SEX APPEAL

by Lori Foster

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  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

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  Chapter 1

  ^ »

  You've been a bad boy. Go to my room.

  Those particular words, boldly printed on a soft, white cotton sweatshirt and drawn tight across a rounded female chest, caught Brent Bramwell's eye. He'd been perusing the new strip of eclectic shops, seeing that everything was in order now that most of the spaces had been leased, when he'd caught the flash of movement in a display window.

  Curiosity got the better of him, and despite the icy chill of the early November wind, he slowed his gait. All he could see of the body in the sweatshirt was the middle. Involved in hanging new blinds, the woman stood on a stool or step ladder, her face hidden from view by the sagging blinds. The windowsill concealed her legs from her thighs down.

  But what he saw in between—now that was enticing. Curvy hips, slim thighs, luscious breasts.

  He approached slowly, ignoring the lash of frozen snow pelting his cheeks and tossing his hair. He read the words on the sweatshirt again and wondered what type of female would advertise such a suggestion. Close to the window now, only a few feet away, he stopped to stare as she stretched upward. The sweatshirt rose to give him a view of the smooth, pale skin of her midriff. He even glimpsed her navel, a shallow dent in a very cute belly.

  He caught his breath and in that instant she stepped down, looking directly at him. Her huge light-brown eyes, heavily lashed and faintly curious, sparkled with humor.

  He fell. Hard.

  Literally. His feet slid out from under him on the icy walk and Brent found himself flat on his back staring at the gray, blustery sky, the wind temporarily knocked from his lungs.

  He was still struggling to breathe when he heard the shop door open. The woman rushed outside, the cold air ruffling her dark curly hair, then she, too, did a slip-slide act as she attempted to maneuver on the ice. Doing a better job than Brent, she caught her balance and knelt beside him. As she reached for his head and cradled it between her warm palms, he stared at her—stared into the prettiest brown eyes he'd ever seen. They were deep and compelling.

  Her voice anxious, her cheeks flushed, she asked, "Are you okay?"

  Brent searched for something to say, but came up blank. He simply nodded, not sure he could speak. Embarrassment warred with discomfort. The sidewalk was hard, scattered with bits of salt and ice, and so cold his teeth began to chatter.

  She frowned. "Let me help you up. Can you walk?"

  He started to respond with a disgruntled "yes," then thought better of it. She was cute, not shy in the least, and he was interested. "I think so," he answered, then waited to see what she would do.

  Without hesitation she slipped one arm beneath his shoulders and attempted to help lift him. Brent was a big man. Another man would have had a hard time supporting him, but she tried, he'd give her that. He felt her slim arms go around his waist, felt her shoulder wedge into his armpit as she pulled his arm over her shoulders. Her softly curved hips pressed into his thigh. Once they both stood, he towered over her.

  Together, slipping around a bit, they started forward. He gave her only a little of his weight, just enough to keep her glued to his side. She led him into her shop. "I'm really sorry about that. They've been throwing salt down all afternoon, but with these temperatures, the ground just keeps freezing." She peeked up at him, mesmerizing him with those big brown eyes. "I hope you didn't hurt anything."

  She was, without a doubt, adorable. Her dark, curly hair was cut in a tousled style and looked as fine as silk. Her cheeks were now very pink from the cold, but otherwise she was pale, her skin flawless. Brent leisurely looked her over as she led him to a seat behind the checkout counter.

  She had on very snug, faded jeans and white leather sneakers. The sweatshirt was softened by age, adapting to her body, to her breasts. Now that he was sitting down he could examine her more thoroughly. He didn't miss the fact that her nipples were puckered from the cold.

  "I'm fine," he told her as she peered at him anxiously. "I believe I only bruised my pride."

  Her wide grin took his breath again. "Oh, I don't know. I imagine you may have a few other bruises as well if you take the time to look closely."

  Surprised by her brazenness, Brent said, "It's possible, I suppose." Then he asked, "Who are you?"

  Thrusting out her small hand, she said, "Shadow Callahan. Proprietor."

  Brent took her hand and continued to hold it, noticing how small and delicate it was. And warm, despite the cold. "Shadow? That's an unusual name."

  "Yes, well, most everyone tells me I'm an unusual person."

  "How so?"

  Shadow glanced down at their clasped hands. Her grin widened. "Isn't this a rather long handshake? According to an article I recently read, when a man retains his grasp on your hand for more than three seconds it's an unqualified come-on." Her eyes twinkled at him. "Are you per chance coming on to me?"

  Brent was totally taken aback. He released her hand, but he did so slowly, refusing to let her see his surprise. He said deliberately, "I believe I was contemplating exactly how 'bad' I would have to be to get sent to your room."

  She disconcerted him again when she laughed. "I didn't expect to see anyone today. The shop is closed for the rest of the evening. Usually I only wear this around close friends."

  "Close male friends?"

  She shrugged, drawing his eyes to her breasts once again. "A friend is a friend, regardless of their sex."

  "Ah. Not true. Men only befriend attractive women when they have ulterior motives in mind."

  She crossed her arms and leaned back on the wall, completely at ease. "You speak from experience?"

  He openly studied her. "Of course."

  "You know," she drawled, still smiling, "you look like the devious type. Let me guess at your name. Hector? Lucius? You look like a Lucius, with a foul and evil mind."

  "If that's so," Brent answered slowly, somewhat irritated by her bold manner, "why did you bring me inside? Wouldn't you consider it dangerous to let a large, devious man in when you're all alone?"

  She gestured at the uncovered windows and the flow of human traffic on the walk just outside. "I think if anything too outrageous or risqué occurred, someone would surely notice."

  He rubbed his chin. "I suppose you're right."

  "Don't sound so disappointed, Hector. I really didn't have the time right now to be ravished, anyway."

  "Will you continue to call me Hector if I don't introduce myself?"

  "Of course. At least, for about two more minutes. Then I'll really have to insist you allow me to get back to my chores."

  Brent stood and formally offered his hand. She took it. "You'll be disappointed to know I'm an angelic Brent. Not a Hector. Brent Bramwell to be exact." With a slight smile, she looked him over from head to toe. "It fits. And you're wrong. I'm not the least disappointed to meet you, Brent. On the contrary, you're just what I've been looking for."

  She appeared amused as Brent again held her hand too long. "I must have fallen harder than I thought. What did you say?"

  "You heard me right," she assured him as she pulled her hand free. "Just look at you. Tall and handsome. Your coat is a little concealing, but I believe you're even well built. And not too old. About mid-thirties?"

  "Thirty-four," he answered automatically, then asked, "What exactly am I being interviewed for?"

  * * *

  Shadow laughed, drawing up another stool for herself and gesturing for Brent to sit. He really was very attractive. She'd noted that right off. His green eyes were intent and direct, his tawny brows heavy, now lowered in an annoyed frown. He had lean features, his nose straight and narrow, his cheekbones h
igh, his jaw firm. And his mouth… He had a very sexy mouth, sculpted, his bottom lip slightly full, a small dimple in his left cheek. She sighed.

  Best of all, at least to her way of thinking, he had a dry, droll kind of wit that amused her. There were very few things she liked more than laughing. She was finally at a point in her life where she could indulge to her heart's content in the sheer happiness of being alive. Her constant and unwithering optimism was one reason people always thought she was different, perhaps even a touch strange. And even that she found amusing.

  Her perusal of his person had him looking ready to spit, so she decided to explain. "The specialty stores in the complex have decided to group together and have a contest—we're calling it 'Love and Laughter.' Each of us is responsible for finding ten men who fit the description of what single women are looking for—mainly attractiveness, a sense of humor and a romantic nature. Photos of the contestants will be on display in our shops, and any woman coming in can vote for her favorite, one vote per visit. Of course, we hope that'll mean more traffic to the stores."

  Apparently she'd shocked him again, so she went on before he could collect himself and start objecting. "There's lots of incentive for guys to enter. Each shop is contributing. The grand prize—the contest winner takes a lady of his choosing on a paid vacation—will be supplied through the travel agent. Photography's being supplied by the photographer two doors down. There are other prizes, like free coffee and a Danish every day for a month, and a variety of discount coupons. A two-hundred-dollar gift certificate from me. All in all, it's a pretty impressive package."

  Brent didn't say anything, simply stared at her with narrowed eyes. Shadow had a hunch she'd somehow offended him, or at the very least, irritated him. She asked curiously, "How tall are you?"

  That brought him to his feet. "I think I'll be going now. It was, uh … uncommon meeting you."

  Shadow scrambled after him, wondering exactly which part of what she'd said had been too much, when he abruptly halted. He gazed around her small shop in something akin to wonder, his eyes alighting here and there on particular items. "What the hell kind of business is this?"

  Immediately affronted, Shadow propped her hands on her hips. "It's a novelty shop."

  Brent took two long strides toward the door, stuck his head out and looked up at the sign overhead. "Sex Appeal? What kind of a name is that?"

  "I'll have you know a friend of mine in advertising came up with that name, along with a nice advertising campaign. She also contributes some of the slogans I use on shirts and things." His eyes were so dark now they looked black rather than green. Shadow tilted her head. "Would you like a brochure?"

  He turned to face her. "Why don't you just explain to me what type of business you're running here."

  She frowned, feeling stubborn for just a moment, then shrugged. It really wasn't worth getting annoyed over. She ran a hand through her hair, glanced around and wondered where to start. "I sort of specialize in sexy items," she said finally. "Not your usual silk and satin negligees. I'm not that serious and I don't think love should be, either. What I sell is fun. And comfortable. Sexy can be fun, and vice versa, if the right woman wears it. I think men have known that for a long time."

  She saw that she held his interest, and expounded on her theories. "I took a poll once, and do you know most men thought women looked very sexy when they were rumpled? Can you imagine? I mean, women run around all the time trying to be perfect. Perfectly manicured, perfectly attired, smelling perfect with their hair styled perfectly. It's all nonsense."

  He didn't look convinced.

  "One man," she said, "who'd been married to his wife for ten years, told me it really turned him on to see her in her apron, cooking. Another told me his wife was sexiest when she first woke in the morning, all warm and drowsy. There was a young college guy who said the sexiest thing he'd ever seen on any woman was a pair of well-worn cutoffs. But a sense of humor was top of their lists."

  "So what do you sell?" Brent asked, his curiosity snagged. "Aprons and cutoffs?"

  Shadow scoffed at him. "Of course not. I sell shirts, like this one, that are just plain humorous. And underthings made of the softest cotton, which I can tell you is a lot more comfortable than silk." She didn't miss the way his eyes widened, possibly over her disclosure of the type of underwear she preferred. She crossed the room to lift a nightgown from the rack. "Take this gown, for example. It's soft and warm and comfortable." She slipped her hand inside. "But also pretty much transparent. See my fingers?"

  He watched as she pressed her palm against the bodice of the gown. "Hmm."

  "And all these tiny buttons down the front are a challenge. Can you just imagine standing there, waiting, watching while a woman—"

  "You?"

  "Any woman you want," she clarified, "undid all those little buttons?"

  "She could just pull it off over her head."

  Exasperated, Shadow said, "That wouldn't be any fun. You have to use your imagination a little."

  "I'll try to keep that in mind."

  She stared at him, the gown hanging from her hand. "All right. I can see you aren't the type to appreciate humor at just any old time." She returned the gown to the rack. "Would you still like to fill out an application for the contest? I need three more men to meet my quota."

  "I'll have to think about it."

  At least he wasn't turning her down outright. She took a little comfort in that. "Don't wait too long," she cautioned him. "We have to have all the entrants photographed before the end of November. The contest will run the first two weeks of December."

  "Photographed? As in posed in some lewd and revealing way?"

  "Of course not." She almost laughed at his appalled expression. What did he have to hide? she wondered. Hoping to reassure him, she said, "You don't have to expose yourself, but we are encouraging the rugged look. You know, jeans and boots. You can show your chest if you want, but that's all. The friends I talked into entering wore flannel shirts or sweaters. This is a classy operation. No sleazy shots allowed."

  Brent pursed his mouth, his darkened gaze going over her once again. It disconcerted Shadow.

  "What are you doing?" she asked.

  "Thinking."

  "Oh? About what?"

  "Actually," he said, his smile very nice, "I was thinking we should have dinner and discuss all this in more detail." He looked at her ringless hand pointedly. "You're not spoken for, are you?"

  "Only by about a half dozen guys. Nothing serious." Despite herself, Shadow was interested. He was a little aloof, a little uptight, but he was still a hunk and quick with the banter. "What about you?"

  "Is that part of the criteria?" he asked. "That I have to be single to enter the contest?"

  "No. That's part of the criteria if you want me to have dinner with you."

  "Then I suppose I should admit I'm entirely single, new to town and therefore completely alone and unattached."

  "All that?" She grinned, realizing that he was flirting with her. She liked it. "Truth is, I'm fairly new to this area, too, although I've already made several friends, so I can't claim to be entirely alone."

  He glanced at his watch. "I'm late now for a meeting, but I can come by and pick you up in an hour."

  Shadow tilted her head, studying him. "Why don't we hold off on dinner. After all, I don't really know you. Your name could be Hector, and you might have lied about the rest. But I'd be glad to have lunch with you tomorrow. Here? At the coffee shop?"

  He hesitated so long, Shadow was afraid her reserve had chased him off, but she had to be cautious. She knew that.

  She was ready to call the whole thing off herself, hoping to save face, when he said, "You have beautiful eyes. I've never seen that shade of brown before. Warm, like whiskey. Lunch will be fine. Around noon?"

  He'd said it all in one long, drawled comment. Had he done that on purpose, mixing outrageous compliments and suggestions to take her off guard? "Noon would be fine. I'll meet y
ou there."

  "No. I'll come here and we'll walk up together." As he left, he picked up one of her brochures, and Shadow saw him make note of her name and business number printed in the upper corner. He left without another word, this time stepping very carefully onto the icy walk.

  After he'd gone, Shadow put her hand over her heart. It drummed madly against her palm. Good grief, a man like that carried a lot of impact, and she'd barely gotten to know him. Still, she'd recognized right off that he liked to control all situations. He had been equally put off by, and intrigued with, her bold manner.

  Lunch, she thought, should prove interesting.

  * * *

  After a long night of pondering possibilities, Brent had decided he was pleased to be leasing business space to Shadow Callahan. Very pleased. "Micky, I need you to hunt up a file."

  "Yes, Mr. Bramwell. Which one?"

  Brent lounged back in his office chair, his eyes on the brochure laid open on his desk. "Ms. Shadow Callahan. She's leasing at the new buildings over in South-watch."

  "I'll have it in a minute."

  "Thank you." Brent studied the brochure, advertising everything from board games to perfumed oils, specialty clothing to self-help books promising to put the fun back into your sex life. It was so outrageous as to be laughable. And profitable. Brent could easily see such a novel idea catching on. The woman who had come up with the concept most assuredly intrigued him.

  He couldn't remember ever meeting anyone so animated, or so lovely. Ms. Callahan, even dressed in old jeans and a sweatshirt, exuded blatant sensuality and confidence. Her appeal had nothing to do with clothing or store-bought fragrances. It was attitude, the way she moved and spoke, the way she smiled so easily. She was sexy as hell.

  Brent was always very conscious of women and their motives; he had to be. Women gravitated toward him because of his bankbook and his connections, not his looks, certainly not his character. He could have been a troll with the nastiest disposition and still women would try for his attention. It'd been a long time since he'd felt the thrill of the chase. Hell, it had been a long time since there'd been any need for a chase.