Her thoughts ground to a halt as a strange flicker of light caught her eye as she passed the conference room. She turned to see the orange glow licking at the bottom of the door.
She'd had enough experience with fire in the past forty-eight hours to send a shiver of apprehension up her spine. She touched the doorknob. It was cold. The door was cold and…
The door creaked inward and she stepped into the room. Where a bevy of chocolate desserts had covered the conference table, there was nothing but a white sheet draped over it now. Candles flickered from every corner of the room. A small warming dish bubbled from the sideboard, a steamy, arousing scent drifted across the room.
Her nostrils flared as the scents of cinnamon, ginger, and clove mingled and filled her head and sent a rush of heat through her body.
“Welcome to Albert's All-Over Body Spa.” The deep voice drew her attention to the corner of the room where her friend was standing. He was wearing a white T-shirt and white slacks. He had a robe draped over one arm and a determined I'm-doing-this-come-hell-or-high-water look on his face. As if he were about to eat cauliflower for the first time.
“Albert, we need to talk.”
“No talking. You've been talking all day. You look tired. Drained. You need to relax and I have just the thing.”
He walked toward her and the scent filling the air grew stronger. She inhaled and a strange sense of peace rushed through her body.
“Just smell,” he told her, drinking in a deep breath to demonstrate. “Fill your head with the aroma.”
“What is it?”
“Essential oils. The basis for aromatherapy. The different oils give off different scents, which trigger various effects within us, or so sayeth Cherry Chandler. Some oils produce a calming effect. Some are energizing, some arousing. Do you feel aroused?”
The last word rooted in her brain and a warning signal sounded. She opened her mouth to tell him she wasn't, nor would she ever be, aroused. But then he came around her, placed his hands on her shoulders and started to knead them. Her thoughts fled as her muscles screamed with delight.
“That feels so good.”
“I learned it during the touch part of sensitivity training. You move your fingers like this and it hits certain tension points in your partner. It releases their stress and tunes you into their most vulnerable areas.”
“It feels like butterfly wings tapping.”
“Exactly.” The pressure increased and her temples throbbed. “You're really tense.”
“I've had a trying day,” she blurted, the familiar, friendly sound of his voice lulling her to spill her guts the way it always did. And making her forget that he wasn't just her friend anymore. That he wanted to be more. That despite their lack of chemical attraction, he thought…
Her doubts fled as fast as her stress, and her mouth kept moving of its own accord.
“And then there's this Beau situation. I haven't used even one of the Mabel samples. We're going on two weeks and I'm no closer to having great sex than I was when I started. Mind you, we had some really hot kisses and even some above-the-waist action. But then it stopped and—”
“Don't talk. Don't think. Just feel. Tonight's about feeling. And smelling. You can still smell it, can't you?”
She took another drink of the air and the scent skirted her nerve endings. “Did you mix that up yourself?”
“Following Cherry Chandler's own personal recipe for seductive success.”
She gave in to the lulling sensation a full minute more before she tried to gather her wits. “Albert,” she forced her eyes open and tried to ignore his magic fingers, “we really need to talk.”
“Don't say anything. You're just supposed to feel, remember?” He kneaded harder and her eyes closed again. “This feels good, doesn't it?”
“Wonderful.”
“Just wait until I get you undressed and on the table. I've got pure grape seed and coconut oils, and sweet almond oil, all fortified with other essential oils—sandalwood, jasmine, and cinnamon—guaranteed to seduce the muscles.”
“That really feels…Did you say ‘seduce’?” She forced one eye open.
“Guaranteed. You'll be putty by the time I'm done.”
He wasn't whistling “Dixie” either. At the rate she was melting, a few more minutes and she would rip off her clothes, climb onto the table, and beg for more, regardless of the fact that it would give him entirely the wrong impression—namely that she was attracted to him.
She wasn't the least bit attracted, yet here she was, her nerves humming, her body wanting more.
“You're a genius,” she declared as she turned and planted a kiss on his cheek. “A seductive genius!”
“I am?” He forced a grin. “I mean, yes, I am. I knew you would come around.” He stepped back. “I just didn't figure it would be this soon. I thought for sure I would have to do the full body massage.”
“I have to get home.” She grabbed two of the bottles from the edge of the table. “Mind if I take these to go? Thanks so much. Look, I know you went to a lot of trouble and I truly appreciate it, but we can't do this.”
“We can't.” He nodded. “I mean, we can't? Why not?”
“It just doesn't feel right. You're like my brother.”
“But I'm not your brother. You don't even have a brother.”
“If I did, you would be him. We're good together, but as friends.” She eyed the bubbling incense burner. “What did you say was in that?”
“Take it.”
“Really?”
“Take it before I argue with you.” He eyed her. “I am going to argue with you. We're perfect for each other. I know it seems kind of awkward now.”
“Very awkward.”
“Downright weird,” he readily agreed. “But we can get past that. We can get to a comfortable place where things feel right. You'll see.”
But the only thing she wanted to see at the moment was whether or not Beau was working late tonight. If he wasn't, she would have to hold off until tomorrow. But if so, tonight was definitely the night.
A few careful ministrations from Albert and she'd all but melted. Her muscles had screamed for more and she didn't actually do any physical labor for a living. A man wielding a hammer and other more sizable tools would definitely be an easy target for a bone-melting, libido-inspiring massage.
One touch and Beau Hollister would be begging for more.
Albert watched Xandra leave before blowing out the few candles she'd left and tossing his seductive tools into a cardboard box.
So much for seducing Xandra through her sense of smell and her sense of touch. He'd gone for a double whammy again—two senses at once—but he was no closer to convincing her of their great sex potential than he'd been with the chocolate and music.
“It's not going to work.” The woman's familiar voice sounded as if she were reading his thoughts.
He glanced up to see Stacey Bernard standing in the doorway. She didn't just look bland in her beige slacks and ho-hum white blouse, she ate bland, as well. She spooned nonfat plain yogurt from the container in her hand and took a bite.
“I don't recall asking your opinion.”
“You clearly need all the help you can get because you're not getting anywhere on your own. Obviously she isn't the least bit moved by the sensitive side of a man. She's not going to go out with you. And why you would even want to go out with her, I don't know. Dating is a waste of time. It's pointless. Sure, you get out of the house and have a little fun, but then you break up and it's back to watching Oxygen on Saturday nights.”
“And cuddling up with your cat.”
She glared. “My cat is none of your concern.”
“And my social life is none of yours.”
“You mean your lack of a social life.”
“Are you always so gloomy?”
“I'm not gloomy. I'm practical.”
“Says who?”
“Whoever conducted the latest divorce study. Statistics sho
w that three out of every four marriages end in divorce. So what's the point of dating in the first place? If you're just going to wind up being one of the statistics?”
“Maybe you'll be the one that actually makes it.”
“It's a long shot.”
“My parents have been together for forty years.”
“Yeah, well mine were together for all of six months. Then my mother split and married again. Then she split and married again. Then she split and married again. Don't look at me like that,” she added when his gaze went from surprised to sympathetic. “I didn't have a rough life or anything like that. I had it great because with each split, my mom took half. By the time she hit husband number four, we were set for life. I had a full-time nanny, designer clothes, a few credit cards for my own personal use, and a new BMW when I turned sixteen.”
“I always wanted a BMW.”
“Really?”
“A silver one.”
“I had a silver one.” She smiled. “I never would have figured you for a silver BMW type.”
“I wasn't. I was just a wannabe. In actuality, I was a beat-up Ford pickup type—half blue, half rust—that my dad, Francis, picked up at a garage sale.” He grinned at the memory. “It was pretty bad, but it did have a killer stereo system—my birthday present from Chuck, my mom.”
“Your parents really are gay.” She looked surprised.
“I thought you already knew that. You're always making comments.”
“Because it gets you so worked up. I thought it made you mad because you were some homophobe. I never really thought…” She grinned. “I'm sorry. You must think I'm pretty shallow.”
“I do. I think you're pretty and shallow.” He wasn't sure why he said it, except that the darkness was doing something to him. That, combined with the potent scent of all those essential oils still in the air, muddied his thoughts. Without pure oxygen to keep a clear head, he was having a hard time remembering that Stacey Bernard was the enemy.
Standing there in the doorway, with the candlelight playing across her features, she seemed almost soft. Vulnerable.
“You're just setting yourself up for disappointment,” she told him, eyeing the box and its contents.
“What do you care?”
“My concern is completely self-motivated. You're a colleague and I have a responsibility to this company. If you get your heart broken, then you'll be grumpy. The turnover rate in your department will go through the roof, which will mean additional personnel costs, which affects the per product cost and makes my job of making said cost reasonable and affordable for this company very difficult.”
“And here I thought you might have grown tired of spending your free time with Peanut and were wanting to test the waters with an actual man.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“That you need to get out. Go on a real date. Have some fun with an attractive, good-looking guy who needs to get out more himself.”
“Meaning you?”
“Meaning I would love to show you a good time—we're coworkers on the same team, after all, and so we should support one another. You pick the time and place, and I'll be there, in exchange for a small favor.” What the hell was he doing?
Getting a date, that's what.
The situation with Xandra wasn't progressing and, in reality, he didn't want it to progress. They were just friends and he wasn't the least bit turned on by her and, well, the clock was still ticking.
“You really want to go out with me?” Stacey asked him.
“Why not?”
“Maybe because you hate me.”
“I don't hate you. I just think you need to loosen up and have some fun.”
“I have plenty of fun,” she said the words, but then seemed to think better of them. “Okay, so maybe I used to have more fun.”
A grin touched her lips and softened her features, making Albert remember his initial attraction to her in the first place. He felt it in the tightening in his groin.
“I did used to belong to a bowling club. Every Saturday night I would go to Rock-n-Bowl and drink beer, eat pizza, and have a really good time. It's been forever since I did that.” She eyed him. “Okay, I'll help you out if you take me bowling. But you'd better not want anything weird or perverted in return.”
“That hurts.” He came this close to making another cat comment, but thought better of it. Marsha's daughter's wedding was just a few days away and he'd promised to bring a date. While this was more like a business arrangement than a date, Chuckles didn't have to know that.
“So what do you have in mind?” she asked. “A movie? Dinner? Dancing? A football game?”
He smiled. “A really good slice of wedding cake.”
Chapter Seventeen
You're not begging,” Xandra told Beau when she made her proposition later that evening. She stood on her front porch and watched him pack up his supplies.
“Why would I beg?”
“Because building furniture is your hobby, and I'm offering you the chance to make a little money at it.” She beamed. “You can start right now. Just get inside and get to work.”
“Inside, huh?” Beau gave her a knowing look, but she didn't seem the least bit clued in to the fact that he knew her game.
Instead, she nodded and gave him a wide-eyed look that screamed innocence. “For however long it takes you to build something to fill up that empty space in my den. Maybe that bookshelf you suggested.”
“Maybe. But before we decide on something, you'd better tell me what sort of budget you have for something like this.” His gaze locked with hers. “Hopefully it's pretty sizable because handcrafted furniture doesn't come cheap.”
“What do you mean by ‘pretty sizable’?”
He wanted to tell her that he would do it for free, but since the bookshelves were obviously part of some bigger scheme to get him inside her house, and, ultimately, inside her, he didn't want to make it any easier. Besides, he'd already put in a day's work and then some and he had a headache just this side of hellacious. He wasn't in the mood to be too charitable. “Besides the fact that you're commissioning a handcrafted, one-of-a-kind piece, you're also asking me to work overtime, and that doesn't come cheap.”
“Of course, I'll expect to pay extra. Time and a half.”
“Actually, I pay all my guys double time. They're the best, after all.”
“Double?”
He saw the gleam in her eyes and he knew the business side of her wanted to argue.
“Okay, double,” she said at last. “I guess it's only fair if that's what you pay your men.”
“Actually, I charge triple. I'm the boss, after all.”
“Triple? That's ridiculous.”
“I've got overhead.”
“What kind of overhead?”
“Materials.”
“Wood and varnish? I'll pick some up at Home Depot for you.”
“And of course, there's my know-how. That doesn't come cheap.”
“I wasn't thinking cheap. But I wasn't thinking triple, either. I think double is more than fair.”
“It's triple or nothing.”
“Double and a half.”
“I guess I could be satisfied with that.” Fat chance. The only thing that could come close to satisfying Beau at the moment was another taste of her sweet lips.
He cleared his suddenly dry throat and tore his gaze from her mouth. “I might as well get started tonight,” he said as he leaned down to gather up the tools scattered across her porch. “I'll take the measurements and see how much wood I'll need.”
“Sounds perfect.” The word sounded more like a purr and he turned to see the gleam in her eyes before she shut the door and retreated back inside. Forget the small hope that she truly admired his handiwork. It was a ploy, pure and simple, to get him into the house.
As much as the thought aggravated him, it excited him, as well. He couldn't help but admire her determination, and wonder what she was going to come up w
ith next to get him out of his clothes and into her sweet body.
He forced a frown and tried to remember the all-important fact that he didn't like being manipulated. But a visual popped into his head: Xandra naked in the moonlight, her nipples ripe, her lips parted, her legs open and waiting and…
He shoved a hand through his hair and busied himself clearing away the mess on her front porch. A full fifteen minutes later, after retrieving his tape measure and notebook from the van, he knocked on her door.
She let him in and led him down the hall toward the den. She'd shed her killer high heels and her suit jacket. She wore just the red skirt and a sleeveless white shell that looked more like a camisole than any sort of decent blouse. It was thin and skimpy and he could easily see the lacy imprint of her bra beneath the material. And the faint shadow of her nipples. Her very ripe nipples…
Aw, hell.
He turned toward the empty space where he intended to put the bookshelves. He meant to push her out of his head so that he could concentrate on the task at hand, but she stayed hot on his heels, following him the few feet over to the area. She bumped into him when he came to a sudden halt, the side of her soft breast pressing into his arm.
“I'd be glad to hold the end of the tape measure,” she offered when he all but jumped and whirled at the contact.
“No, um, thanks.” What the hell was wrong with him? He knew what she was up to. Nothing should startle him.
Keep the faith, buddy, and just hurry the hell up.
He unhooked the tape measure and tried to avoid looking at her as she stood there, watching him, but it was no use. She was too close and she smelled too good.
Her lips were full and parted and the second he glanced up, she licked them. Just a flick of her tongue along the bottom fullness, but it was enough to hollow out his stomach and send a wash of heat through him.
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