She held herself very still. "Don't you think that's sad?"
"Maybe." He was close enough that when he lifted his shoulders in an eloquent shrug, she could feel it. "I may as well be your live-in lover, especially if it helps untangle my brother and get your company back."
"Live-in lover?" she echoed in horror, batting at his hands, wheeling on him. "That's what you want?"
"That's my plan." He looped his arms around her waist, yanking her up against him. "That's the quickest way to convince people. If I stay."
Again, his mouth found her neck. She could feel the hot puff of his breath against her ear when he whispered, "Here, with you."
* * *
Chapter 6
«^»
Lucie felt faint. As if she would ever agree to Ian moving in with her, even for a few hours, even if her spine did feel like spaghetti. Even if he was, as he had reminded her, the perfect Ken doll, complete with accessories.
And then it hit her.
"Damn it," she swore out loud. Breaking away from him, she put both hands over her temples, unable to stop the thoughts from forming.
"What is it? Why do you look like your head's going to explode?"
Frowning, she kept her new discovery to herself, muttering under her breath. Could she tell him? Could she not?
"Lucie," he said with alarm. "Are you all right?"
Finally, she came out with it. "No, I'm not all right. But I do know how to get Steffi to dump your brother."
"What? How?" he asked eagerly.
Lucie shrugged and shook her head. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I just realized the one sure way to make Steffi dump Kyle…"
"Yes?"
"Is for you to move in with me."
Ian stopped, narrowing his eyes. "Oh, really?"
"Really," she admitted. "It's what you said, about the perfect Ken doll. You, and Kyle. You're both like that."
He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Is that good or bad?"
"That's good. At least for this plan." She explained, "I told you before that Steffi hates to share her toys. And if you and I are supposedly together, well, it's as if I've got an exact copy of her favorite doll—a doll in the same family, with the same blue-ribbon connections and lovely house and oodles of charm."
"Thank you. I think."
"It really has very little to do with you," she noted abruptly, not at all pleased with her own conclusion, not at all sure she was going to be able to handle this. "It has to do with Steffi not wanting to share her toy or his Dream Family, especially with me."
"So rather than share him…?"
"My guess is that she will throw him out," she told him succinctly. "Which, by the way, is exactly what she did when my dad gave us both cashmere sweaters for Christmas one year. She cut hers to ribbons rather than be caught dead in the same sweater I had. A smarter girl might've cut mine to ribbons. But not Steffi. If I had it, its value plummeted enough that she wanted no part of it."
Ian ran a hasty hand through his hair, leaving short tufts sticking up here and there. But his blue eyes were alight with anticipation. "So I'm moving in for a few days, we're flaunting ourselves at your dad and Steffi, and killing two birds with one stone. Excellent."
Why did she hate so much giving in and agreeing with him? "I have a condition."
"Let's hear it."
"You may pretend to be my live-in lover, but you will not be my live-in lover," she said clearly. "No hanky-panky. None of this cuddly stuff or groping or even breathing on me."
One dark eyebrow arched. "That's a little harsh, don't you think?"
"No, I don't. We had our fling. That's it, no more."
"And this is necessary because…?"
"Because I'm not like you. You may think carefree rolls in the hay are just ducky, but I'm not like that." Jeez. She hated to sound all Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, especially when the barn door was already wide open and the horse long gone, but… But a person had to have some way to keep her sanity, didn't she? "Ian, I'm not going to lie to you. The fling was one thing. It was my birthday, I was depressed, I lost my mind temporarily. But if I plan to sleep with someone, you know, on a regular basis, then I need certain things. I need—"
"Wait, don't tell me," he said in a sardonic tone. "Commitment, trust and respect. Am I right?"
"Well, yes. But don't worry—I'm not looking for that from you," she assured him. "As if any woman with a brain would look for those things from you."
His mood went grim at that, but good grief, he'd said it himself, hadn't he? He obviously wasn't in the market for a real relationship, one that involved heads and minds and … well, anything that wasn't just south in the anatomy.
"What's the matter?" she asked sweetly. "Afraid you can't handle keeping your pants on?"
"Please." His eyes narrowed. "I can handle it. I'm not so sure about you, though. You're the one who gets turned on if you're even breathed on. Isn't that what you said?"
"No, it isn't." Maybe it was. She didn't remember anymore. "If you think about it," Lucie remarked, plowing onward before she tripped up, "my stipulation is a good thing. With no sex games, you can be sure that I'm not trying to trap you into another Webster-Mackintosh marital alliance. Not after we saw how well it worked for Steffi and Kyle."
He chewed on that one for a bit. "You're hardly Steffi and I'm not Kyle."
"It doesn't matter. It would never work between you and me, anyway. We're clear on that. And I feel guilty enough about our one night together to even think about two nights or three nights—"
"Maybe a week, week and a half," he finished for her with a wicked gleam in his eye.
Lucie didn't want to contemplate how bizarre this was going to be, living under the same roof with this infuriating, controlling, drop-dead sexy man. Think about Pandora's Boxers, she told herself. But not on Ian. Instead, think about horrid Steffi and poor Kyle.
It was too late. Mentally, she was already back in the place where her sinful briefs and boxers did a tap dance on and off Ian's body.
Her voice was shaky when she said, "A week is way too long. We'll just have to make it work quicker than that. If we get in Steffi's face, I really think she'll run to get rid of Kyle."
"And I really think your father will run to give you back your company," Ian announced, offering his hand to shake. "Do we have a deal?"
Lucie took it, ignoring the electricity that zipped through her arm when his warm, strong fingers encircled hers. If you get back Pandora's Boxers, and you get one over on Steffi, this will all be worth it. Taking a deep breath, she declared, "Deal."
* * *
Staying with Lucie was making him insane. Given the fact that it was his idea, Ian supposed he deserved every frustrating minute.
Meanwhile, the plan wasn't even working. Although they'd invited all their targets over to the cottage to witness the supposed love match up close and personal, the invitations had been declined post haste.
Other than that, Ian was left cooling his heels. Sure, he'd arranged a tow truck and a new windshield for Lucie's Jeep. And he'd moved some things into her place, just so he had a few changes of clothes and his own, non-girly soap and shampoo. But after that was accomplished, they were just getting on each other's nerves as they waited for her strange relatives to notice that they were now a couple.
So last night Lucie had gotten more direct and appeared on the Websters' doorstep with a gift in hand, professing her abject apologies for the wedding-morning-after mess. Steffi was even there when she arrived. While Ginetta said she didn't care to hear anything Lucie had to say and, no, she wouldn't let her speak to her father, Lucie reported that Steffi swept by on her way out the door.
"Why aren't you off on your honeymoon?" Lucie asked with feigned innocence.
"Don't even talk to me," Steffi returned coldly. "As if I would believe for a minute that you and Ian were really together. He is so out of your league. Don't worry—no matter what pranks you pull, I'm ecstatic and I'm going to stay
that way."
And then Steffi had jumped into her brand-new red convertible—a wedding gift from Kyle, she declared—and spun gravel as she sped off to her brand-new house.
When Lucie related the story to Ian, he had only one comment. "New car? She's already bleeding him dry."
"I tried to warn you."
"I tried to warn him." Ian shook his head. "Love. Men are such idiots when they fall in love."
So far, their attempts to be cheerfully, and fraudulently, in love had elicited no response whatsoever. Which meant that Ian had been living in the same house with the hottest woman he'd ever met and not even touched her. For forty-eight of the most excruciating hours of his life.
Dropping the newspaper to the floor, Ian sank further into Lucie's red velvet sofa, debating how long they should wait before they gave up and concluded their plan was a failure. Damn it, anyway. He wasn't ready to give up yet. He wasn't ready to repack his bags and find somewhere else to live while he waited for the much-delayed sale of m-tosh.com to go through.
His life was on hold, and while it was, he wanted to spend his time driving Lucie crazy—unless she and her platonic plans drove him there first.
"Lucie?" he called out. "Got any brilliant ideas on how to make this relationship look more authentic?"
"No." She marched into the living room carrying a laundry basket, all smart and snappy in a pair of beige capri pants and an oversize white shirt. She'd pulled her hair back again, and she had an armful of colorful bracelets like she always did, those bracelets that made a clinking, clanking sound before she entered the room. But she frowned at him. "Could you please sit up and clean up those newspapers?"
He was suddenly struck by the fact that they behaved more like an old married couple than any old married couple he knew. Here he was, lounging on the couch, reading the newspaper, while she washed clothes. Not to mention that they had no sex life. All they needed was a dog and a baby and they could have their own sitcom.
Good lord. He'd never have imagined himself falling into this stereotype without a whimper. Jumping to his feet, he crammed the newspapers into a pile and tried to think of something—anything—nondomestic that he could do.
Before he had a chance to come up with anything, the doorbell rang loudly. He thought that was probably the first time since he'd been at Lucie's that he'd even heard it.
"Do you mind getting that?" She sat on the floor with her basket and started lifting out briefs and "brixers."
Okay, so she wasn't doing laundry, just sorting her inventory. "What are you, indexing by size?" he asked as he crossed to the door. He opened it, expecting a delivery or something similar, but instead found a huge guy, at least six-six, college age maybe, with shoulders so wide they barely fit in the door.
"Hey," the kid said, balancing one beefy arm on the doorframe. "Lucie in?"
Ian barely had time to open his mouth before Lucie called out, "In here, Toby! You're a few minutes early. Did you bring T-Bone, too?"
"Yeah, he's in the car. He's comin'."
"Is that a dog? Or is there actually a person in the world named T-Bone?" Ian asked idly, as another behemoth joined the first one inside the door. Except for the fact that Toby had a buzz cut and his friend had long hair dangling about his stubby face, they could've been twins. Huge, none-too-bright twins.
Toby and T-Bone stood in the living room, a little clumsy, gazing expectantly at Lucie, not in the least threatened by the fact that Ian was there. But then, why should they be? They were twice his size, in width if not height.
But then the first one gave Ian a beady stare. "Hey, Lucie, this guy's not, um, staying, you know, during, is he?"
"Not if you're uncomfortable with that," she answered kindly.
Toby elbowed his friend and they both giggled in a kind of heh-heh-heh way.
Ian lowered his voice as he bent in behind Lucie. "Who are these bozos? Your pool boys?"
"I don't have a pool," she responded, her face a study in concentration as she draped and re-draped underwear over the furniture.
"Oh, no. Don't tell me." Carefully, he asked, "The beefcake boys don't have anything to do with Pandora's Boxers, do they?"
"Uh-huh. They're my models." She smiled absently at the two giants. "Toby and T-Bone are football players. They answered an ad I put in their college newspaper asking for full-figured male models."
"I'll just bet they did." He had half a mind to tell her that anyone pumping that many steroids was probably underequipped in the area she needed, but he kept his mouth shut.
"So they're going to try on a few pairs of Pandora's Boxers and let me check out how things fit on a real person instead of just a dummy," she said brightly.
Once again, he kept his mouth shut, although that line about trying things out on dummies was awfully hard to ignore.
"And then," Lucie went on, "not today, but later, after I've got the right fit, I've hired a photographer to take some shots for my Internet, um, platform." She smiled, her most perfect, sunny smile, as Ian got a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He couldn't stop himself from pointing out, "It's called a Web site, and you don't have one."
"I know. But I'm hiring another college kid to make one for me." She picked up a pair of short black trunks with lightning bolts on them, rising from the floor and raising her voice at the same time. "Toby, I'd like you to try these first. And T-Bone, what do you think of the fruit-motif bikini briefs? The peaches go on the back and the banana goes in the front."
And where else would peaches and bananas go? T-Bone's giggles got louder, and Toby nudged him harder. They were both grinning like morons.
Ian began to simmer. Steam wasn't far off. "Lucie, can I speak to you in the kitchen?"
"Sure. Guys, you can take these back to the sewing room to change. First door on the left." As they toddled off, the tiny underwear disappearing into their massive fists, Lucie turned to Ian. "What is it?"
"This is a really bad idea."
"What part of it?" She tipped her head to one side. "The photos? The Web site?"
"Using these big boneheads to model your briefs," he said tersely. As if she didn't know. "They're huge, they're probably pumped up on steroids, they probably lied about the, uh, size requirements, and you're putting them in a sexually charged situation. You can tell they're already planning their letter to Penthouse about the foxy older woman who invited them over to pose in skimpy underwear and how it turned into a threesome."
"What?" she asked with a gasp. "Jeez, Ian, even for you, that's out there."
"You're putting yourself in a dangerous position, Lucie."
She shrugged. "If you're that worried, you can stick around to protect me."
"Thank God I am here. But did you notice Toby asked if I was leaving? And even if I'm here, do you really think I could defend you or me against those guys? They could crush me like a twig."
"Oh, come on, Ian. Quit being ridiculous." She swished her ponytail from side to side as she regarded him with something like pity. "Sexually charged situation. I can't believe you said that."
"What else can it be when you stick big hunks of meat in very small drawers?" he shot back.
"It's nothing like that. I'm a professional. They're just models," she argued.
"All right then." Even he couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. "Send the beefcake boys home and I'll model Pandora's Boxers for you.
Lucie's eyes widened. "You will not!"
"Yes, I will."
"Absolutely not." Her cheeks grew pink, and she avoided his eyes. "No way."
"Why not?" He started to feel a little better about this. "If it's not a sexually charged situation, why should you care if it's them or me?"
"If it's you, it will be," she countered, crossing her arms over her white blouse.
He knew it was a defensive gesture, but all it did was remind him of the sumptuous curves she was hiding. And make him argue his points that much more strenuously. There was no wa
y he was going to lie down and let those thick-necked dolts get near Lucie's curves. And he realized suddenly that he knew exactly how to get her out of the line of fire.
"You know, Lucie, you're the one who laid down the no-touch rules between you and me. So far, I haven't come near you. But you're still afraid, aren't you?" His lips curved in a provocative smile. "Not that I'm going to touch you, but vice versa. You think if you put me in your boxers, you can't handle it. You'll be all over me like white on rice. That's it, isn't it?"
"No. Of course I can handle it," she scoffed.
"Then why don't you boot Frankenstein and his brother and let me do the modeling?" he asked, crossing his own arms over his chest. "You said yourself that your designs would fit me. I dare you to put your briefs where your mouth was."
The pink in her cheeks took on an even rosier hue and the very mouth he'd mentioned parted slightly, as if she were having trouble breathing.
Okay, so the line about putting her briefs where her mouth was had come out even more suggestive than he'd intended. They both knew her mouth had been there, even if she refused to admit she remembered. He remembered. And he wasn't planning on parting with that memory anytime soon.
"Well?" he prompted. "Can you handle it, Lucie?"
"Of course I can. I told you, this is business to me." Her eyes were on his, quite firmly, as if she were afraid to go any lower. "I look at men's underwear every day."
"Okay then. The boys are out of here, and I'm in. Right?"
"Right," she said, inhaling sharply. "Right."
"Hey, guys," Ian called out immediately. "You can put your clothes back on. Lucie changed her mind."
The two of them came hurtling out of the guest room like rockets on the launch pad, already fully dressed in their street clothes.
"Lucie, we're sorry, but this didn't work," Toby announced, his wide face wrinkled with disappointment. "We both tried 'em on and they're too tight in the abs and quads for anyone who spends any time in a weight room."
JUST A LITTLE FLING Page 9
