Velvet, Leather & Lace
Page 9
“Well, I couldn’t let him get away with that sucker punch, could I? Hud’s editor pulled me off him,” Jamie explained with more than a little male pride. “Afterward, we all had a good long talk, believe it or not. In a nutshell, the editor assured me that their follow-up article would clear up the gender confusion and the anti-male stuff. Plus, he would personally supervise Hud’s writing of the story.”
“So, that’s good, right?”
“If the public thinks it’s good, it’s good. Remains to be seen.” He rubbed his neck as if it were stiff, and while doing so, he got a look at her tattered pajamas. His eyebrows lifted. “Not VLL, I’m guessing?”
Lorna looked down and sighed. She was ragtag, torn, devoid of makeup and emotionally overdrawn at the bank. “Vintage Lorna,” she said.
“Good year.” In the next breath, he said, “You frighten me.”
She held out her pajama pants, as if they were wings. “No surprise there.”
“No, your pajamas are fine. They’re exquisite. But you. You actually frighten me. Like a mouse frightens an elephant.”
Lorna could summon up no objections to being the mouse in this case. She just wished the floor wasn’t so far away. She was suddenly unsure of distances. Too far from the floor, too close to him, too late to turn back. Frightened? He didn’t know the meaning of the word.
“Is this all part of revealing the real Jamie Baird?” she asked. “Like right now? With me?”
He locked into her gaze so deeply he could have picked her up and moved her telepathically. “Yeah,” he said, “I think I am.”
“Okay…good…don’t let me stop you.”
Please, don’t stop.
But it felt as if she’d stepped back, as if she’d had to for protection. Her need to hear what he had to say was as crazy as her fear of it. What if she didn’t get what she needed? What if she did?
What did she need? Something so terrible it could just rip her apart? That’s what it felt like.
“Before you,” he said, “I’d been going from woman to woman, always on the move, never with anyone long enough to get involved. I think I feared what I’d be giving up.”
“And what was that?”
“The search.” He drew in a breath. “The search for what was missing. But after you, I stalled out. I couldn’t go anywhere, to anyone. There wasn’t any way to escape the reality that what was missing was inside me, and that scared the hell out of me. I needed an excuse to swear off women altogether, so I buried myself in work.”
“Are you saying—? What are you saying…that I ruined you for other women?”
The thought made her giddy. He couldn’t have meant it, and now she was going to force him to say that he had.
He cocked his head, as if perhaps she’d gotten ahead of him. “Well, I haven’t been with anyone since you, so yes, you could say that.”
“And that’s why you never called back? It wasn’t about me? My size, my shape, my person?”
“Lorna, your shape is the stuff men’s fantasies are made of. And your person—” His voice went oddly scratchy. “This is going to come off sounding like a bad Hallmark card, but your person is the mate my soul has been searching for.”
Who said the mouse couldn’t be scared to death of the elephant, especially an advancing bull? “So, what then…you love me…you want me…you can’t live without me?”
What was she trying to do, get him to say no?
“That, too.”
“There’s something else?”
“I need you,” he said softly. “I don’t know about the rest of it. I just know I need you, and I’ve never let myself need anything before, not like this.”
Beyond giddy. Dizzy. Beyond afraid. Awed.
Lorna could feel the trade winds and smell the jasmine. The scent was so sweet it made her light-headed. She didn’t know what to say, but it was all right because he was managing quite well without her.
“I have a friend who swears that certain words are important to women,” he went on. “I don’t have a clue what those words are, but that is what I feel.”
She shook her head at his unflinching honesty. Deep down in her gut, she didn’t know if she could ever allow herself to be as vulnerable and exposed as he was at this moment. She wasn’t that brave.
“Have I said too much?” he asked. “Should I go?”
“No, God, no.” It was fear that had made her want to step away, but now she was held fast by the feeling that he could see her. That Lorna Sutton was being seen for the first time, rather than just weighed and measured.
“I love you, too.”
The words rushed out of her, barely discernible. Tears welled, catching in her lashes when she blinked. She didn’t know what he meant by the right words, but nothing had ever felt more right than the ones she’d just said. Still, the shock of it kept her where she was for a moment.
He didn’t move, either. He seemed to sense that she’d just taken a huge leap of faith. But his face was etched and urgent.
The distance between them only intensified Lorna’s feelings. She wanted him. Every minute of every day, she wanted him. Even listening to the sound of his displeasure made her want him. It was bizarre, but he could have been rejecting her now, and it wouldn’t have stemmed this wild exuberance inside her.
She was hooked on him, hopelessly. They should have rehab units for people like her, except that she was beyond rehab. She was a lost cause, and maybe her only salvation was surrendering to the truth. To him. To herself.
She pulled the thread on the waistband of her pajama bottoms and let them fall. She freed a button on her pajama top and worked her way down, freeing all the rest of them. Freeing herself. She had thought that would be enough of a signal, but he seemed to be waiting for something else.
She slipped two fingers in her mouth and whistled.
He cocked his head, intrigued.
“Don’t you remember? That first night at the pool? You told me if I ever wanted anything, I should whistle.”
“That’s true, I did.” He smiled. “What is it you want?”
“Not words this time.”
He reached for her hand, he tugged her into his arms, and they swung around, falling over each other, into each other. He squeezed her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. She feared he might even bruise some ribs before he was done with her, and she couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful.
He sprinkled kisses over her eyes and her nose and her mouth, then pulled back to look at her, as if he were reveling in her glowing face, and waiting for her response.
“Why did you stop?” she asked.
“Women aren’t the only ones who need words. Is this what you want?”
So that was it. He wanted to hear it.
Her face went hot and her voice sounded like steam from a kettle. “You and me in my knotty pine nook? And by the way, I’m spelling that n.a.u.g.h.t.y.”
“That’s a pretty good word, too,” he said.
IT WAS THE SEXIEST ROOM Jamie had ever been in. The round knots in the wood were like something out of a Georgia O’Keeffe painting. Lorna had told him they reminded her of male genitalia. All he could see was the female variety. He was surrounded by it, but the only flower garden he cared about was hers.
She was sitting on one of the chairs, her legs open to him and her head thrown back in ecstasy. She wore only her unbuttoned pajama top, and it was an almost unbearably erotic sight. The lust that swelled up inside him confounded him. It was fed by love, and it made him want to ravish her in the most primitive of ways, yet cherish her tenderly at the same time. He burned with tenderness.
She tasted like strawberries.
Her quivers and gasps and sighs were music.
The fingers she’d tangled in his hair were his guide.
God, he loved her. Maybe the right words were the ones you felt and expressed. But it seemed impossible that one man could feel this much. The ache went so deep it filled him. She filled him. He had no need at
this moment to do anything but please her. Whatever did that, pleased him.
She arched with an orgasm, crying out. She wanted him inside her. Those were the words she gasped, and they sent knives of desire slicing through him. He lifted her from the chair and wrapped her legs around him. He had it in mind to trade places with her. Him on the chair and her on his lap, flush up against his painfully stiff erection. He would let her decide when she wanted him, and how.
It was an easy choice for Lorna. The sight of his hardened flesh inflamed her. The pressure against her pubis set her to trembling. She reached for him and he was there, lifting her, gathering her into his arms. And the moment she was joined with him, sweetness flooded her. Relief flooded her. His body was her anchor. His arms her shelter. And she was complete.
EPILOGUE
THREE SHOPPING BAGS sat in the middle of Lorna’s living room when she walked in the door from work that night. Each had a small hand-printed sign propped against it, and the first one said: “This is for you.” The second said: “This is for me, but you get to open it.” And the third: “This is for us.”
Wildly curious, Lorna set down her groceries and knelt to investigate. They looked suspiciously like the shopping bags Jamie had been carrying the day of the interview, but he’d only had two. She peeked inside the first one and sifted through the tissue paper. What she found was a five-by-seven white envelope. Inside was one first-class airline ticket to Tahiti and a week’s accommodations at a five-star resort hotel.
Lorna sank to the floor, heedless of the damage to her favorite linen pantsuit. Laughing out loud, she pressed the ticket to her chest. Amazing! He was honoring their agreement, even though the interview had tanked, and mostly because of her.
A note from him was also tucked in the tissue paper. She opened it and read the short message: “Lorna, these trade winds are the real thing—and so are you. I love you.” He’d signed his name and added a postscript: “If you’d like company, I’m available on a moment’s notice. Just whistle.”
Her smile was now out of control. She’d had several days of playing catch-up at work, and she’d come home exhausted, but this surprise had breathed new life into her.
She dived into the second package, the one he’d given her permission to open. It was a VLL pole-dancing package, including a red velvet leotard, which looked as if it might have been custom-made for her. The shockingly low-cut neckline sent a rush of heat to her cheeks. There was no note, but she knew exactly why this one was for him. One word summed it up. Foreplay.
The last package confused her. Inside the tissue paper, she found a computer printout with a list of names, all of them women, and one of them her. There were probably thirty names on the list, every one of them x-ed out except hers.
Avidly she read the notes by her name. Sex goddess? Really?
She’d just started checking out the rest of the list when she heard someone whistle. It came from the doorway behind her. She stumbled to her feet and turned, the printout in her hand.
Jamie sailed through the open door in a crisp summer suit, looking very businesslike, a newspaper in his hand. His dark hair and eyes made a fashion statement out of the tan jacket and slacks.
It took her all of thirty seconds to mess him up. “Thank you,” she whispered against his lips. She’d thrown her arms around his neck and she was playing in his lovely dark hair.
“I love the presents,” she said, “even the one for you.” She untangled herself enough to show him the printout. “But what’s this?”
He took her fingers and kissed them. “It’s my electronic black book. You’ll notice all the names have been deleted except yours.”
“So, what does that mean? I am your black book?”
“It means, Lorna, that there are no women except you.”
The printout floated to the floor as she pressed herself against him. Their kiss was long, lingering, sweet. She wanted to drag him to bed, or maybe back into the nook, which had become their favorite place, but he didn’t seem to be finished with his surprises.
“You gave me a gift, too,” he said, whispering in her ear.
“I know, the pole-dancing package.”
“Well, yes, there’s that. But I was thinking of this.” He showed her the newspaper he’d brought in with him. It was folded open to the business section, and the first page had a follow-up article on VLL.
“Our friend, Hud, has cleared up the anti-male confusion and outed me as a designer, of course.” The alarm must have shown on her face. “No, it’s okay,” he said. “The orders are pouring in for pole-dancing packages. They don’t want to wait until Christmas. We have them back-ordered through next Valentine’s Day.”
“Wow, that’s great.”
“Yeah, Hud gave the packages another rave review, and I think we have you to thank for that. Also, it seems, the public’s interest was piqued by the idea of a straight guy—a bean counter at that—designing women’s lingerie.”
Their bean counter, her rogue, she thought. She was relieved, and more pleased than she could express.
She tweaked his tie, flirting with the idea of untying it. “Just as soon as your fashion show is over, Mr. Baird, this sex goddess would like the pleasure of your company in Tahiti.”
He pulled an envelope from inside his jacket that was clearly an airline ticket. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
She laughed softly. “You’re awfully good at making my fantasies come true, but just so you know, I’m not going to wear that Victorian nightgown on our wedding night.”
He pulled back to look at her, a sexy sparkle in his eye. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I haven’t asked you.”
Suddenly her laugher was as bright as the peel of silvery bells. “I know…but you will.”
CALLING THE SHOTS
Donna Kauffman
CHAPTER ONE
“NO, NO, THAT WON’T DO. If you want to see your work beamed out to every major international market worldwide, then I need to see everything you have before I can make a decision.” Samantha Wallace pressed the phone closer to her ear, while simultaneously clicking her way through the endless incoming messages in her e-mail folder. A moment later she smiled and spun her chair around to face the picture window behind her desk. Another hot July night in Los Angeles flickered before her in an endless sea of twinkling lights, but she barely noticed. “Perfect. Fantastic. Fax them to my office by morning and I’ll get back to you Monday.”
She hung up and did a little dance with her feet as she gave her chair a victory spin. Another designer in the bag! “God, I’m good.”
Her phone buzzed again and when she saw who it was, she snapped it up. “I’m kicking ass and taking names,” she crowed.
“And this is supposed to be a surprise?” her partner, Mia, chuckled. “I take it you landed Matsuoki?”
“I sure did. And I’ve got two more lined up tonight. What’s up with you?”
“Nothing much. Just pulling out what is left of my hair, juggling a gazillion different details and in general having a nervous breakdown. You know, the usual.”
Sam laughed in sympathy. “A few more weeks and it will all be over.”
“That’s what I’m freaking out about. I have at least a month’s more work to do on the set design.”
Sam spun around as her office door opened. “I hear you. Is there anything you need me to do?” She waved her assistant into the room.
“Nah, I just needed a good whine break. I’m over it.” The beeping sound of Mia’s pager blared over the phone line. “Finally!” she said with a sigh. “It’s one of the suppliers. Who was supposed to call me back eight hours ago.”
“Hey, considering it’s past midnight, it’s a miracle he’s calling at all.”
Now Mia chuckled. “You’re not the only one who knows how to kick ass and take names.” The beeping sound went off again. “I have to get this.”
“No problem. Next time I’ll call you when I need a nervous breakdown break.”
Sam smiled as she hung up the phone. As one of three partners in the lingerie catalog company Velvet, Leather & Lace, it was something of a relief to know that, if she was going to kill herself getting them ready for their first live, globally televised fashion show, she wasn’t the only one knocking herself out and putting her ass on the line. Sifting through the growing stack of messages, she sighed and smiled wearily at her assistant. “Just don’t tell me anything bad. I’m trying to take over the world here. I can’t risk losing my kick-ass juju.”
Marcy grinned. “Not to worry. Global domination is still within your grasp.” She handed Sam a stack of folders. “I’ve gone through these and everything looks in order, but I know you’ll want to check them yourself. The Stenson collection prints are on my desk. I set up the two conference calls for you for later, and I’ll have the latest batch of demos organized for you to look over Monday morning.” She patted the thickly stuffed satchel hanging on her shoulder.
Sam nodded, pleased. “Thanks, Marcy. I really appreciate all the hard work.”
Marcy gave her a sassy salute. “Apprentice ass kicker, reporting for duty, sir.”
Sam laughed. “Well, get some rest this weekend, junior. We’re going to need to be in prime kicking form for the duration.”
“You’re telling me. God, I can’t believe the show is in two weeks.”
“You’re telling me,” Sam repeated dryly. “Now get out of here while you still can, before some other crisis befalls us.”
“Yes, boss.” She paused by the door. “You pulling another all-nighter? Want me to have something delivered? I can call the twenty-four-hour Chinese place?”
Sam just pointed with her finger. “Home, slave.”
Marcy’s laughter echoed down the hall as she left. Moments later Sam heard the sound of the private elevator rising to their top-floor offices. She made a mental note to discuss with her partners the idea of giving her assistant—all of their assistants for that matter—a raise after this was over. If all went according to plan, they’d certainly be able to afford it.