Or were they?
Maybe he'd sent them for another reason this time and she'd failed in the past to see his interest. Trevor had grudgingly mentioned on several occasions that he thought Mars’ fascination for her was more than mere professional. He'd made it a point to tell Sydnie that he thought Mars was an oversized Don Juan and she'd only wind up hurt in the deal if she fell for his charms.
But Sydnie didn't heed Trevor's words of caution and shrugged them off as jealousy on his part. Besides, she'd only had eyes for Trevor. How silly of her.
She and Trevor had played a sexual tug-of-war for months. They'd flirted, teased, argued, locked tongues a time or two, and almost did—but didn't. They discreetly behaved like lovers for the office staff, but weren't.
And when she decided she was tired of the word almost, she took action. After weeks of wanting to, but knowing she shouldn't with a co-worker, the little devil on her shoulder won out and demanded she go for it.
Only going for it meant getting her heart trounced on. Big time. Trevor played along with her seduction scene, then, just as things were really getting interesting on the top of his desk, he turned her down flat and said they needed to put a stop to their so-called association.
Devastated and heartbroken, she spent the night devouring her favorite ice cream. The next morning she found out the reason for Trevor's brush-off via the office gossip mill. Two days earlier Charles Smythe had awarded Trevor the promotion they'd both been vying for. And worst of all, Sydnie had been reassigned to work directly under Trevor. He was now her boss, not her equal as he once was.
Cruel snickers and gossip about their fractured relationship spread through the agency like wild fire, and by noon, she'd had enough. The rejection, not to mention the humiliation, stung worse than anything Sydnie had ever imagined. She packed her few belongings in a box, scribbled a note of resignation—as far as she was concerned, they weren't worth the time it'd take to type one—tossed the letter in Smythe's lap, and stormed out of Smythe and Jones forever.
Sydnie Riley was a free woman.
And thanks to that moment of redheaded stubbornness and pride, she was a much happier woman.
She picked up the box containing the bra and thong and fingered the smooth material. So, what to make of Alfred's gift. Most likely he wanted to wish her luck with her new business and this was his unique way of saying so. After all, he owned the second largest lingerie company in the country—why would he send anything else? At the same time he was giving a gift, he was promoting his product. It was smart business, and Syd would do the same.
But then again ... She pulled the note out of the glittery envelope. Don't call me. I'll call you.
She sighed. That could mean almost anything.
Mars was a savvy businessman who'd taken over his grandmother's struggling lingerie company when he'd retired from the wrestling scene. With a lot of hard work and persistence, he'd built the company into the giant it was today, and in the process had clipped a few feathers off the wings of Victoria's Angels.
If anyone understood the work involved in getting a business up and running, it was Mars. Yeah, he was wishing her luck.
She studied the bra and panty with a savvy shopper's eye. The black material felt like velvet between her fingers, yet it was so shear in places, she could almost see through it.
Doubts hit her anew. Really—what kind of man would send such sexy, provocative lingerie as a good luck present?
A man who wants you, that's who. Sydnie shook her head. “Nah. I'm dreaming. Alfred's just a nice guy who likes to give presents."
The sudden urge to try on the bra surprised her. It would be fun to feel as sexy and provocative as Aphrodite, if only for a little while.
Sydnie grabbed the lingerie, poured herself a glass of Casey's Chardonnay chilling in the fridge, and headed for the bathroom. She turned on the shower, ready to wash away the day's stresses so she could have some recharge time then get back to work.
Stripped of her jeans and T-shirt, she stepped under the spray and sighed. She welcomed the warm, soothing massage of the water on her face and shoulders and let go of the tensions knotting her muscles.
Trevor was right about one thing—she needed to relax. A bit of downtime and she'd be able to banish the possibility of Alfred Mars wanting more from her than a platonic relationship. Not that being in a relationship with Alfred would be all that bad. He was nice looking, if you liked the bald type, and Casey was right, he was mega rich. He valued and respected women for all they were, not just how pretty, or how hot they were in bed. Alfred admired a woman for her mind.
And, unlike someone else she knew, Alfred admired Sydnie's mind, not her breasts.
She should call him. Taking their acquaintance to the next level could be a good thing.
But first, she had to do something about Trevor. Maybe after that R & R he kept harping her about, she'd be able to oust her returning desires for him, too.
Yeah. Fat chance.
Trevor was like caffeine, ice cream, or computer solitaire. Addictive as hell.
His devilish smile, rakish brown hair and sharp sense-of-humor, all made him tough to resist. She thought she'd beaten her addiction, but all he had to do was show up on her doorstep in a pair of well-worn, faded blue jeans, and the weeks of struggling to work him out of her system, were for naught.
Maybe a few dates with Alfred would help her to kick the Trevor habit for good. She'd wait a few days for Alfred to call, and if he didn't, she'd call him. It was high time that she took a chance in the dating scene again.
She grabbed a bottle of apple scented shower gel and rubbed the crystal-red liquid over her body and into a lather. The water and gel caressed her skin and the last of her tensions melted away.
At first, Sydnie had argued with Casey about putting showers in each of their offices, but now she was glad her friend had won the fight. It was a great place to solve a girl's problems.
* * * *
Trevor braked the truck to a stop in the parking lot of the Studs for Hire office and cut the engine. The building was dark, and the lot was empty except for Sydnie's yellow 1973 Gran Torino Sport. Trevor grinned. A man had to respect a woman who drove a classic muscle car.
"She must be working late. Perfect."
He removed his cell phone from his belt and tossed it in the glove box. They would be alone, and he'd have a chance to do some serious seducing. That is if he could get his aching body to cooperate. He swore he'd pulled a groin muscle after hurdling Doreen's backyard fence to avoid being attacked a second time by Rocky the Rottweiler. Trevor hadn't jumped hurdles since he was in high school, and his body was reminding him of that fact at this very moment.
He stepped out of the truck and winced. His muscles had tightened up during the short drive back to the office. Great. Just call him the Limping Casanova.
He dug in his pocket and pulled out the key to the back door he'd talked Terri into giving him that afternoon. The step up to the sidewalk surrounding the building might as well have been six feet tall for the stiffness he felt as he lifted his foot the mere three inches. He groaned and cursed under his breath. He hoped he could get some ideas out of Sydnie soon. Otherwise, if he had to do this Studs for Hire thing much longer, he'd be crippled for life. Who knew carpentry work could be hazardous to one's health?
Quietly, he inserted the key in the lock and turned. He pushed open the door and was greeted by a long, dark hallway. Closing the door behind him, he relocked it to insure they wouldn't be disturbed. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and to listen for any sounds of movement. The faint sound of music drifted through the building.
Trevor slowly made his way down the hall and prayed there wasn't anything sitting in his path. The last thing he needed was to fall on his face, throw out his back, and have to woo Sydnie from a hospital bed while he was in traction. He'd experienced enough humiliation in the last two days to last him a lifetime. He didn't need anymore.
&n
bsp; Trevor rounded the corner and a streak of light beamed on the lobby carpeting from a crack in Sydnie's office doorway. Stealing a peek through the crack, he noticed a small lamp on, and a couple of candles flickering on her desk.
Sydnie was nowhere in sight.
Her screen saver fish swam back and forth, indicating the computer had been sitting idle for a while.
The CD player changed disks and Barry Manilow started singing Copacabana. And so did Sydnie. So, she was a Barry fan. Who would have guessed this sassy redhead, with more grit then a lot of men, harbored a soft spot for the master of mood music.
Sydnie Riley was a never-ending surprise.
Trevor pushed the door wider and peered deeper into the room. He could hear her soft, breathy voice, but he still couldn't see her.
The creak of a hinge caught his attention and he flattened his frame against the wall. Sydnie's shadow fell across the floor as she opened the door of her office bathroom. She danced out into the faint light.
Trevor stuttered and sucked in his breath, about choking at the sight of her wearing the Venus Bra and matching thong panty.
Hot damn! She took the bait.
She stepped and swayed with the music and gave him a nice view of her bare backside. She shook her hips to the beat, and Trevor's heart went spastic in his chest.
Double hot damn! Whoever invented the thong panty was one hell of a smart man.
Beads of sweat broke out on Trevor's forehead, his palms turned clammy, and his throat went dry. How could he have forgotten how beautiful Sydnie was? Well, he'd never really forgotten, just tried not to remember her body was one that any man would die for. And Stardust Lingerie did a fantastic job of accentuating certain—already perfect—curves.
Alfred Mars was a genius. Trevor would have to remember to tell Mars so the next time he saw him.
Professional models had nothing on Sydnie. She could model that bra and panty and make every man in the country scramble out to buy a set for his own woman in hopes that they, too, would look like her.
What man in his right mind wouldn't want to come home to this?
The music intensified and Sydnie twirled and shook her shoulders, presenting him with a provocative view of the swell of her breasts and some serious cleavage. Trevor groaned. Oh, what luscious breasts they were, too. His knees weakened with want and full-blown need and he grasped the door jamb to keep himself from collapsing to the floor with a coronary.
Get a grip, Vanden Bosch. You're losing your cool. And now is not the time.
Or was it? Right now he didn't give a hoot about advertising, or his job. Trevor had reached the gates of Heaven, and he wanted in, no matter the cost. No matter the consequences.
Copacabana ended and a slow, typical heart-wrenching Manilow tune filled the room. Sydnie picked up a wine glass and took a sip. He watched, fascinated by the lean smoothness of her throat as she swallowed. Casually, she sat in her chair and put her bare feet up on her desk and hummed along with the music. Trevor swallowed hard. Her legs were oh, so long, so tan, so damn perfect. The fantasy of her wrapping those legs around him made his blood roar through his veins.
She set her wine glass on the desk, leaned her head back and let her chestnut hair fan over the back of the chair. She closed her eyes and continued humming softly along with Manilow. The music and faint lighting created the perfect atmosphere for a little seduction.
And Sydnie was dressed for seduction. He was so in luck. Trevor had never seen a more erotic site in his life. The response his body was having, proved it, too.
Sydnie had unknowingly played right into his hands.
Or had she?
Maybe she'd hoped he'd show up unexpectedly at her office. Maybe she still wanted him as much as he wanted her.
Slowly, he walked into the room and stopped beside her chair. He watched, mesmerized as her delicious lips mouthed the words to the song.
He had to taste those lips. He had to know if they were as sweet as they looked.
The delicate scent of apples and spices teased his nose. A golden powder glistened on her skin like stars.
He had to taste her. All of her.
Gingerly, he knelt down and bit back a groan of pain that shot through his leg. The effort was worth the agony. And the seductive rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed sent his yearnings shifting into warp drive, making him forget all about his trials of the day.
God, how he wanted her.
The rapid fire of his heart confirmed he'd failed to forget this woman like he planned to. But how could he ever really forget a woman like Sydnie Riley? That was an impossible task—one that he'd never accomplish no matter how hard he tried. She was just so right, so perfect for him.
And that truth scared the hell out of him.
Better to acknowledge the truth then run from it your whole life, his grandmother had always said. The only trouble with his grandmother's logic was that he didn't know how to win Sydnie, and keep from losing his job at the same time.
And he needed his job. After all, he had a car payment to make.
He reached out to touch Sydnie but stopped, not wanting to spoil this special moment. It would be so wonderful to stand here and watch her like this for hours. Oh, the fantasies he could conjure up in his devilishly creative mind.
As if sensing his presence, Sydnie stirred and turned her face toward him while slowly opening her eyes.
"Hello, Syd,” he drawled.
CHAPTER SIX
"What the hell are you doing here?!” Sydnie sprang out of the chair and grabbed and held her Jeannie bottle like a baseball bat, ready to whack her intruder over the head with it if necessary.
"Whoa!” Trevor jumped out of striking distance. “Don't do something you'll regret. I hear those bottles are getting kind of rare."
"Not as rare as you're going to be if you don't tell me what you're doing in my office,” Sydnie said with more than a little hysteria in her voice.
He put out a placating hand. “I was watching you,” he said calmly. He gave her one of his devilish grins.
"Ha! Watching?! Like hell you were.” Trevor Vanden Bosch hadn't changed one ounce. He was still as cocky, as arrogant, and as infuriating as ever. What the hell had she been thinking to let him sweet-talk his way back into her life so easily? Sydnie, you idiot. She shook her head. “You were spying on me!"
He shrugged. “It's been most...” His gaze traveled the length of her body, then up again, not stopping until he reached the apex of her thighs. “Electrifying,” he drawled.
A prickling heat nipped at Sydnie's skin, and at certain strategically located points on her body. The urge to push aside her reservations toward Trevor gnawed at her like an out-of-control hunger. It would be so easy to put the bottle down and rip his T-shirt right off his back.
Hot sex in her office. It was a major fantasy of hers, and Trevor was down right tempting.
What would happen if she threw caution to the wind? Surely spending one night in his strong arms couldn't hurt a thing. They weren't, after all, vying for the same position like before. She owned Studs for Hire. She was the boss. And there was nothing Trevor could do to change that.
Sydnie was in charge here. Not Trevor Vanden Bosch. Not Charles Smythe. Not anyone. Just her.
Besides, Trevor owed her.
If she wanted to use him for sex, then why not? Other women did it. Men had made a habit of using women for their pleasures for centuries, and after thousands of years of submission, women had earned the right to do the same.
But she knew better. Her feelings for Trevor still ran too deep.
She wanted more than just one night.
She wanted a lifetime.
"Watching you dance was almost erotic,” he added.
Almost? What did he mean by almost? Wasn't she good enough, or sexy enough to be erotic? And what about erotic? Was that the only way he saw her, as a piece of meat filleted specifically for his taste buds?
Sydnie's already simmering blood
bubbled to a hard boil in two seconds flat. What a moron she was to let herself think Trevor had changed and that maybe he'd come to respect her as an equal in the business world. But she realized now—too late again, as usual—that the only respect he had for her was how well she filled out a bra. It always amazed her how men let a specific part of their anatomy do the majority of their thinking for them.
"How long have you been spying on me?” she seethed.
"Watching,” he corrected. He propped a hip against the corner of her desk and crossed his arms. A Craftsman tape measure was hooked on his right-hand pocket. “And it was only long enough to decide all you need is a basket of fruit on your head and you'd make one sexy Cabana girl. You've given me a whole new appreciation for the song Copacabana, Syd."
James, Sherry - [Studs For Hire 01] Page 6
