“You bet.”
“You're the best sister in the world.”
“And you're letting this guy get to you. So he's not falling for all this seduction crap? Find another guinea pig.”
But Xandra didn't want to find anyone else. Her mind rushed back to the previous night and the way he'd licked the fruit juice from her lips.
She licked her own lips. “I'll just have to think of something besides food to fire him up.”
“I know this witch down on Hollywood Boulevard who could probably put a lust hex on him if you can get a lock of his pubic hair.”
“If I could get close enough to get a lock of his pubic hair, then I wouldn't need a lust hex.”
“Good point.”
“I need something that doesn't scream ‘I want you,’ because after last night I have a feeling he's going to be a little standoffish.” She could still see the flash of fear in his eyes. As if he'd woken up and realized he'd had a bad dream.
Or maybe a really, really good one.
The notion struck just as his voice played in her head.
There's no such thing as temporary with any woman, especially one that gets under your skin and into your head and stays there no matter how much you try to push her out.
Had he been referring to her?
Right. He hadn't so much as glanced at her from that night on. She'd interpreted his sudden coldness as fear that she might actually ruin his reputation. But maybe the fear had been rooted in something else.
Maybe he'd actually wanted her again. Not hard and fast and bam! But slow and sweet and yum.
Before she could dwell on the idea, Eve's voice pulled her from her thoughts.
“Why don't you bop him on the head with his hammer when he has his back turned, drag him inside, and have your way with him?”
“I'm talking subtle, not homicide. Besides, that would never work.”
“Of course it would. It's the classic rape fantasy, just with reversed roles. I did it in one of my instructional videos, Bring Your Most Erotic Thoughts to Life. The actress used one of those Nerf bats, bashed him on the head and dragged him into her bedroom for a little forceful fun. It was fantastic.”
“But it wasn't real. This is life, not fantasy. There's a big difference.” She knew that better than anyone. In her fantasies, Beau Hollister was more than willing. He was eager. And hot. And he rocked her world with enough skill and finesse to give her the best orgasm of her life. She sighed. “There has to be some way to get to him. Something that makes him butter in my hands. Everybody has a weak spot. Yours is flowers.”
“What can I say? I'm easy. Hey, maybe Beau likes flowers.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“You never know. This guy I dated last year loved daisies. He liked to throw them all over the bed and roll around on the petals. Then again, he was bisexual, so I think that was his softer side coming out. Maybe Beau is gay?”
“He's not gay.”
“How do you know?”
“Because…Because he's not. He's got a great body and a killer smile.”
“So?”
“So he's got all that, and he looks great in a T-shirt and he carries a toolbox, for heaven's sake.”
“That's not a good indicator. What's he got in the toolbox?”
“What do you mean?”
“His tools. Are they color-coordinated or in alphabetical order or arranged according to size? If they're grouped in any other way other than basic function, I'd be willing to bet my next video that he's as fruity as Grandma's Christmas cake.”
Xandra thought about the large metal toolbox sitting on her front porch, the lid closed, hiding whatever was inside. “That would explain why he turned me down.”
“That's right. Turning down a hot, straightforward, got-it-goin’-on woman like you for sex? That's proof enough if you ask me.”
“Maybe.” And maybe he simply wasn't attracted to her anymore now than he'd been way back when, when he'd been in such a hurry to be rid of her.
Xandra pushed aside the crazy thought. His poor, frenzied performance had nothing to do with her and everything to do with the fact that he simply wasn't half as good as his reputation. End of story.
“So what's next on the lust-him-up list?”
“I don't know.”
“So look at the list.”
“I don't actually have a list for this. I thought I would make it up as I go.”
“You without a list? The CEO of Lifesavers must be one happy man. If you're flying solo, you must be eating the damned things like candy.”
“They are candy, not that you would realize that since you live on black coffee and beef jerky.”
“That's only when I'm in the middle of a project. I need my protein.”
“You need to sit down with a box of Godiva and live a little.”
“Chocolate kills my complexion and frankly, it just doesn't do much for me.”
“I hate you.”
“Only because you're an obsessive-compulsive nut and I'm not. I'm a type-B personality. I go with the flow, roll with the punches. I don't get stressed out.”
“Then that wasn't you who offered to break both Mark's legs for leaving me?”
“I don't get stressed,” she repeated again, “I get even. There's a big difference. I don't get my thong twisted over a man. What's the point? There's so many of them and they're all the same. They're like ants. They're focused on only two things—eating and multiplying—and anything that gets in the way gets annihilated.”
“So Dad's an ant?”
“Dad's not an ant. He's different. He's much higher on the food chain. He's…Dad.”
“Good point. What about Clint? Skye obviously doesn't think he's an ant, and I know for a fact that the only biting he does is in the bedroom, and that's only when she begs.”
“I'm reserving judgment on him to see what happens. He may be one of the few who've actually evolved from the hunter-and-gatherer phase. He may actually be”—her voice lowered a notch—“human.”
“I should hope so. I'd hate to think what their kids would look like otherwise.” An image hit her of a small boy with bug eyes and tentacles.
Add to Imperfect Daddy list right below last night's burping entry: A man who hunts, gathers, and bites.
The thought stirred an image of Beau biting into the juicy piece of mango from last night's fruit salad. The sweet nectar dribbling down his chin. His lips slick and delectable.
Her stomach grumbled and her mouth watered and she opened her mouth to ask more about Eve's hammer suggestion. After all, one well-aimed hit would bring him to his knees.
Before she could say anything, Kimmy rushed into the room, shouting, “You're a goddess. A diva. The Christian Dior of the sex industry!”
“I'll talk to you later,” Xandra told her sister before sliding the receiver into its cradle.
“A one hundred percent, grade-A, certified carnal genius!”
Xandra noted the light in Kimmy's eyes and the glow of her face. “Either Mabel came through or you're wearing one of those makeup foundations with the light crystals.”
“Actually, it's both. Sephora's got this new color called Beige Bliss—oh, never mind. I mean, it's a great color, but the real big deal right now is Miss Mabel and her magic current.” She shook her head. “I've never felt anything like it. It was like my entire body was humming. A slow steady humming that got louder and louder until bam! I burst into song.”
“That's a really great metaphor.”
“No, I mean it. I actually started to sing. It felt so fierce that a moan, even a wail wasn't nearly good enough to release all that energy. I sang ‘That's the Way I Like It'by KC and the Sunshine Band so loud, in such a high pitch that my next-door neighbor, Mrs. Jackson—she's the old lady with the seven talking parrots—called the landlord and complained that I was having a wild party with a live band.” Her smiled widened. “As of this morning, the only thing coming from her apartment was a squa
wking rendition of ‘That's the Way I Like It’—those birds can imitate anything.” She shook her head and sank down into the large cushioned chair opposite Xandra's desk. “You did it. You really did it. Or rather, Mabel did it, but it's because you thought of her in the first place. She's going to blow everyone away at the Sextravaganza.”
“I hope so. But we can't make that determination based on one performance.”
“Three,” Kimmy cut in. “I used all three samples.”
“Really?”
“And it was even better each time.”
Xandra turned to her computer and keyed a few notes on Mabel's testing page. “Still, it was with the same man and during one sex session.”
“One hell of a sex session.”
“Even so, there are other factors that can contribute to positive results.”
“Not with Dennis. We've done it five times—four pairs of Gucci shoes and a Fendi bag—and it's never been this good.”
“That's definitely a positive sign, but we'll need more evidence.”
Kimmy held out her hand. “No problem. I've got a date with Harold the ho-hum—an entire collection of Sephora lipsticks and Anne Klein pumps. If I can sing disco with Harold, then Mabel isn't just a godsend to women. She's the Messiah herself.”
“Maybe.” If only Xandra knew firsthand. Unfortunately, her own testing attempts had failed miserably thanks to one stubborn man.
She ignored the urge to hand over the entire collection of samples. At the rate she was going, she wouldn't be using them herself. At the same time, she couldn't forget the way his lips had felt against hers and the feeling fed the small thread of determination inside her.
She handed Kimmy a sample. The woman made a face and Xandra handed over another. And another before Kimmy smiled.
“Three is my lucky number. Of course, I could always try for four.” Her eyes danced.
“We'll save number four for a different session. The goal of objective testing is to use the product with as many different subjects in as many different environments as possible, and document the results. If they're the same, then the positive findings can be attributed to the one constant—Mabel. If not, then the findings are inconclusive.”
“They'll be conclusive. So conclusive that I might not be able to make it into work tomorrow.”
Xandra smiled. “A day to recuperate?”
“To shop. I have a feeling I'll be so grateful, I'll be the one out buying something for someone.”
“I bet Harold would love that.”
“Not for Harold. For you. You're a goddess and I owe you in a major way.” She slid the samples into her pocket and set the folder she'd been carrying down on Xandra's desk. “And on a more serious note, some guy from Lust, Lust, Baby! called and left a message. He said something about the Sextravaganza.”
“What about it?”
Kimmy shrugged. “Maybe they've heard rumors about Mabel and want to hand us the trophy now because there's absolutely no way they can compete.”
“In my wildest dreams. More like they want to talk us out of our booth location. They're always in the front row, smack dab in the middle, but I put our application in early this year. Not to mention, Albert knows the woman who does the table setups and she agreed to slip us into the spot in return for a year's worth of free female condoms.”
“I bet she'd give us the spot for life in return for a few Mabel samples.”
Xandra grinned and watched as Kimmy went through the morning agenda. The young woman looked excited, but not from the stack of work in her hands. Rather, the pink in her cheeks and the light in her eyes came from the fact that she was a woman well-satisfied.
As proud as Xandra was that Mabel was the one responsible for the look, she couldn't help but want a satisfied look of her own.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd looked so satisfied and…excited. She and Mark had had comfort, not excitement. Except for the first few months of their relationship, and it had been more wonder than excitement. She'd been in awe that he'd taken an interest in her, and wowed by the fact that he kept coming back date after date after date. She realized now that he hadn't been excited so much as he'd been comfortable. Safe. Xandra hadn't made him feel like the odd virgin he'd been. She'd been clumsy herself and so they'd made a good match.
Xandra and Mark had made sense, not excitement. And while she knew, Holy Commitment-wise, she needed to aim for sense, she couldn't help but want excitement even more.
She wanted to feel the hunger. The pounding heart. The sweaty palms. The butterflies in her stomach—all of the things that Beau Hollister associated with love. Feelings that had nothing to do with such a romantic notion and everything to do with the full-blown lust he made her feel during the presex phase.
Hello? This isn't about presex with Beau. It's about having bad sex with him. Really bad sex. It's about turning that really bad sex into really good sex via Mabel.
She held tight to the thought and focused on Kimmy's words.
“…ad copy for the new Cosmo layout is waiting in an attachment on your computer. They need changes yesterday. And that's it. I've got bagels and cream cheese—Philadelphia—or apples—Granny Smith.”
She had a sudden vision of Beau as he'd looked yesterday morning munching popcorn and humming on her front porch. “Any popcorn?”
“Orville Redenbacher or Jiffy Pop?”
“Surprise me.”
Xandra spent the rest of her morning munching on popcorn, working and trying not to fret over her lack of seduction ideas. She was trying too hard. She needed to relax, to concentrate on the business aspect of Wild Woman in order to free her creativity. However much she disliked numbers, she had to admit that she came up with her best ideas while examining the hated balance sheets.
Something brilliant would hit her. It always did.
Chapter Sixteen
Five o'clock came and went and the only thing that hit Xandra was an enormous, inflatable penis.
It bopped her in the face when she pushed open the door to product development in search of Albert.
“I'm so sorry, Miss Farrel.” The apology came from a young, twenty-something redhead who rushed forward and gathered up the bobbing penis. He wore the standard white lab coat that most of the newbies sported when they first started with the company. After a few weeks with Albert and his team, most of them gave up the clinical look in favor of casual civilian wear.
With Coke bottle glasses, a tightly drawn mouth, and a tight tie that made his neck bulge just above his starched shirt collar, he looked much too uptight to loosen up in just a few weeks. Maybe a few years.
“I thought you were Mr. Sinclair,” he rushed on. “My first assignment other than helping out here in the lab was to come up with something hip and creative for Wild Woman. I know he gives the same assignment to all the new people, to see if they've got what it takes to make it in product development.” The man pushed his glasses back up. “I do. I've got it. I mean, I've got him.” He indicated the inflatable shape that stood at least six feet tall and towered over him by a good twelve inches. “This is Paulie. He's a blow-up punching penis I came up with.”
“A punching penis?”
“You punch him. If you're stressed out or mad at your partner,” the man went on, “you just take a whack at Paulie.”
Xandra glanced from Albert's new protégé, to the rubber penis, and back. She gave Albert free rein in the engineering department—meaning he could hire whomever he wanted, male or female, as long as he hired the most qualified—and rarely doubted his judgment. Until now.
Overall, he usually hired women, but there was the occasional man who applied and, sometimes, beat out his female counterparts. But this guy seemed about as clueless when it came to women as he was when it came to clothes.
“I can't say that I see how a punching penis plays into our mission statement. Wild Woman is all about a woman's pleasure.”
“So is Paulie. He's soft and flexible, especially
designed to take a licking without giving one back. Believe me, when a woman is really pissed and she takes a swing at this, she'll feel a lot of pleasure. And satisfaction. Especially if she's envisioning whoever has her so upset. Maybe her partner or her boss or a low-down, two-timing SOB by the name of Bobby Dupree who promised her he would call.” At Xandra's questioning look, he added, “He's this loser who's dating my sister. Or he was.”
Mmm. She could sort of see Paulie fitting into the whole pleasure scenario. After Beau left her high and dry last night, she could have used a few whacks at Paulie to work out her frustration. “He's sort of like a giant, penis-shaped stress ball.”
“Exactly.” The young man smiled. “It's very functional, not to mention I have a feeling it will make a huge contribution to society in general.”
“Really? And how's that?”
“Women can turn their aggression on an inanimate object rather than their poor, defenseless younger brother. If only Lorena Bobbitt had had a Paulie of her own. Life might be totally different now.”
Xandra nodded. “I don't know if I would go that far, but it does have possibilities.”
“You really think so?” He beamed and pushed his glasses back up. “I just knew you would like it. Mr. Sinclair, too. I hope. He hasn't actually seen it yet.”
“Where is he?”
“He's usually working late. That's why I thought you were him. But maybe he went home. He hasn't exactly been himself the past few days. Sort of uptight and preoccupied.”
“I know the feeling.” Albert wanted her and she wanted Beau. Life was much too complicated.
Especially since she was there to ask for Albert's help with seducing Beau.
The blowtorch had gotten Beau inside the house. The seductive food had gotten her some fantastic kisses and a little exciting foreplay. Albert definitely scored an “A+” in the seduction department and so it made him the perfect person to help her.
At the same time, she dreaded having another talk with him. Another I-like-you-but talk. She didn't want to hurt him and risk losing their friendship. At the same time, she simply wasn't turned on.
She headed back up to the fifth floor. She had fifteen minutes to come up with something solid to use on Beau this evening. Maybe she'd do the whole romantic bubble bath idea. Surely if she screamed bloody murder, he would come running into the bathroom to check on her and she could trip him. That would actually get him into the tub, albeit headfirst. She could improvise from there…
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