Naught or Nice

by Vi Keeland, Penelope Ward, Susan Stoker, Marie Force, Jodi Ellen Malpas, Corinne Michaels, Emma Chase

  I fall through the doors of the nearest department store, which happens to be Harrods, still reeling at the nerve of Mrs. Russell. My phone rings as I’m marching past the designer handbag section, and I inhale the patience I know I’m going to need when I see my sister’s name glowing up at me. “Judith.”

  “Where are you?” As always, she’s straight to the point.

  “Working.” I’m just one big fat can of lies today. But listening to my older sister harp on about how disorganized I am isn’t something I want or need to hear right now.

  “Working as always. When are you going to get a life?”

  I straighten my lips, marching on. “I have a life, thanks.” I catch an old lady as I pass, and she drops her bag. “I’m so sorry,” I say, scooping it up for her.

  “Working?” Judith asks.

  “Okay, so I’m shopping, but before you tell me how disorganized I am, I’ve literally just finished work.”

  “I know. Ma just called me with an update and told me.”

  “Then why the hell did you ask?” I put the bag in the lady’s hand and smile as I hurry away.

  She ignores my question and hits me with a typical scathing—very Judith—statement. “I mean, it’s not like you have anything better to do. No fun to have, or men to date.”

  “Did you call me to point out my supposed shortcomings?”

  “No, I called to see if you’d babysit Ellis on New Year’s Eve so Heath and I can go out. Since we’re in London for the holidays, may as well make the most of it.”

  “Why not? It’s not like I have anything fun and exciting to do. Or any men to date.” I’m not averse to dating. I just don’t have time.

  “Fabulous. We’ve just got our bags at the airport. See you soon.” She hangs up as I find myself at a display of designer sunglasses.

  “Excuse me.” An arm appears, reaching past me, and plucks a pair of fancy Chanel frames from the stand. The sleeve of his suit jacket slides up his arm as he does, revealing the cuff of a crisp white shirt and a shiny cufflink. I tilt my head to read the letters engraved on the silver square. An S and an F.

  I look up and come face to face with the owner of the arm. And recoil. Whoa. I just stare at him as he inspects the shades, caught in a bit of a trance, my eyes traveling up and down his suited form. A damn fine form. He’s dashingly handsome—insanely so—with big hazel eyes, floppy blond hair, and a strong jaw. I breathe out slowly. He’s lovely, and then he flicks his eyes to mine and smiles, taking that loveliness up a thousand notches. Heat floods me, and as I continue to admire him, I decide here and now that S and F stand for “Sexy as fuck”. Good lord, where did he come from?

  “Hi.” His voice is softer than his tall, well-defined frame would suggest, and it quickly snaps me out of my stupor.

  Suddenly realizing that I’m gawking, I swallow and smile awkwardly, moving aside to give him room. “Sorry.” I continue browsing the designer shades, of which I can’t afford to buy. But, lord have mercy, another minute browsing him won’t hurt. Merry Christmas Eve to me.

  “No worries,” he replies. “What do you think to these?” He holds up the Chanel glasses, and I dart my eyes to his. He’s asking me? I look over my shoulder, thinking maybe he’s with someone and they’re behind me. Or maybe there’s a store assistant lingering somewhere beyond.

  But there’s no one around. Only us.

  I return to him and find his stare is definitely on me. I point to my chest, and he smiles again. I nearly tell him to stop, because it’s rather disarming, and I don’t have time to be disarmed.

  “They’re nice.” I shrug, a bit lost. “Are they for your wife?” I have no clue where that question came from, and I blush terribly when his smile turns wicked.

  “No wife.”

  “Sorry.” I turn back toward the display and reach for a pair of Dior, if only for something to do.

  “For my sister, actually.” He puts them back and pulls another pair out. “It’s Christmas Day tomorrow, and I haven’t bought one present. I’m on an emergency mission.”

  “Me too,” I practically screech, strangely delighted that I’m not the only poor excuse for a relative on a crisis shopping spree.

  “Then let’s help each other out, shall we? I need a woman’s input.” He turns to me and presents me with another pair. “What about these?”

  “Is she showy?”

  He frowns, and it’s adorable. “Showy?”

  I take the glasses from his hand, and our skin touches briefly. It makes me falter a little before I quickly pull myself together. “These big gold motifs might not be everyone’s cup of tea.” I point to the arms. “Your sister might like them, but I’d prefer something a little subtler.” I take another pair and slip them on, smiling. “As you can see, these are far more understated, maybe for the more demure woman who lives by the saying less is more.” I pout, and he laughs. It’s a gorgeous laugh—low and rough.

  “Thanks for the fashion show.” He reaches for the glasses on my face, and I lean back as his hand comes closer and closer, until it stops in midair. Now, I’m virtually bent backwards, Matrix-style, and Mr. Sexy as Fuck has a half-smile half-frown emblazoned across his face, which now that I’ve looked at it for a good two minutes, I have decided is painfully gorgeous.

  A long, uncomfortable silence passes before he extends his hand the final few inches and slowly pulls the glasses from my face. “Thought so,” he says quietly when my eyes are revealed.

  I dare not ask him what he’s talking about, and quickly clear my throat, shaking myself back to life. “I’d better go. Good luck finding your gifts.” I’m off like a greyhound, rolling my shoulders as I go to rid my skin of the tingles tickling me there. Christ, I have no idea what just happened, but I don’t have time to figure it out. I’m on a mission.

  I weave through various departments, disregarding most displays as I go—not suitable, too expensive etcetera—until I find a store guide and scan the list of floors and departments, getting more desperate by the minute.

  “Perfume,” I blurt, reversing my steps and dashing to the fragrance department. “This Chanel I can afford.” Or a small bottle, at least. I take a box of Nº 5 for my sister and hand it to the store assistant, slipping it into my bag once I’ve paid. One down, four to go.

  I’m at the elevators a few minutes later, on my way to the toy department for my niece, my inspiration now found.

  The doors open.

  I go to step inside.

  And am greeted by a familiar face.

  He smirks, moving to the side to let me in. “Are you following me?”

  I roll my eyes and reach to press the floor for the toy department, cringing when I notice the button is already lit.

  “Going up?” he asks, obviously catching my hesitation over the button. I look at him blankly, already feeling the tension building. The doors aren’t even closed yet. God, when we’re contained . . .

  No escape . . .

  “Or going down?” His playful smirk widens, and my mouth falls open.

  “Did you just say that?”

  “Say what?”

  “Going down.”

  He suddenly frowns, playing confused, but he’s not fooling me. “What are you insinuating?”

  I snort as the doors close and the lift shifts, taking us up. Not down. I’m not going down. And with that thought, my eyes drop to his groin area. “I’m going up,” I say quietly.

  “Shame,” he counters quickly, and my gaze shoots to his. Twinkling eyes nearly blind me, and it takes me way too long to compose myself.

  “I should have you reported for indecency,” I mutter, full of indignation. But I’m actually hot. Stifling hot. I reach for the front of my blouse and flap it a little.

  “Please do. It’ll remove me from this hellhole.” His back hits the wall of the elevator, and he looks exasperated, his hand running through his floppy hair until it falls back onto his forehead.

  “Not a successful shopping trip?” I ask
.

  He holds up a small bag. “Actually, I bought the sunglasses you chose.” Nodding at my empty hands, he looks smug. “It’s more than you have.”

  “Actually, I bought my sister some perfume.” I sound ridiculously haughty as I tap the side of my handbag. “So up yours, mister.”

  “Oh, listen to you all high and mighty with your one gift.”

  “You only have one yourself.” I laugh. “And I pretty much chose it for you. Typical man. Clueless.”

  “I’m offended. I can do this shopping lark.”

  “Then do it.”

  “I will.”

  “Good for you.” I shake my head to myself. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”

  “It’s you that’s hot.”

  There’s that grin again. And a wink. This man is far too cheeky for his own good. And for mine, undoubtedly.

  But as if he didn’t say something provocative, his shoulders roll, pushing out his broad chest. “So, how many more gifts have you got to buy?” And that snaps me back to the actual task at hand.

  I grimace and check my watch again. “Four.”

  “Me too,” he says. “I’ll race you.”

  Looking up at him, I tilt my head, part humored, part wary. “What?”

  “I’ll race you. The first to complete their shopping list wins.”

  “Wins what?”

  “Dinner with the other.”

  Oh? How did we go from naught to dinner so quickly? “Isn’t that a bit backward? Either way, we’ll be having dinner.”

  His eyes gleam. “Exactly.”

  Oh, he’s cute. “But I’m not dating at the moment.”

  “Even better.”

  I turn away, forcing myself not to engage with his playfulness. It’s hard. His playfulness is quite charming. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  “Why?” He sounds affronted.

  “I just can’t.” Why can’t I? What’s stopping me? Pride? Ego? I hear my sister’s voice condemning me for the lack of excitement in my life. Would accepting his offer be exciting? Outlandish? Stupid? “I just can’t,” I say again, sounding as unsure as I am.

  “Okay, I’ll make you a deal.” He steps forward, and I instinctively step back. “You win, I’ll admit defeat like a good loser. If I win, I get to take you out for dinner.”

  “You don’t know me.” And that’s a crying shame, because this man is gorgeous.

  “I know you’re as disorganized as I am when it comes to Christmas shopping.” He smiles, and I can’t help returning it. “Been busy at work?”

  “Yes,” I breathe, my whole body going soft, my back meeting the wall next to him. “You could say that.”

  “Me too. No time for dating?”

  I shake my head.

  “Me either. How do two people get to know each other?”

  “Shopping together?” I suggest, hiding my secret smile.

  He laughs a little under his breath. “Or they go on a date and have dinner. So what do you say?”

  “I’m too busy.” I dig my feet in before he talks me around. The last time I went on a date, I ended up giving up my job, leaving my family, leaving Ireland, moving to London, and all to be shat on from a great height. I’m still wounded. And bitter. My heart is still not repaired and concentrating on my career is safe. Having no excitement in my life is safe. Being boring is safe. I can’t be sorry about that.

  I can tell Mr. Sexy as Fuck is reading between the lines by the way he’s looking at me with curiosity. No woman is that busy she can’t spare an evening for a date.

  “Come on,” he coos lowly, pushing his back from the wall and holding his hand out. “Let’s make this painful task a little more fun.”

  “I’ll win anyway,” I tell him.

  “Then you have nothing to fear. If you win, I’ll give up my quest to tempt you to dinner.” His hand reaches forward, and I don’t know why, but I nod, agreeing and accepting his game.

  “Okay.” What does it matter? Like he said, he won’t win anyway.

  His smile is wide and satisfied. “Great.” He gives my hand a little squeeze and drops it, turning to the doors as they slide open. “I’ll make reservations.”

  “What?”

  Walking off, he looks over his shoulder to where I’m a statue in the elevator. “I never lose.”

  The doors start to slide close, and it jerks me to life. I slip through the small gap and go after him. Oh, he’s getting it. In the non-sexual way, of course. I’m as competitive as they come. A terrible loser. I will not lose to this cocky bastard. “We need rules.” I round him and block him, but he doesn’t stop, colliding with me. I’m knocked back a few paces, until he grabs me and steadies me, and I get a waft of his aftershave. It has me closing my eyes and inhaling.

  “Okay,” he says softly. “Let’s set the rules.” Releasing me, he moves away, putting a safe distance between us. “Shoot.”

  I blink a few times, looking away from his lovely eyes. “We need budgets. Say fifty quid a gift.”

  “Fifty?” He coughs. “What am I going to get for fifty quid?”

  I poke him in his chest. It’s solid. Of course it is. I quickly reclaim my finger as he glances to where it just prodded him. “You can’t have a bigger budget than I have. It’s not fair. You can go on a free-for-all and buy anything that takes your fancy. I can’t afford more than fifty, so the budget is fifty.”

  “Can I buy you?”

  My head tilts in question and confusion. “No, you can’t.”

  He shows the ceiling his palms on a little shrug of his shoulders. “Then I can’t buy anything that takes my fancy, can I?”

  I don’t think I’ve ever met such a forward, cheeky, and charming male in my life. It should deter me. It doesn’t, and I’m not terribly comfortable about that. So I ignore his statement and get on with winning our little bet, feeling my competitiveness building. “First one back to this exact spot with their gifts wins.”

  The excitement clouding his hazel eyes is really something. “It’s a deal.”

  “Who do you have to buy for?”

  He pulls a face to suggest he’s thinking about it. “My mum, dad, niece, and brother-in-law.” He holds up his little Harrods bag. “I’ve sorted my sister.”

  I tap my bag. “Snap. So the toy department is next for your niece, right?”

  Dread evidently fills him as he glances around the department. “Any idea what to buy a six-year-old girl?”

  “Might have,” I tease. “But I’m not telling you.” I dash off, hearing him cursing behind me, and head straight for the dolls. It’s like the pressure he’s applying is helping me. I’m great under pressure, and I know exactly what I’m buying my niece.

  I watch him like a hawk as he follows me around the department, keeping an eye for what I might chose. Sneaky. I stop and turn to face him. “What about that over there?” I point past him. “Apparently, it’s the latest craze.”

  He turns to look, and I grab a LOL Pearl Surprise Doll and sprint to the nearest checkout to pay. By the time my niece’s gift is safely in a carrier bag, Mr. Sexy as Fuck is behind me, nudging me in the shoulder. And he has a LOL Pearl Surprise Doll in his hand too. “Playing dirty, eh?” he asks as I scowl at him.

  “It’s the only way to play.” I walk off and make sure there is a good amount of sashay to my step as I do. I’m not trying to appear seductive. Really, I’m not. And with that thought, more sway. I peek over my shoulder, finding Mr. Sexy as Fuck frozen in a stupor, his wallet loose in his hand, his eyes on my backside. Yes, I’m playing really dirty, and as he blinks and looks up, he realizes that. He narrows an eye, his lips straightening. I can’t figure out if he’s pissed off with himself for staring, or with me for distracting him from his mission. Maybe both. I don’t care. It’s actually rather nice to know I can still attract the opposite sex when I put a bit of effort into it. He is a hot specimen and was checking me out. Thank you, sexy stranger. Strangely, this is turning out to be a rather fun game. Not to men
tion the fact that he seems to be getting better looking with each minute that passes.

  I flip him a coy smile and a cheeky wave as I round the corner to the elevators, checking my watch as I go. “Shit.” Time is ticking, and I still have to sort my ma, brother-in-law, and dad. The doors open and I jump in, selecting the ground floor. The doors are almost touching in the middle when a hand appears between them, stopping them from meeting. I know who I’m going to see before the doors part again. The man can move fast. “Going down?” I ask evenly as he steps in, rearranging his suit as he does.

  “I wish,” he quips, and I’m forced to press my lips together to stop my laugh. I can’t, however, stop my smile.

  “That won’t be part of the prize if you win, just so you know. Not that you can win.” I look out the corner of my eye as he turns toward me, staring at me, though all playfulness has gone. Now, he’s serious, and it has me momentarily wavering in my confidence. His hand slowly lifts and extends toward me, and the closer it gets, the smaller my smile becomes until it has completely disappeared. His fingertip meets my cheek and rests there, and I swear I feel charged with something I haven’t felt before.

  Energy.

  Desire.

  I breathe in a long, slow breath as he drags it down my cheek. “And just with one finger on your stunning face,” he whispers. “Imagine what I could do with both hands and my tongue.”

  I gulp, my eyes close, and then I’m seeing a million sordid visions of us naked, kissing, touching . . . screwing. I bet he’s an animal in bed. An expert. Skilled and talented. Oh, yes, a master. His body suggests it. His confidence suggests it. What he could do to me . . .

  Lost in my fantasy, it takes me a moment to realize the elevator has stopped, the doors have opened, and Mr. Sexy as Fuck has left the cart. Then the sound of a wicked laugh hits me, and I open my eyes and see him jogging backward, his satisfied face slap-worthy. “You bastard,” I breathe, stepping off the elevator on wobbly legs that I know he hasn’t missed.

  “Bring it on, gorgeous,” he calls, flipping me a cute wink as he turns and races away.