Almost Naked, Inc.

by Karen Anders

  “I will be okay.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Not unless you’ve got a job in your back pocket.”

  “You don’t have a job?”

  “I lost a couple of contracts and my bookings have dried up. It happens in this business. I still have an agent, so I’m sure things will pick up soon.” Her stomach clenched just saying the words as her confidence wavered a little.

  Matt looked deep into her eyes and seemed to want to reach out, but stopped. “I’m sure everything will work out.” His voice was low and soothing.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  He flipped the lawn mower over and looked at it, deep in thought. “At least it died after I finished the lawn, but I still have your aunt’s to do.”

  “Can I help you?”

  His eyes widened and he looked down at her hands, then her attire. “With the mower?”

  “Sure.”

  “How about you go get my toolbox for me in the garage? It’s on the workbench—and grab a couple of rags for me to wipe my hands.”

  “I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty, Matt.”

  He smiled. “I’ll do the dirty work.”

  “I bet you do dirty really well,” she said, unable to resist the pull of attraction.

  He slanted her a sidelong glance that packed a provocative punch, shifting as if he was suddenly uncomfortable in his shorts. “I get by. Just go get the toolbox.”

  As she walked away, she could feel the heat of Matt’s gaze on her backside, and it took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to glance over her shoulder to look at him, to let him know in a single adoring glance how much she wanted him—ached for him, desired him—despite the way things had played out at her aunt’s birthday party. She would respect Matt’s wishes to keep her attraction under control. The thought of potentially hurting him again made her resolve tighten.

  Once inside the garage, she focused on the toolbox like a lifeline. Bridget scanned the area. It was neat and tidy, everything in place. Walking between a brown sedan and a car covered with a dust cloth, Bridget spied the toolbox and the rags on a workbench nearby. Stopping in front of the workbench, her curiosity got the better of her. She lifted the dust cloth and looked underneath. She found a gleaming midnight-blue vintage Porsche coupe. She thought it was criminal to keep a car like that hidden in the garage on a day like today. It stirred her blood to imagine being in the smooth leather bucket seat flying down the road at an exhilarating speed.

  She picked up the toolbox, snatched up a couple of rags and made her way back to Matt.

  She set the box near him and knelt back in the grass. “You have a sports car under wraps in there. Is there a wild man hidden somewhere inside you, Matt?”

  “It’s not my car. I’m just storing it for my dad.” Matt opened the toolbox and pulled out a screwdriver.

  “You have to drive it,” she exclaimed. “You can’t leave a beautiful car like that idle. It’ll ruin it.”

  “No, I don’t leave it idle. I drive it every week. On Saturdays as a matter of fact.” He took out the screws and removed the casing of the small motor.

  “I don’t know why I was worried. Of course, you do. You plan everything.”

  His shoulders stiffened and he set the casing on the grass beside him. “There’s nothing wrong with planning ahead. It’s like a compass that keeps you moving forward.”

  She watched his emotional barriers rise and remembered how stubborn Matt could be, and how set in his ways. But instead of being bothered, she felt as if she’d rediscovered a pearl that she’d lost a long time ago. “True, but if you follow the compass, you might miss a particularly beautiful view and lose a special experience you could have had.”

  “Hand me that wrench,” he asked, his hands now covered in gunk and grease.

  She reached into the box, grabbed the tool and handed it to him.

  “I don’t think it’s smart to go off without a road map,” he said.

  The irritated tone in his voice was another pearl that she loved discovering. His prickliness was a defense mechanism. She wanted the true Matt to shine again and the thought sent pure joy jetting into her system. “When I was in Italy last year, there were plenty of brochures in the hotel for all the usual tourist attractions, but I didn’t want to see Italy through the eyes of a brochure. I wanted to see it through my eyes. I got off the beaten track and I’ll admit it—I got lost. But I ended up walking into this beautiful garden to ask for directions. I stumbled onto a wedding. Those gracious people invited me in. I drank Chianti, sang, ate, danced and had a grand time. That sure beats looking at some old ruins I could see anytime I pleased.”

  She watched a play of rueful emotions chase across his face. “I would have gone to the ruins.” He removed the carburetor and sat cross-legged on the lawn.

  “I also got this cover-up in a little bazaar I stumbled across while exploring.” She reached out and touched his arm, grinning wryly. “So next time you go to Italy, Matt, try to get yourself lost.”

  Gesturing toward the toolbox, he scowled.

  When she followed his pointing finger to a piece of wire, she snagged it.

  “I’ve never been to Italy,” he said.

  Her startled gaze cut sharply to him. “Really?”

  “I like it just fine in Cambridge.” He threaded the wire into the part he held in his hand.

  “That’s too bad. I’m lucky that traveling is part of my job. I’d think nothing of being in London one day and then Paris the next.”

  Matt was silent for a moment. “Why don’t you come with me later for a drive?”

  “I’d love to.”

  “It’s pretty.”

  “What?”

  “That cover-up thing.” He wiped his hands on one of the rags she’d brought and lifted the insert away to reveal the bottom of the toolbox. He reached for an aerosol can with carb cleaner printed on the side. He sprayed a steady stream into the carburetor.

  “Thanks.” Not wanting to leave, she started, “Uh, speaking of cover-ups. How did you get into textile engineering?”

  “The textile industry is one of the largest in America, producing everything from the fabric used in the clothes we wear to the plastic in IV tubes. I liked being part of an industry so vital and important to our society’s needs.”

  “Interesting how we are connected in what we do for jobs. You make the stuff I wear. It’s symbiotic.”

  Matt nodded, finishing up with the carburetor. Setting it back into the engine assembly, he screwed the bolts into the casing. “I never really thought about it. But you’re right.”

  “And the fabric you invented. Have you decided what to do about it?”

  “Not yet. Would you like to see it?”

  “Yes, very much.”

  He wiped his hands again, putting the can back in the toolbox and setting the insert back in place. He closed the lid. Standing, he pulled the cord to the lawn mower and it started right up.

  He smiled at Bridget over the noise, before cutting the engine.

  “Let’s get everything put away and I’ll show you. I’ll mow your aunt’s lawn later.”

  He pushed the mower back to the garage while Bridget followed with the toolbox.

  “I’m going to clean up a little before going in the house. You can unveil the car if you like.”

  “I would like to see all of it.”

  He walked out of the garage and Bridget pulled the cover off the car, getting a thrill out of the sleek design and gauging how fast it would go.

  When she was finished, she went looking for Matt. She heard running water on the side of the house. She headed in that direction and stopped dead in her tracks as if she’d hit a brick wall.

  Matt was using the hose high over his head like a shower. She watched in fascination as the droplets slid tantalizingly over the molded contours of his pectoral muscles, slipping down his smooth chest, down over the rippling strength of his stomach
and disappeared into the waistband of his dark shorts. Her eyes remained there, her pulse jumping in rapid succession, her breathing increasing into little puffs, desire curling inside of her, tightening like a vise.

  From his rumpled hair and striking amber eyes to that lean, honed body she’d imagined naked and aroused, he exuded raw sex appeal and brought her feminine instinct to keen awareness as no other man had.

  He turned his head to look at her, his eyes locking with hers across the short expanse. There was unmistakable desire there, but there was distance, too.

  A clear message that said, look but don’t touch. Matt was fast becoming a reckless addiction. She ached to caress all that slick, glistening flesh.

  But she knew why he had that wary look in his eyes. She’d inadvertently broken his trust and no matter how it happened, it had happened. Without mutual trust, they would only have hot sex between them and while physical attraction was what seared through her now, it wasn’t enough of a foundation to build the kind of relationship she knew Matt would demand.

  She wasn’t exactly sure she could handle that kind of relationship anyway. She wouldn’t stay in boring Cambridge for very long. Soon she would get another contract and go back to New York. She could still reach the pinnacle of the success she craved, if she worked hard enough. But, even that thought didn’t cool her ardor at all.

  Matt turned off the hose and together they went into the house. When he’d changed clothes, he handed her a bolt of cloth. “What do you think?”

  Bridget peeled the cloth away from the bolt. It felt like silk and velvet had melded, so soft against the palm of her hand. “This is gorgeous. I bet you’d feel almost naked wearing it. Almost naked. Now there’s a name.”

  “It gets my attention.”

  “I’m no expert, but I think this would make beautiful lingerie.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes, sensual against the body.”

  Matt rubbed the back of his neck. “Lingerie. Not exactly up my alley.”

  “No, I would guess not.”

  “Maybe you could take it and work some of your clothing magic on it. Give me some ideas?”

  “You mean designing something?”

  “Sure. How else will I know what to do with it? I’m an engineer, Bridget. I’m into the science of it and practical uses. Lingerie isn’t exactly practical.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not really a designer.”

  “You make great stuff. Give it a try. For me.”

  “Okay, I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  “Why don’t you go get changed and I’ll get the car ready.”

  She shook her head. “Matt, you are so practical.”

  WHEN SHE GOT BACK, he put the key in the passenger door lock and twisted. The locks popped.

  Bridget made no move to get into the car. He realized how close he was standing to her. For a smart guy, he had underestimated his attraction to her. It was like fighting through water to resist the temptation of touching her. He knew she wanted him and that only added to the hot need that spiraled inside him. All he had to do was move a fraction of an inch and he could kiss her.She waited for his move, caught and held in the same electric current as he was. He could see the knowledge in her eyes that a strong attraction like this wouldn’t so easily be dismissed. He should send her packing, but now that he knew she was in trouble, he couldn’t.

  He cleared his throat and said, “Let’s go.” Breathing a sigh of relief, or was that regret, he slid down into the seat, taking up a whole lot of space in the intimately compact interior. Only the console between them kept their thighs from touching.

  He buckled his seat belt, she did the same, and then he turned the key. The car rumbled to life beneath him. The powerful engine tickled the backs of his thighs where they met luxurious leather, vibrating down his calf and all the way to his toes. He moved his hand to the gearshift and shifted into reverse.

  He slid the windows down to air out the stuffy car.

  “Let’s leave the windows down, the breeze is wonderful. I love the smell of summer. You don’t get this smell in New York. When the city heats up, you don’t want to be outside.”

  He made his way through the city and approached the road that ran along the Charles River, braking to get around cyclists enjoying a beautiful Saturday in June. Kayaks dotted the river along with canoes.

  He downshifted through the next corner and the road ran out straight ahead.

  “Punch it, Matt.”

  “That would be speeding.”

  “Come on, haven’t you done anything just a little naughty?”

  “No, not really.”

  “You’ve got to start living, Matt. Youth doesn’t last forever. Believe me. I know firsthand.”

  Being a levelheaded guy did have its drawbacks as adrenaline kicked through his system. Her playful eyes and impish smile was contagious. He couldn’t deny the rush of blood through his veins. Fast cars and fast women. A dangerous combination.

  He gave the sports car a little more gas and the engine responded by jumping forward like a horse aching to run.

  “Whoo-hoo!” Bridget cried loudly, the sound swallowed by the wind streaming through the windows. He shifted again as the car settled into a running purr.

  Her blond hair whipped around her face like golden silk streamers as she turned her bright eyes to him. She leaned forward and snapped on the radio.

  Talking had been difficult over the howl of the wind, but it was now impossible with the throbbing rock that blasted out of the speakers. They rode in companionable silence, something Matt was sure he’d never achieved with any other woman in his life.

  When he reached Somerset Park, he pulled into the entrance, paid the entrance fee and parked.

  “Bridget, your hair.”

  She flipped down the visor and peered into the small mirror. “So, it’s a tangled mess, it was well worth it.” She combed it with her fingers.

  She opened the door and swung her legs out. “Tell me I haven’t destroyed your fantasies of the perfect woman.”

  “I know that’s not real,” he said, watching for her reaction as he, too, pushed out of his seat.

  He climbed from the car, and she did the same, shaking her head as she walked toward a picnic table with a spectacular view of the river. “Good for you. Not all guys are like that.”

  Once he reached the table, he picked up a stone and sent it skipping across the smooth water. “Are you talking from experience?”

  She stepped on the seat of the picnic table and settled on the top’s flat surface. “Another myth I can dispel. It takes hours to make me look like the perfect woman in pictures. Hours of hair, makeup and wardrobe. I dated this guy that ran screaming from my apartment when he got a load of me in my green herbal mask.” She chuckled. “It was pretty funny.”

  He captured her hand as she self-consciously swept it through her hair. He tightened his fist just slightly. “But I bet it hurt a little, too. I know what it takes to cover up your feelings when you’ve been unfairly treated because of how you look. I won’t judge you, Bridget. Friends don’t judge.”

  Surprise and then tenderness settled in her eyes. She clutched at his hand. “No, they don’t. That’s why I miss them so much.” She swallowed.

  Ah, this was much more dangerous than fast cars and fast women. Here it was—the easy camaraderie that was so much a part of their relationship when they’d been young, something so genuine that Matt hungered for that kind of connection again.

  Getting involved with her would be a mistake, for both of them. It was all about lifestyle and he knew he couldn’t fit into hers.

  He gave her hand a squeeze and stepped away. “I should get back. I still have your aunt’s lawn to mow. I also have papers to grade.”

  Suddenly the sound of her cell phone broke the peaceful quiet.

  Bridget fished the phone out of her pocket and spoke into it. Matt started to walk away to give her some privacy, but she clutched at his arm to
make him stay.

  “Tonight? Sure. No. It’ll be a great way to network. Count me in.”

  She finished the call and said excitedly. “That was my agent on the phone. I’ve just been invited to a club opening. Very exclusive. I bet there will be plenty of designers there, since it’s owned by Maggie Winterbourne.”

  “You’re going back to New York? You just got here last night.”

  She waved her hand. “No big deal, but transportation is a problem. I really don’t want to take the train….” Her gaze went to his father’s car. “Matt, how would you like to go to a club opening?”

  He put up his hands. “No, Bridget. I’m not driving my father’s car to New York City.”

  “My tenant doesn’t take possession of my new loft until Monday. My building has a very secure garage.”

  “No.”

  “Matt, please. I don’t want to go to this club opening tonight by myself. Why not come and see how the other half lives.”

  “I’m not interested in the other half. Besides, I have papers to grade and I haven’t packed, or planned for a trip.”

  “Try being spontaneous for once in your life. We don’t need bags and you have Sunday to grade papers.”

  “I need my bags.”

  “Okay fine. We can go back to your house and pack. Please say yes.”

  He looked out over the river; his hands slipped into his pockets. “All right.”

  “YOU’RE WEARING THAT?” Matt asked when Bridget emerged from her bedroom back at her new loft in New York City.

  “What? Is it ripped?” She grabbed the hem of the short black pleated skirt to check for holes. The halter couldn’t be ripped because it was made of small metal rings sewn closely together.“I hope not. It won’t stay on.”

  “Oh, Matt. Don’t be a prude. I’ve worn less than this in photo shoots.”

  “I guess that’s what’s expected of you.”

  “You got it. It’s all part and parcel of the whole model gig. Show skin and look sexy.”

  “Sexy? Then I most definitely don’t fit in. I think I need help.”

  “Dress shirt and black slacks are a bit boring, but I do have to say that it looks great on you. Did you bring jeans?”