“I was just learning to use color effectively,” Summer said into the phone with great dignity. “I’ve come a long way since then.”
From the corner of her eye, Becca watched Kent bend over his own work, his wide shoulders flexed with intense focus, his hands steady and sure.
He’d already forgotten about her.
Made sense. He was only her boss. They barely knew each other. So why couldn’t she look away? His muscles were clearly outlined down the length of his taut, lean back. His long fingers stretched and worked, and suddenly, with a shocking heat, she wanted those fingers on her.
It was the craziest thing.
Kent reached for his coffee and took a sip, his strong throat muscles working as he swallowed. Such a great swallow, she thought, entranced. But since she apparently couldn’t look at him and still have a functioning brain, she readjusted her baseball cap and turned away.
Still, the strange and unwelcome lust pulsed through her.
Oh boy, this was bad. Getting hot over her boss. Very, very bad. She definitely, really, really, needed an adventure, and fast.
“Becca?”
“Yeah.” She cleared her husky voice and tried to get control of her hormones. “I’m here. Listen, Summer…” She lowered her voice. “Remember how we always talked about having a wild adventure together? Like flying to Italy on a whim without a travel plan? Or learning to deep-sea dive? Or going to a strip joint?”
Behind her, Kent choked on his coffee.
In her ear, Summer laughed. “You mean when we were young and stupid?”
Had it been that long since she’d dreamed? Carefully she avoided Kent’s curious gaze and said, “Let’s do it now.”
“Oh Becca, you’re so funny. As if either of us could just take off now that we’re so busy. And speaking of that, let me get to it. I just wanted to congratulate you.”
Becca sighed. “For what?”
“You won our first monthly salon makeover. Here at the salon. Isn’t that cool?”
“But I didn’t enter any—”
“Now I know you won’t take this the wrong way,” Summer interrupted smoothly. “But no one is more deserving of Summer’s Place First Giveaway Makeover than you.”
“Gee, thanks. I think. And when did you decide to run a contest for a makeover?”
“I’ve been dying to get my hands on you for years now, you know that.”
A makeover. Good Lord. “Look, I’m going to be really busy having an adventure—”
“No one’s ever too busy for salon treatment.”
“I will be,” she promised, but then she glanced down at her plain white tennis shoes, then turned her head and looked at Kent, who’d again immersed himself in work. He had files open, slides prepared and his light on. Even his face was tight with concentration as he scrupulously studied…a lingerie catalogue?
He caught her watching him and sent her a lazy smile that illuminated his face and made her catch her breath. His eyes were heavy-lidded, sensual, and for a moment, Becca allowed the fantasy to root. To put that look in his eyes, to be responsible for all that maleness…
But a makeover?
The whole thing was vain, narcissistic…and embarrassingly appealing.
“Think of all the publicity it will generate for my shop,” Summer coaxed.
“Yes, but…”
“I’ll need before and after pics because no one is going to believe the change in you, going from…well, absolutely no style, to—”
“Hey!”
“—to the height of fashion! I know you’ve never let me help before—”
“Because I do fine by myself.” Right. Uh-huh. Which was exactly why she’d just turned thirty and hadn’t had a date in so long her date-only lipstick had dried out. Again she looked at Kent, who’d gone back to studying his magazine, and her tummy tingled.
“Oh, Becca.” Summer’s voice lowered to plea level. “You are going to do it, aren’t you?”
Becca didn’t have a lot of family, Summer was basically it. For as long as she could remember, her sister had been after her to do something with herself. For herself. “I just don’t think—”
“That’s perfect,” Summer said quickly. “Don’t think.”
“A new hairdo is hardly going to change my life.”
“No, but it’s a start. It’s the works, Bec. Hair, makeup, clothes, everything.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re making this up as you go along?”
Her sister laughed lightly. Quickly. “Don’t be silly.”
But it was silly. And yet… “I don’t wear makeup.”
“I’ll teach you.”
“My clothes are fine.”
“Yeah, if you’re into Blue Light Specials.”
“Well at least my hair is…”
“Mousy. Baby, I’m sorry, you need a change. I can do it for you, let me.”
She sounded so sure, so excited. But then again, Summer—as her name implied—was everything Becca was not. Tall, thin, beautiful.
Pride was an ugly thing. “Let me think about it.” Setting the receiver back in place, Becca stood there for a long moment. She hated to disappoint Summer, it was like kicking a puppy. Her sister was just so happy and excited and bubbling and…perfect. All the time.
It wasn’t as if she was jealous, she loved Summer with all her heart. They were all each other had, but sometimes being with her was strangely deflating.
Kent tossed his catalog aside. “A strip joint?”
“Is that the only part of the conversation you heard?”
“It’s the part that grabbed me,” he admitted. “Are you going to do it?”
Truthfully, the idea of a makeover actually scared her. Gave her a weightless feeling deep in her stomach. Made her wonder, just for a weak little second, how things could be if…
Kent’s gaze filled with shock. “You’re thinking about it.”
Was it so unreasonable? So ridiculous? “So?”
“Well…I guess I can’t believe you’d go to a strip club.”
She gaped at him. “I’m talking about the makeover.”
“Oh.” The bad-boy grin he shot her had probably melted hundreds of hearts. Thousands. “And here I thought you were all work and no play,” he said softly, challengingly.
Okay, that did it. Sealed the deal.
Yanking up the phone, she pounded out the number to Summer’s Place and waited impatiently, foot tapping. “I wanted adventure,” she muttered. “I wanted a change. And darn it, that’s exactly what I’m going to get, if it kills me. This makeover is just the beginning. When I’m done there, watch out.”
“Watch out what?” Kent wanted to know, sounding unsure.
Good. “I just might go find a strip club for real!”
The look on his face might have been priceless if she wasn’t so worked up. “To watch or participate?” he asked carefully.
“Both.”
All amusement had drained from his face. “Okay, wait a minute.”
“I’m tired of being good. Why isn’t Summer answering?”
“Hold on a sec,” Kent said. “Back the train up.”
“No more boring and predictable.”
He watched her pace as far as the phone cord would allow. “What did you put in your Wheaties this morning?”
“I need action.” She whirled and paced some more, waiting impatiently for Summer to pick up. “I need red lace panties.”
“What?”
“Never mind,” she whirled away, but Kent turned her back to face him. “Becca—”
Shrugging him off, she clutched the phone tighter to her ear, relieved when Summer finally answered.
“I’ll do it. All of it,” Becca snapped, then before Summer could gloat, she hung up. “There. That should get the ball rolling.”
2
HOURS LATER, Kent watched Becca fidget on her stool as she bent over her microscope.
She wasn’t a fidgeter.
Her wriggling
was what had originally gotten his attention, but what held it was how she wriggled.
His gaze fixed on her hips as she scooted herself first one way then another.
It was difficult to tell her exact shape beneath all those layers she wore, just as he had no idea what she looked like without glasses on her face. He’d never seen her with her hair down, either, and because of the way she twisted it up out of her way, he had no idea how long it was.
Which was fine. He liked her—everyone liked Becca—she was generous, open, warm. And because he liked her, he was careful not to be attracted to her. It was a law with him, written in stone. Don’t ever like the women you date. Lust after them, yes. Sleep with them, whenever safe and possible. But absolutely do not like them. It was a well-known fact that friends and sex should never mix because then there were expectations.
He hated expectations.
So when his mouth opened and said, “I think we should talk about this adventure thing,” he both surprised himself and broke his personal law number two, which was don’t pry, because once you do, you’re involved.
Becca ignored him.
Good. He should let it go. That was the smart thing to do, and he was nothing if not smart. But Becca seemed to be itching for trouble, and while he understood the need for trouble all too well, the thought of her going after it, and maybe even finding it, disturbed him more than he cared to admit.
It wasn’t that he didn’t think she could take care of herself. He actually didn’t know her well enough to make that decision. But she seemed sweet and kind and yes, dammit, naive. “Becca.”
She shot him a smile filled with nerves, and it was such a dazzling one his heart actually skipped.
Not a good thing.
Not when, earlier, he’d touched her in concern and felt that heady shock of awareness. And now a mere smile tipped his inner organs out of whack.
Food, he decided. He must be hungry.
“I need to run,” Becca said suddenly. “I don’t want to be late.”
Everyone else had quickly scattered at exactly five o’clock. Normally Kent would have scattered with the best of them, but something had held him back tonight. “Late?”
Her pencil broke. “Darn it.” Her lips tightened as she patted herself down, searching for another one.
Pointedly, he looked at the one she had behind her ear, but she was grumbling, not paying any attention. “I can never find—”
Reaching close enough to see the few freckles scattered on her nose, he slid it out and held it up. “This what you’re looking for?”
“Thanks,” she muttered, making a grab for it, but he held firm.
“Late for what, Becca?”
“I’d rather not discuss it.” She gave up on the tug-of-war and pushed at her glasses. Then once again glanced at the clock.
“It’s still six o’clock.”
“Yeah. I’d better go.”
She didn’t seem too eager, which upped his worry factor. “What’s with you today?”
“Nothing. Look, don’t you have something to do? Like maybe, oh I don’t know, read your catalog?”
He let out a grin. “You know very well it’s not my lingerie catalog. It came for you, but you tossed it. I couldn’t just stand by and let you waste paper that way.”
Her gaze shot heavenward. Then at the clock yet again. “I’ve got to go.”
“So you’ve said.”
Her voice held a bit of something he couldn’t put his finger on. Panic? He really hated this. She was going off to find some sort of excitement.
Who would look after her?
He knew the answer to that, but he didn’t have to like it. “Okay, dammit, I’ll come with you.”
She looked confused. “What?”
“To keep you out of trouble. Nothing more.”
She cocked her head. “To keep me out of trouble?”
“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”
“You know, if this were anyone else in the lab, say Sherry—” She dragged out the name of his secretary. “If she were going out, you’d want details. Lurid details.”
“Hey, I’ve caught you listening to the stories, too.”
“My point is, I find it interesting that you never worry about anyone else in the lab.”
She had him there. “Sherry can take care of herself,” he said finally, knowing by her instant flash of temper he’d said the wrong thing.
“I’m eight years older than she is!”
How could he explain that she seemed like an innocent? He decided not to explain at all, not to do anything to drag himself in any further.
“I think I’ll just head out,” she said stiffly, sliding off her stool. She walked to the door, lifted her purse and coat off the wooden hanger there. Then she hesitated, her back to him. “I’m wondering why you treat me as if I were your baby sister. Is it because we work together? Or because I look…the way I do?”
Uh-oh. He sensed this was one of those girl traps. “This has nothing to do with your looks.”
She crossed her arms, cocked her head and gave him one of those long-suffering, mock-patient expressions every woman has perfected. “What does it have to do with?”
“Well…” With longing, he glanced at his own coat, and the door.
“Oh, never mind,” she said, disgusted. “Men.”
The door shut not so quietly behind her.
BECCA DROVE ALONG the narrow, curvy, two-lane highway of Incline Village, thinking things were going to change from this day on.
The sun disappeared behind the horizon, and in its wake a glorious array of colors bounced off Lake Tahoe where it glimmered on her right. Its waters were a shimmering, brilliant blue that spoke of its amazing depth. The Sierra mountains towered on her left, magnificent and still peaked with snow, though it was already May. And as she drove through Incline, a place she spent both her days and nights, she thought it sad it was a place she’d never played.
Never really lived.
Well that was going to change too.
She turned into the parking lot and looked at the old wooden building that served as the lake’s equivalent of a mini-mall. The structure was two stories tall and built to resemble a cabin. It dated from the early part of the twentieth century, when Lake Tahoe had been an exclusive resort for the rich and famous from the San Francisco Bay area. Nearly a hundred years later, little had changed. Not the look of the place, or the wealthy tourists.
The area, especially this building, exuded charm and nostalgia, just as the various entrepreneurs inside the building wanted.
Summer’s Place was at the end of the mall, newly converted from a small but exclusive dress shop. The rent in this district was unspeakably high, as it was throughout Incline Village.
Income Village the locals had dubbed it.
And though Summer was wonderful, resourceful and very talented, even she couldn’t have possibly afforded the rent by herself. The story in town was that her sweet, kind, rich ex-boyfriend had given her a rent-free ten-year lease.
That was true, but only half of the real story.
She’d actually won it from him in a game of poker. Strip poker. Becca had expected Summer to hide that little tidbit, but she was actually proud of it.
And Becca was proud of her. But a makeover?
Faltering on the steps, she looked out to the lake. A small company that took tourists parasailing was set up on shore, bringing in the latest paying customer, who was hooting and hollering with delight.
Becca turned and stared up at the bright, cheerful sign that read: Summer’s Place, Full Service Salon.
Her stomach tap danced. Her nerves skittered.
She wanted this, she reminded herself. It was just step number one to a more exciting, satisfying life.
When she almost believed it, she went inside.
TWO HOURS LATER she sat beneath a hair dryer, a cup of steaming tea on her right, a glamour magazine—which might as well have been printed in Latin—on he
r lap. She wore nothing but a robe and some scented lotion that smelled heavenly.
There was something decadent about being so completely naked beneath the robe in a room filled with people. Summer sat at her right, happily chatting away to two other customers as she held Becca’s hand.
Becca assumed it was to hold her still, to keep her from running screaming out of the salon. But she no longer felt like screaming at all.
The salon was incredibly homey and relaxing, not at all intimidating, as some salons could be. The colors were bright and cheerful, much like Summer herself. There were all sorts of snacks available—nothing made clients happy faster than something yummy to munch on. Soft rock blared discreetly from hidden speakers overhead. The reception area had been designed to look like an expensive but approachable clothing boutique, and since one of Summer’s closest friends, Monique, designed and sold clothes right here, it actually was.
An entire wardrobe had been picked out for Becca, and it hadn’t been simple. She’d wanted easy-to-wear clothes that she could both work and play in.
Summer had insisted on two different looks, one for Becca’s work and one for the nightlife she was hoping Becca would have.
They’d settled somewhere in between, but it was the lingerie she’d purchased that still had her blushing. The silks and lace seemed decadent, especially since she didn’t get all that many opportunities to show off her underwear, but there was something almost thrillingly naughty about wearing such exotic things beneath her clothes.
She’d had a delicious massage by Pierre, who’d somehow managed to convince Becca she would love to have his hands all over her body.
He’d been right. For about one-millionth of a second, she’d agonized over lying face down and naked except for one little scrap of towel barely covering her essentials. She’d asked for a bigger towel and Pierre had laughed.
She was certain every square inch of her had furiously blushed, especially the not-so-toned inches.
But Pierre had a voice made for comforting and a touch that was out of this world. If her massage, which had been very professional and proper, had gone on for two more minutes, she was convinced she would have mortified herself and had an orgasm right there on the table. She could have said the same about her pedicure and manicure.
New and…Improved? & Andrew in Excess Page 2