Perfect?
Yeah, right.
She yanked the shade down, grabbed the bag of Doritos, and ripped it open.
Chapter Nine
Say hello to my little friend.” Albert sat on the corner of Xandra's desk and did his best Scarface imitation. He pulled a small plastic bag from his pocket and dangled it in front of her.
Xandra's face split into a smile as she took the small baggie that contained what looked like a neon blue female condom. “It's only been two days.”
“What can I say? Your research was right on the money. We used the materials you suggested, and lo and behold, the first prototype. We've been calling her Mabel the Love Glove.”
“Mabel?”
“Diane, one of our newbies, put in the heat sensors and the name of her sex ed teacher in high school was Mabel Sparks. It's just our working title. You have any ideas?”
“I want something that says ‘orgasmic breakthrough.’Providing it is an orgasmic breakthrough.” Her gaze met his. “You really think it works?”
“We ran it through all of our scientific tests. It passed with flying colors. It withstood the actual simulated sex act and generated an impressive heat reading even under artificial circumstances. With real warm bodies, the heat level will increase. The more heat, the stronger the electrical pulse, the better the orgasm. But there's no danger factor. The material is heat sensitive, but it only warms to a certain temperature, so there's no chance of anyone getting hurt.”
“How did you manage that?”
“I took plain latex and blended it with a special synthetic plastic—the same stuff that they use on the space shuttle as a matter of fact. It forms a protective shield, so to speak, and withstands high temperatures without heating or meltdown. I only used a small fraction of the stuff. Enough to make it safe, but not enough to defeat the whole purpose. The result is a blend that's soft and pliable and sensitive, yet durable enough not to break.”
“Guaranteed not to break?”
“It held up through all of the standard strength tests used for condoms and the like, so I stand behind it.”
“Hot sex that's also safe sex.” Her smile widened. “This is definitely going to cause a stir.” She stared at the contents. “Is it cost effective?”
“About the same as a typical condom. We played around with the idea of doing something permanent rather than disposable, like a diaphragm. But once Mabel heats to her max time, it weakens the material. She can withstand one really good sex session, complete with multiple orgams, but we don't recommend taking her out and saving her for later. Besides, she does double duty as a condom, so disposable is definitely the way to go.”
“I'd like at least six trial tests to confirm or disprove the results.”
“There are more samples in the works. Those should be ready by this afternoon. In the meantime, this one is all yours.”
Once Albert shut the door, Xandra flipped on her red research light, walked back to her desk and slid into her leather seat. She opened her drawer and unearthed the very first King Kong vibrator she'd designed eight years ago. Wild Woman no longer offered this version, but it still remained Xandra's personal favorite. It had been her first product, and her first vibrator ever.
She turned on her computer and pulled up her notes. Typing in “Trial Test I,” she left the keyboard blinking, turned the dimmer switch and killed the bright lights in her office. She slid a popular Nelly CD into her stereo, leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes as the sexy “Hot in Here” pulsed through the room.
She meant to envision one of her favorite fantasies, but instead of envisioning Brad Pitt or the lead singer from Creed, she saw a tall, dark, and delicious man that looked suspiciously like Beau Hollister.
Funny because he'd never once occupied her sexual fantasies since she'd discovered that, while he was as hot as all the girls thought, he was much too fast on the draw.
Mmm…but not this time.
He touched her slow and sweet and in all the right places, and try as she might to tune him out, she couldn't. His hands were so warm and knowing as they moved over her body, stirring her breasts and bringing her nipples alive. His touch moved lower, until he reached the ache between her legs. He worked her into a frenzy then, stroking and plunging until she was breathless and desperate and this close to bursting into flames…
The orgasm hit her hard and fast and electric… Her insides tingled. Sensation spiked through her body, rushing along her nerve endings until she buzzed like a live wire.
Several heart pounding moments later, she pulled herself together, deposited the Mabel sample into the nearest trash can and flipped on the overhead lighting. She turned her attention to the computer screen to key in the test results.
Xandra considered herself an expert when it came to masturbation—after all, she tested all of her own products. But she'd never, in her eight years in the business, felt an orgasm quite that intense just from using a vibrator.
It was the most incredible thing she'd ever felt.
At the same time, it was just a hint of the satisfaction to come once she tried out her invention as it was meant to be used: with a warm male body.
The thought was a lot more depressing than it should have been because it wasn't as if she had a line of warm bodies beating down her door.
So? Just get out there and find one. Problem solved.
She could do that. She was attractive. Intelligient. Sane—at least by today's dating standards. She would simply march out of her office this afternoon and find someone for a little after-hours action.
That's what she told herself as she finished off a pile of paperwork, packed up her briefcase, and headed up to the engineering department. As promised, Albert had a dozen of Mabel's sisters ready and waiting.
After packing the little beauties into her briefcase, she felt armed and ready to find herself a man.
An easy task, she told herself as she left the suite of offices. This was Houston, after all. An overflowing metropolis. There were men everywhere.
A half dozen professional types stuffed into the elevator as she got in and headed to the ground floor. More suits overflowed the lobby of the Chase bank building, which housed Wild Woman's headquarters. Men of all shapes and sizes bustled along the sidewalk as she made her way to the parking garage one block over.
She spotted a typical Texas cowboy in his Resistol hat and starched Wranglers, and a yuppie wearing Dockers and a polo shirt. A policeman stood near the corner sipping a cup of coffee. A doctor wearing green scrubs shouted into his cell phone and nearly knocked her over. A handful of construction workers whistled from their work site on the opposite side of the street.
Of course, the man in question would have to be between twenty-one and fifty—the average age range of her customer base—which ruled out at least half of the available pool surrounding her. Add a few more gotta-haves based on her own personal preferences—a pleasant scent, nice eyes, and a full set of teeth and she'd all but eliminated a handful.
A handful of strangers.
And the problem is?
Okay, so she'd fantasized a time or two about a one-night stand, but she'd never actually picked up someone just for sex. Not that she had anything against it if both parties were unattached and responsible. But she didn't know how to initiate a one-night stand and, truthfully, the reality wasn't nearly as exciting as her fantasies. Instead, it was downright scary.
She didn't want a nameless, faceless someone who might wear BVDs beneath a conservative navy suit, or polka-dotted boxers beneath his starched policeman's uniform, or an animal print thong beneath his Levis. Not that she had anything against BVDs or boxers or thongs—okay, so maybe she did draw the line at a man wearing a thong. But the BVDs and the boxers she could deal with, regardless of the design. It was the fact that she didn't know. She hadn't a clue what to expect once the door shut and the festivities began.
A woman could find herself in all sorts of bizarre, not to mention dow
nright dangerous, situations should she pick the wrong man to fall into bed with. Why, she might pick up a fetish freak who wore women's panty hose or a black rubber bustier with spikes for nipples. Or maybe a rude, crude obnoxious jerk who farted during sex. Or worse. What if he turned out to be a Jack-the-Ripper wannabe?
The questions haunted her as she climbed into her car and started for the West End historic district downtown from where she lived.
She quickly came to the conclusion that picking up someone was not a possibility. Regardless of how hot or how sexy or how normal someone looked, looks could be deceiving. She'd learned that firsthand a long time ago. Beau had looked every bit the sensual, sexy, perfect man to initiate her into the Sisterhood of Sexually Active Women, but he'd been a complete dud.
Never again.
She turned onto her block and maneuvered into the driveway. Retrieving her briefcase, she clicked the lock and headed up the sidewalk toward her house. A large commercial truck, along with two white vans with the Hire-a-Hunk emblem emblazoned on the sides sat directly in front of her house. A tarp covered her minuscule front yard. A two-story ladder leaned against the far front edge of the house and supported a large man, beer belly pushing against the front of his white T-shirt. He held what looked like a large sander and was stripping the paint off the lattice eave that surrounded the second story of her house. The smell of wood burned her nostrils and the loud whirring filled her ears.
When she was halfway up the front walk, the sound paused and the smell subsided slightly as the man stopped to take a long swig from the soda can sitting near his left foot. He let loose a loud burp and went back to work, having totally killed the Hire-a-Hunk image.
Likewise, the two men who worked at the far corner of the roof looked more like Laurel and Hardy than a pair of hot bods straight out of the Blue Collar Hunks calendar she'd seen a few years back that Beau's company had participated in to help raise money for the Texas Children's Hospital. Xandra could easily understand why Beau felt the need to change that image. It was either that, or hire a new crew, and she had the gut feeling he would never do that.
A surge of warmth went through her, followed by a surge of pure heat when she caught sight of him. He stood just a few feet away on the front steps, his attention focused on the hand railing that followed the five steps up to the porch. He worked at the wood with a piece of sandpaper, rubbing furiously before wiping away the dust.
Yep, she'd learned firsthand that appearances could be deceiving and she had Beau Hollister to thank. He'd looked every bit the sexy, experienced boy who knew what to do and how to do it, and he'd always been nice to her, and so she'd picked him to take her virginity. But he'd been all wrong. A tactless, awkward dud.
Except for the kiss.
The first kiss had been pretty incredible, but then he'd started fumbling with his hands and they'd gotten down to the actual act. Before she'd even had a chance to close her eyes and enjoy the moment, it had been over. She hadn't even come close to an orgasm. If only she'd had Mabel back then, maybe things would have been different.
The thought stuck in her brain as Beau leaned over. His T-shirt slid up, revealing a few tanned inches of his back. She glimpsed the waistband of his underwear.
White cotton briefs—the same type he'd worn back in high school. Probably even the same brand. He leaned over a little more and she caught a glimpse of the colorful tag. Fruit of the Loom, all right. The same brand he'd worn that moonlit Friday night when she'd seen him shove them down. She also knew a few more key things about him—namely that he wasn't a serial killer and he didn't fart during sex. He also smelled pretty good, had incredible violet eyes and all his teeth.
Hello warm body.
The truth hit her as she paused on the bottom step and stared up at the man who stood on the top step.
She couldn't have conjured a more perfect subject. He represented the ultimate test for her product. He was hot and sexy and heterosexual, and he was terrible in the sack. If she could have an ultimate orgasm with Beau Hollister, of all people, then she would have proof beyond a doubt that she'd stumbled onto a winner with her new product.
She mounted the steps and her heart hammered in anticipation.
Not of the actual act, mind you, or because to get to that act she would surely feel his lips on hers again. But because she was standing on the brink of a major breakthrough.
She was one step shy when the wood creaked and he turned. Violet eyes collided with hers. Something sparked in the vivid depths, as if he could read the intention in her gaze.
“We're just finishing up here,” he told her.
“Don't rush on my account.”
“I would like to finish this banister before tomorrow morning.”
“Have at it. I'm just going to go inside and do some work. Maybe fix a little dinner.”
“I think that's already taken care of.” He motioned inside. “It's in the kitchen.”
“Did it smell funny?”
“Actually, it looked funny. Very green. It didn't really smell like anything.”
“I guess I'd better go check it out.” She smiled and walked past him. It wasn't as if she could just come out and say “Hey, you were so bad that I think you would be the perfect test subject to try out this new product. If I can enjoy myself with you, then I'm in business.”
She wanted to have sex with him, which meant she needed him in an up mood—literally—and such a proposition would surely kill his ego and his erection.
No, she would have to be a bit more subtle. Be flirty and open and maybe a little forward, and let things progress from there.
Inside, she closed the kitchen blinds and gave a little wave to Katy who smiled from across the way before she turned to the Pyrex dish sitting on her table. She took one look at the green contents before depositing it into the refrigerator.
She would figure it out later. First things first, she needed to change into something casual but sexy and think of an excuse to get Beau Hollister off her front porch and into her house before he packed up his supplies and left.
She headed upstairs into her closet and retrieved the only casual item she owned—she lived in sweats, overalls and oversized T-shirts—that even came close to being sexy. It was a pair of blue jean shorts that she'd bought for the company picnic last year. When it came to work, she tried to keep up her sexy, vibrant image, and so she'd purchased the shorts, worn them for the event, and forgotten about them. Until now.
Ten minutes later, she was flat on her back, pulling frantically at the zipper of the shorts.
Funny, but they hadn't seemed that tight when she'd bought them. She shimmied and wiggled and tugged until her fingers were raw and the zipper finally closed. Another deep breath and she managed to suck in her tummy enough to slide the button closed.
She'd done it.
She struggled to her feet, ignored the urge to find the nearest pair of scissors and cut the waistband enough to breathe and retrieved the white cotton tank top she'd bought to go with the shorts.
Not a good choice since the fitted cotton showed her tummy bulge, which looked even more prominent with the tight shorts pushing everything north. She stood in front of her closet and debated a little longer before settling on an oversized T-shirt that she knotted at the waist.
A few minutes later, she gathered her courage, and pulled open the front door.
“Hey Beau!” she called out. He was standing beside his van, reaching for the door handle. “The light in the upstairs closet is messed up. I've replaced the bulb and flipped the switch and nothing. Do you think you could take a look before you leave?”
He gave her a wary glance and she had the sudden thought that he was going to haul open the door, climb behind the wheel, and leave her to fix her own problems.
“It would really help me out if you could take a look.”
Beau eyed her a few more seconds before shrugging. His hand fell away from the door handle and he turned toward the rear of the van. �
�Let me get my small toolbox.”
A few minutes later, he tested the light himself before heading down to the basement and the breaker box. Xandra followed close behind.
“The breaker tripped,” he told her after a quick look.
“Really?” She stared past him to the black switch she'd flipped before requesting his help.
He flipped the switch back into position. “Problem solved.”
“This problem, but I've still got a few others. There's the light in the fridge—it doesn't work. And the garbage disposal. And the toilet.”
Twenty minutes later, they'd dealt with the first two and were headed up the stairs to the bathroom, and Beau didn't seem any closer to kissing her than when he'd first walked in.
Despite her sexy shorts and the fact that she'd flirted with him. Or at least, she'd tried to flirt.
“So what's the problem?” His voice drew her from her thoughts. “Is it stopped up?”
She watched him as he peered into the toilet bowl. “Maybe. Or maybe I'm just not flushing it right.”
“Either you're flushing or you're not.” His gaze shifted to her. “There's no ‘right'involved.”
“It's definitely stopped up.” Thanks to the roll of toilet paper she'd flushed earlier. “I tried the plunger, but it's not working.”
“Sometimes there's not enough power in an ordinary plunger. You need a snake.”
“A snake?” Now they were getting somewhere.
“It's a piece of pipe. I think I've got one out in my van. I'll be right back.” He started downstairs and she watched him go, damning herself for not making a move when she'd been so close to him.
But she'd actually been nervous. Crazy because sex didn't make Xandra Farrel nervous. She should be excited. Ready to go. Eager.
Then again, this wasn't the ordinary, get-ready-for-a-good-orgasm kind of sex. It was the did-I-just-miss-some-thing? kind. Or it had been that night so long ago.
No wonder she was more nervous than excited.
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