Oh, God! She held her breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and prayed. Being found murdered in the park, dressed in her ugly grey sweats, and a cat strapped to her body, was not her idea of a great way to go.
"Nothing's wrong,” the man said. “Just a couple of cats gettin’ it on in the hedge."
Cats gettin’ it on? Terri's eyes popped open and a wave of relief rushed through her at the man's mistaken conclusion.
Thank you, Lord. He didn't suspect her presence.
Trying to calm her hammering heart, she took a deep breath and inhaled and exhaled slowly, then picked herself up off her butt and kneeled. The pebbly roughness of the gravel bit into her skin. Craning her neck once more, she peeked over the hedge. By gosh she wasn't going through all of this without at least knowing who was plotting her murder not more than six feet away from her.
The man, his back to her, gripped his cell phone with one hand, the other firmly planted on his lean hip. Broad shoulders pulled at the seams of his muscle shirt. He wore black jogging shorts, revealing legs that rivaled Sean Connery's during his Bond days.
Her mouth watered. There was only one man she knew who was built like this.
And that was Trevor Vanden Bosch.
See. You were all worked up over nothing. Drugs? Murder? Ha! Not Trevor. She'd simply jumped to the wrong conclusions.
"I know they're our biggest account,” Trevor said with exasperation in his voice. “I'm doing the best I can."
Biggest account? Was Trevor working for someone else besides Studs for Hire? The gals didn't have any clients they could lump into that category yet.
A dead silence hung in the air as he waited on the line. Terri suppressed a groan as the pain from kneeling shot through her legs. Her muscles began to ache, and Thomas fidgeted.
"All right. I'll be there ... Yeah, yeah, I'll be ready.” Trevor hung up the phone and slipped it into his pocket. “Damn,” he bit out. He raked his fingers through his hair. “Sorry, Syd."
Sorry, Syd? As in Sydnie? Trevor was working for a competitor.
He glanced around as if to make sure he was still alone. Terri ducked, hoping he didn't see her. She'd hate to have to admit she was eavesdropping on his conversation. Explaining her way out of awkward situations was not her forte.
"Terri? Terri, is that you?"
Terri jumped out of her skin, lost her balance and fell over backwards. “Oops!” So much for not getting caught. Thomas stared down at her and she could've sworn he rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"Are you all right?” Trevor asked.
"Ah, yeah.” She scrambled into a sitting position and forced a smile.
"What are you doing?” Was that a hint of suspicion she saw etched in his eyes?
"I'm ... jogging."
"Jogging is pretty hard to do sitting on your duff."
Yikes. He did suspect something. Like it or not, she was going to have to bluff her way out of this mess.
"I was jogging, but my shoe came untied. So I stopped to tie it. You startled me."
"Sorry. I was afraid you were hurt. Let me help you.” He extended his hand, but she ignored his offer. If she touched him, she'd never be able to keep her secret. Men had a magical way of making her say anything and everything that was on her mind when they touched her.
"No. No.” She scrambled to her feet and brushed off her backside. “I'm fine. Just shoelace trouble.” She shook her left foot. “Silly thing is always coming lose. I need to buy some new ones."
"It's kind of late for you to be out jogging, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Normally I run earlier than this, but I worked late. And Thomas here won't let a day go by without his run. Except for Sundays. He lets me take Sundays off.” She watched as Trevor's gaze drifted lower to the proximity of her chest. Her cheeks warmed.
"A cat? You jog with a cat?” She heard the disbelief in his voice. And she couldn't help feel a little disappointed that he was looking at her cat and not her, well...
"Thomas loves it. He's great protection, too.” At the moment, Thomas didn't appear to care about providing her with any form of protection. He didn't hiss. He didn't meow. He just twitched his tail in miffed annoyance. Terri shifted her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling like a babbling idiot who had nothing to talk about.
"Well, attack cat, or not. It's getting too dark for you to be in the park alone. Where's your car parked? I'll walk with you."
"You don't have to do that."
"I insist.” The clipped tone of his voice told her he wouldn't take no for an answer.
"It's over the rise and around the next bend."
"Let's go."
"Right.” Terri fell into step beside him and hoped she could find something reasonably intelligent to say.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Trevor slammed his apartment door and headed straight for the shower. Turning the faucet to cold, he took two seconds to shed his jogging clothes and step under the freezing spray, and gasped from the shock.
If the iciness of the shower didn't get this blazing need for Sydnie Riley out of his system—at least for the night—nothing would. Taking a quick jog through the park hadn't even come close to calming his libido, so an ice cube shower was next on his list of things to try.
Needless to say, that latest phone call from Smythe, interrupting his jog, only managed to add to Trevor's frustrations. Smythe had called to goad him, and remind him Mars would be in the office first thing in the morning. As if Trevor needed reminding.
Concentrating on how to advertise the Venus Bra was his priority right now, not how best to get the sexy, provocative thing off of Sydnie. But undressing her, skimming his hands over her curves and making sweet love to her, was all he could think about.
He'd come so close. So damn close to having her right where he wanted her, in more ways than one. The gift of lingerie had worked like a charm—maybe a little too well—and then, wham! Her dad's phone call ruined the whole scene.
Now, Trevor was in pain.
And he was quickly realizing his feelings for Sydnie ran deeper than he originally thought. All those months of working by her side at Smythe and Jones he'd told himself it was only lust between them. But he knew now he'd been kidding himself.
He slammed his fist against the shower wall.
The ache plaguing his body wasn't from the hard work he'd done today, or from his urgent leap over the fence. No. He ached with a craving for a stubborn and sexy redhead. Trevor squeezed a dab of shampoo into his palm and worked the liquid into a lather over his scalp. He scrubbed as though washing his hair would rid his body of all the heat searing desire burning him up like a man with Scarlet fever.
But it wasn't working.
The frigid water, his numb scalp, and the pressure from his boss did nothing to subdue his longing for Sydnie.
"You got it bad, bro,” he mumbled.
For crying out loud. He was acting like a school kid lusting after the cheerleading squad. Where was the seasoned, professional Vanden Bosch he'd worked so carefully for years to mold to perfection?
"Gone. Down the drain.” Disgusted, he shut off the water, grabbed a big fluffy bath-towel and tied it off around his waist. Water dripping, he strolled to the kitchen and snatched a bottle of beer out of the fridge. Twisting the top off as he walked, he made his way to the living room where he'd set up a drawing board and computer so he could work in the not so comfortable atmosphere of his barren apartment.
Bringing his work home, slaving away until the wee hours of the morning, all for a boss who only cared about lining his own pockets and not that of his employees, was ludicrous.
That was bovine dedication for you.
He took a long swallow and wondered if a drunken stupor would be enough to curb his compulsion for a woman that he couldn't have, and turn his thoughts in the direction of work. He had to come up with some out-of-this world ideas for an ad campaign or he was doomed.
But he knew alcohol wasn't the answer and he'd only end up in
the morning with a hangover and a pink slip if he wasn't careful.
He turned on the computer, downed another swallow, then made his way back to the bedroom to dry off and put some clothes on while the computer booted up.
Dressed in a pair of old blue jeans, Trevor sat down at the drawing board and went to work.
Three hours and stacks of discarded papers later, he was no closer to having a suitable campaign to present to Mars then he was when he sat down. He combed his fingers through his hair and groaned.
Trevor was hungry, tired and cranky. Maybe he should grab something to eat. It wasn't easy to work on an empty, growling stomach. He glanced at the clock and decided he was too lazy to cook at this hour.
Maybe he should go to bed and forget it all. No. He'd regret that decision come nine o'clock in the morning when Mars strode into Trevor's office and expected to see ad layouts he didn't have.
What he really needed was someone to help him brainstorm, to toss around ideas around with, see if he was on track or headed off on a ridiculous tangent. He glanced at the clock on his work table again. The beaming red numbers pronounced the two a.m. hour, far too late to call anyone.
Anyone that is, except Syd.
Sydnie's ideas were what he needed, why he'd gone undercover at Studs for Hire in the first place. She was the one Mars wanted to launch the Venus Bra into the universe. And Mars always insisted upon getting what he wanted.
Besides, Sydnie deserved to have her slumber disturbed. A wee hour morning call would be her punishment for leaving him hard as a rock earlier that night.
He grabbed the phone and punched in Sydnie's home number before he could change his mind. The phone rang six times and a sleepy voice came on the line. “Hel ... lo."
"Mornin', Syd."
"Trevor?"
"Yeah, it's me."
She yawned and the raspy sound of her breathing on the other end of the line made him think of things he'd been trying like hell to forget. “What's wrong?” she asked.
Wrong? I'll tell you what's wrong. I've got exactly seven hours to come up with a major ad campaign to present to Alfred Mars and I haven't got a damn thing. All I can think about is you.
"Are you all right?” she asked, a hint of concern in her voice. The rustle of bedding whispered over the line and his imagination took hold. He envisioned her wearing absolutely nothing beneath those sheets. Nothing but the glistening perspiration from their bodies after sharing passionate, mind-blowing sex. He groaned. He should have known calling her would only end up torturing him more. “It's two in the morning."
"I couldn't ... sleep.” He scrubbed a hand over his face.
"Oh? I didn't know you suffered from insomnia,” she said with a soft giggle.
"I don't,” he bit out, knowing exactly what she implied. So, she thought leaving him all hot and bothered was funny. Terrific.
Sydnie Riley was beating him at his own game. And he'd better come up with some new defensive strategies, or this quarter was going to belong to her.
He was the one who was supposed to be in control here and do the seducing. But no, he had to let his appetite get the better of him, and in turn, give Sydnie the opportunity to jerk him around like a sex-starved puppet.
From now on, he was getting down to business. No more games where he came out the loser. Time to go to work.
Boy, was she in for a surprise.
"That ... was really hot ... lingerie you had on earlier,” he said huskily. “I liked it."
The silence coming from the other end of the line was downright deafening. Super. So much for taking control of his desperate situation.
"You looked fantastic,” he added, hoping he'd evoke some kind of response. “Do you always wear—"
"I don't normally dress that way,” she said, interrupting him. “Or behave like that. I've been putting in a lot of overtime lately. The wine went to my head."
"That's good."
"Good?"
"I'm glad you took my R & R advice. It doesn't hurt to let loose once in a while. Will you do it again? For me, Syd?” Trevor smiled, knowing Sydnie couldn't help but blush at his suggestion. “I'll even buy the bra and thong this time. Where did you get it?"
"It was a gift,” she said tersely. Okay, she was getting defensive. He'd expected that.
"Oh? Boyfriend?"
"No. Yes. Not exactly,” she sputtered.
"I see.” His mouth curved into an unconscious smile. “So, who did you get the gift from?"
"I don't think that's any of your business."
"Sorry. I'm curious is all."
"Didn't you recognize the distinctive style?” He heard suspicion in her silky, smooth voice. Was she testing him? Ah, Sydnie. Always the challenger. She did so love to lock horns with him.
"Should I?"
"Yes, you should. They were your favorite account. You know, lingerie fashioned for the universe," she recited part of a slogan they'd slaved over for hours.
"Stardust,” he drawled. “I always knew they were the best. Seeing you in one of Alfred's Celestial creations proves it."
"If you didn't know whose bra it is, how do you know it's a part of the Celestial line?"
Damn. Slip number one. “Lucky guess,” he said quickly. “Besides, the last two campaigns we worked on together were for that line.” Silence greeted him once more. Trevor suspected the wheels were turning away in that pretty head of hers—trying to decide if she should believe him or not. “What planet is he using this time?” he asked, hoping to get her on the right track.
"Venus."
"Ah, Venus. The goddess of love and beauty,” he said smoothly.
"The brightest star in the sky,” she countered.
"Venus De Milo, the revealing statue of Aphrodite."
"It's also the second planet from the sun."
"Venus Liberntina, patroness of sensual pleasure."
"Venus Verticordia, protector of female chastity."
Trevor gritted his teeth. So much for getting her to cooperate. How was he supposed to get ideas to advertise sexy, provocative intimate apparel when she insisted upon countering his every sentence? “I see you know your mythology,” he said a little harsher than he intended.
"Some. I studied up when I was working to snag the Stardust account. Alfred appreciated my thoroughness."
That wasn't all Mars appreciated, Trevor thought dryly. “Speaking of Alfred. I take it he was the one who sent you the lingerie and the flowers?"
"What makes you think it was him?"
"Well, for starters, the Venus Bra isn't even on the market yet. And Mars was the only one I ever knew of to send you tropical flowers."
"How do you know the Venus Bra isn't on the market?” she asked with wariness in her voice.
Oops. Screw up number two. Think fast, Vanden Bosch. “Because. We hadn't worked on an ad campaign for Stardust since you left the agency. And the last project you and I did for Mars, was the Luna Torsolette."
Again, silence hung between them. What was she doing, computing each one of his words through her brain? Or had she fallen asleep? He'd really be in trouble if he'd talked her to sleep.
The countdown to lingerie doomsday thrummed in his head. Time to try another tactic.
"Remember that torsolette, Syd? The sheer lace. The deep plunging neckline. The low, low back,” he whispered. “And garter belts. God, how I love garter belts. My favorite part is unhooking them.” Trevor swallowed hard. Damn, he was getting all hot-and-bothered again. And he wondered if he was having the same affect on Sydnie.
"I remember. Available in Moon Glow Silver, Starry Night Blue and Galaxy Black,” her voice faded to a soft hush.
Trevor smiled. At last she was responding to him. “Starry Night Blue. You don't know how many times I dreamed of seeing you in Starry Night Blue.” Visions of Syd in that sheer, dark blue lace engulfed his mind.
The warmth of her satiny skin and the feel of her tempestuous curves still lingered on his fingertips from earlier that nig
ht. He took a deep breath and the memory of the spiciness in her hair aroused his senses.
"You did?"
"Oh, yeah. And just as many times I dreamed of releasing those hooks-and-eyes holding it in place. I wanted you so much, Syd, it hurt."
"Do you ... still?” she asked with a sultriness in her voice that tempted him to grab his car keys and race over to her apartment.
"I think you know the answer to that."
James, Sherry - [Studs For Hire 01] Page 8
