed to throw caution and decorum to the wind. To just say “to hell with it” and pounce back on that lounger taking everything he had to offer.
The knowing glimmer in those eyes indicated that maybe he did know after all. “Bon nuit, Mirabella.” His voice was a deep bass gilded with undertones.
His every word was a temptation at this point. I gave myself silent kudos that I walked away without looking back once. Congratulations to me.
6
What Have We Here?
Beau—Monday, March 28, 6:08 AM
I was abruptly awakened by the sound of my baby sister’s not-so-dulcet tones shrieking at me. “Avery Beauregard Montgomery, why are you in my guest room?!”
“Audelia Katrina Montgomery, what time is it, and what are you doing back from Bora Bora?” I stretched and opened one eye.
“It was Bali, idiot. It’s just after six.” Katrina was half an inch shorter than six feet. We called her the Golden Child because she was the youngest, the only girl, and literally looked like she’d been dipped in gold. Her hair was long, wavy, and sandy-colored. Her eyes were gold. Her skin has been described as honey-coated bronze. To me, she was just my baby sister. Snarky, smart-mouthed, and always in someone’s business. She was borderline brilliant and did have a heart of gold, though. You’d never meet a more genuine or loyal person. Her timing, however? That was inconvenient as hell.
“Bali, Bora Bora, Bahamas. I knew it was some white, sandy, beach-type destination that started with a B. Whatever. I thought you were on location until next week at least.” I opened the other eye, looked over at the clock to confirm the time, and wondered if I was going to get that extra half hour of sleep.
“You mean you hoped I was on location until next week, mon frère. I wrapped early. Did you miss me?” She yanked the covers off the bed and took a flying leap to land on top of me. Dammit, I would not be getting those extra z’s after all.
“Oomph! Kit-Kat, watch the jewels!” I shifted as her knee came dangerously close to a sensitive area. Wrapping her up in a hug, I kissed her forehead. “Hey, brat.”
“Hey, handsome.” She kissed me back before digging an elbow into my side. “What are you doing here?”
“Hanging out,” I evaded.
She heaved a sigh. “Beau, what did you do to get kicked out of Roman’s?”
“You mean who did I do?” I said with a sigh of my own. It really had been one of my stupider moves. And I’d had plenty over the years.
“Jesus, Beau . . .” Katrina muttered.
<
br /> “I think her name was Linda. She was the proverbial straw.”
“Straw?”
“Yes, the one that broke the camel’s back. If in this metaphor Rome and Jewel’s tolerance is the camel’s back. Linda was the straw.”
Katrina frowned. “Lydia? From Jewel’s office? Cute, chesty, a Pilates nut?”
“That’s the one.”
“Was she worth it?” Katrina wondered.
“She totally wasn’t.”
“Will you ever learn to think with the big head?”
“Must we discuss this now?” Like I mentioned, Katrina tended to lecture.
“Fine.” Katrina changed the subject. “Did you meet Belle?”
“I did.” And I liked her. A lot. I liked a lot about her. Did that make sense?
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Already thought it.” Still thinking about it this morning, if I was being honest with myself.
Kat winced and smacked my arm. “Please, please, please tell me you did not sleep with her.”
“He did not sleep with me,” Belle said from the doorway. She was dressed and ready for the day in a short dress that was bright, silky, and showed off her curves and long, toned legs. Nice.
I couldn’t help but grin at her and a slow answering smile spread across her face. I’d like to think that we came to an agreement of sorts over the weekend. She was definitely one of a handful of women who saw me as more than a diversion. A woman that talked to me like she really wanted to know me, the real me. Not just the me I showed to keep things light and easy. She wasn’t a frivolous woman and saw me as more than a frivolous man.
I know, I know. Boo effin’ hoo, Beau—right? These are what my friend Carter calls “pretty boy problems.” Complaining that women only want to sleep with you or have you on their arm, complaining that people don’t expect much out of you: pretty boy problems. I got that. But with the exception of that tart “cotton candy” jab, Belle hadn’t treated me that way at all. So if my morning smile was part appreciation and part predatory, could you blame me?
Katrina looked from Belle to me and back again. “What have we here?”
Belle rolled her eyes. “I hired your brother last night.”
“You did what? As what?!”
My eyes narrowed. “Professional gigolo and good-time guy, isn’t that all I’m good for, ’tite chat?”
Katrina jabbed me in the ribs. “Don’t bring it here, AB. I know you can do whatever you put your mind to, and your talents lie beyond the bedroom and the bar. When are you going to figure that out?”
I shifted uneasily, trying to act casual.
“Well, I figured that out last night,” Belle shared from the doorway. “Your brother single-handedly repaired the spring line in an hour or two.” She walked forward and handed Katrina the sketchbook before looking at me. “You gonna be ready to go in an hour?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I watched as she swiveled on one tall, skinny high-heeled shoe and exited the room. Once a model, always a model. She knew how to leave an impression on a room. Katrina jabbed me in the ribs again. “Girl, what is your problem now?”
She was flipping through the pages. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew how to design clothing? We could have launched a line years ago. These are really good, Beau.”
I shifted her off me and eased out of bed. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with all the fuss the two of them were making over some scribbled suggestions next to some drawings. I had an eye for what looked good on people. That was all. I didn’t consider that a marketable talent, but if they did, so be it. Heading toward the bathroom I called over my shoulder, “It’s just a few ideas, Katrina. Hardly a design.”
“Stop selling yourself short; these add a completely different depth to the designs. This is going to be awesome.”
I paused from brushing my teeth. “So I can stay?”
“Can you promise not to sleep with Belle?”
“I can promise not to do anything she doesn’t want.”
“Not the same thing, Beauregard.” Katrina stood up and started pacing with the sketchbook in her hand.
“That’s all I can promise. You want me to lie?”
“She’s a friend of mine, Beau. And she’s good people. Plus we’re in business together. I don’t want any broken hearts.”
“What if she breaks mine?” I stepped into the shower and set the temperature to just under scalding.
“Is that even possible?”
“Are you calling me heartless?” I raised my voice to be heard over the water as I soaped up a washcloth.
“I’m calling you . . . aloof.”
Rinsing my face and head, I disagreed with her. “I’m the warmest guy in the world.”
“I’m talking about your heart, not your libido.”
“I took anatomy, ma soeur.”
“Mais oui, wasn’t it your major?” My snarky baby sister came to stand in the doorway, hand on hip.
I turned off the water and stepped out of the stall. “Funny girl.” I wrapped a towel around my waist.
“Just saying. Maybe Belle is one you can just skip.”
“Skip?” I started the electric razor and glided it over my jaw.
“Not play with?”
“Who says I’m playing?”
She swallowed and let her mouth fall open. “What happened this weekend between you two?”
I kept my expression stoic. “We just hung out.”
“You . . . just hung out?”
“Indeed. So can I stay?”
“At least promise me you won’t pull a patented Beau hit and quit, please?”
“I beg your pardon?” I dared her to elaborate on that.
She heaved her second deep dramatic sigh of the morning. “Never mind. You can stay.”
“Appreciated.”
“But why do you want to? You have enough money in the bank to buy homes all over the globe. Why don’t you pick a place and settle down?”
I turned off the shaver and started to dress. “With a wife, a dog, two kids, and a pool?”
“Most people say picket fence.”
“Are we most people? Anyway, chérie, it’s way too early in the morning for one of your ‘it’s time for you to grow up and settle down’ speeches. Believe me, I’m thinking about it. I know I’m not getting any younger.”
“I only say these things in love, Beau.”
Roman said a similar thing when he booted me out of his house three days ago. Pulling out cufflinks, I walked past her toward the closet. “Love me less, mignon chat; I’ll be all right.”
7
Interesting Times
Belle—6:32 AM the same day
Tiptoeing away from the guest suite where Katrina and Beau were talking, I couldn’t help but be more intrigued by Beauregard Montgomery than I cared to be. If pressed, I would’ve thought Beau had spent every last dime he ever made and was a happy-go-lucky guy. The man I overheard? He had some depth to him.
I shook my head; I had no time to be concerned over whatever Beau was or wasn’t. I had a business to run. Glancing at my watch I called out, “Who’s coming into the office with me?”
“One second and I’ll be ready,” Beau called back.
Katrina appeared in the hallway with the sketchbook. Waving it at me, she smiled. “Who knew?”
“I did, the minute I saw the notes. I made him a job offer on the spot. Even though I’m comfortable designing clothes for women and was pretty sure I could pull off the mens’ line, I have to admit I wondered . . .”
Katrina nodded. “Me, too.”
“What?! The menswear line was your idea, ma’am.”
She shrugged. “I know. But I have to admit that I thought about it with dressing my brothers in mind. There is Roman, who will throw on cotton shorts and a tee, as opposed to Beau, who looks runway-ready every time he leaves the house. All I had was big picture ideas; I was going to lean heavily on their input.”
“We
ll, now we have it.”
“Like I said—who knew?”
“Your brother is a genius,” I told her.
“Dear God, don’t let him hear you say that. The last thing he needs is more reason to swell his considerable ego.”
Beau stepped out into the hallway wearing a perfectly tailored light summer silk suit in a pale gray, paired with a mint-green shirt and butter-yellow tie. It was an outfit only the truly confident could pull off. Like Katrina said . . . runway-ready.
“Mornin’, Belle. You two know I can hear you, right?” He brushed past me casually running his hand across my shoulder and down my arm. He strode on the way to the kitchen and started pulling things from the refrigerator.
I deliberately ignored the tingling that started the moment he touched me. When he pulled a skillet out and set it on the stovetop, Katrina and I exchanged glances and sat down at the breakfast bar. Nothing sexier than a man who cooked well and often. I reached for the coffee pot and two mugs. I poured a cup for Katrina and handed it over.
He looked over his shoulder as he cracked eggs into a bowl. “What’s wrong with this picture, ladies?”
Adding cream and sugar to the cup, I raised a brow. “Not a damn thing that I can tell—you, Kat?”
“Nope. All good here.”
He diced and chopped ham and onion and tossed it into the pan. “I’m a man who likes to be catered to. Why am I doing the catering?”
I snorted. “I just gave you a six-figure job, sugar.”
Katrina nodded. “I’m letting you live here rent-free.”
“Ça suffit! Fine.” He shook his head and muttered under his breath about les femmes gâtées.
I set my coffee cup down and looked at Kat. “What did he call us?”
“Spoiled women.”
“Why does he sound more French than you and Roman?”
“He remembers our Cajun life more than we do, and he thinks it’s sexy.”
It kinda was. But I was not going to admit it. I was saved from making a response by the insistent ringing of my BlackBerry. Glancing at the screen, I rolled my eyes. “Yazlyn, what’s up, girl?”
Pretty Boy Problems Page 4