Velvet, Leather & Lace: A Man's Gotta DoCalling the ShotsBaring It All

by Suzanne Forster

  She glanced up at the clock and groaned. It was well past midnight. Again. And she still faced those two international conference calls and a stack of pink message slips a mile deep. In spite of the pressure, she found herself smiling. Only weeks away from launching their biggest media blitz yet—a live fashion show, beamed via satellite to viewers all over the world—she was privately nervous as hell. But she was also excited.

  She and her two partners, Mia Tennario and Jamie Baird, had worked like slaves themselves to get their latest brainchild up and running. But then they’d all been working like slaves ever since launching their lingerie catalog two years ago. And with Jamie’s recent exposure as the designer behind VLL’s most popular lingerie line, things had only gotten crazier.

  Samantha was still stunned at how Jamie had managed to turn that potential fiasco around. Exposing the secret that a man was designing their “real women” line could have destroyed them. Instead, he’d managed to flip it to their advantage and, in the end, the whole thing had only amped up the media hype to new proportions. They couldn’t have gotten better exposure if they’d planned it.

  “Go Jamie,” Sam murmured, lifting her mug of tepid coffee in the general direction of Jamie’s dark offices. Used to be he’d be pulling later hours than she did, but since Lorna Sutton had strolled into his life, well, he’d suddenly found reasons to work away from the office.

  Samantha’s lips curved a little at that. She was still highly amused at the idea that playboy Jamie’s heart had been snagged right out from under him. Not that he seemed to mind all that much. In fact, he’d been almost sickeningly happy about the whole thing. Her smile slipped a little as her thoughts naturally drifted to her own sex life. And the man she was currently involved with. There was no denying she enjoyed his company as they were both usually naked at the time, but it wasn’t like her heart was in jeopardy. But then she never put that particular piece of real estate on the market.

  She rubbed at the funny little twitch in her chest, telling herself it was too much caffeine and not enough sleep making her feel off-kilter. She turned her attention back to her desk and the pile of folders Marcy had left her. “What made us think we could pull this off, I have no idea.”

  She sipped at her coffee, made a face as the cold dregs washed over her tongue, then downed the rest of it anyway. What the hell, a boost was a boost at this point, right? She glanced at the red leather couch tucked against the opposite wall of her office and debated whether she could stand sleeping at work yet again.

  Jamie and Mia had found a way to work away from the office, but Sam hadn’t mastered that particular feat yet. Of course, they were both probably pulling all-nighters, too. She smiled. In Jamie’s case, he probably wasn’t pulling his alone. “Brat,” she muttered. He was their money and finance guy, but as their newly revealed hot designer, he was just as frantic as the rest of them, getting everything ready in time to launch his new designs in the show.

  Normally Mia’s job was to design the layout, theme and “look” for each catalog. She was a genius at her job and made it almost easy for Samantha to fill those carefully designed pages with whatever new and daring pieces she decided to showcase in each issue.

  At the moment, however, Mia’s task was to oversee the endless details surrounding the actual construction and design of the stage and set for the show itself. Sam’s job was to line up the lingerie designers, choose which pieces she wanted to showcase from each collection, then coordinate the models for each. All the VLL models were real women, with real bodies and real curves, which, along with Mia’s innovative design, was what made their catalog stand out from the rest.

  To further complicate matters, they were featuring designers, all women—except for Jamie, of course—from around the world, as well. Which meant handling details in every time zone on the planet. At the moment, Sam was due to call Auckland for an evening consultation, New Zealand time, then handle an early-morning conference call, Pacific Rim time, with a new Singapore designer she’d only just discovered.

  She checked the clock and picked up the phone, but instead of dialing the international number Marcy had typed out for her, her fingers hovered over the speed-dial buttons. Specifically the second one from the bottom. The one she’d marked Cowboy. After all, if Jamie could combine work and pleasure, she should be able to.

  “No. Thinking about Marshall Conley right now is absolutely, positively the last thing you need to do,” she schooled herself. She wasn’t good at mixing business with pleasure. In fact, she sucked at it. Business always won with her. Which was why Marsh had been the perfect companion. She’d met the horse trainer out at his Canyon Country ranch nine months ago when she’d decided after one too many rolls of antacids and far too many nights sleeping on her office couch that she needed something other than work to balance her life. One of her clients had recommended riding lessons and Samantha had been intrigued by the idea. Trotting around on a horse sounded a lot more relaxing than taking up tennis or golf.

  Well, she’d found a distraction all right. Although in terms of exertion… She smiled to herself. Tennis might have been less strenuous.

  At the moment, however, a distraction was something she could ill afford. Thinking about the man who’d started as her riding instructor, but had ended up becoming her lover, would definitely be counterproductive to the workload she faced in the oncoming early-morning hours. Of course, it did provide a nice bump in her pulse rate that the cold caffeine had failed to produce.

  Thoughts of what else she’d like Marsh to bump up made her smile, even as she fought to shut that mental track down…and the vivid images those thoughts inspired. She wasn’t entirely successful. And not sure she cared. Sighing in remembered pleasure from their last time together—which had been far too long ago—she reflexively sipped from her now empty mug, then rolled her eyes at her own silly mooning.

  The great thing about Marshall was he was as busy and dedicated to his work as she was. The perfect lover really. Growing up as the only child of a single parent, Samantha had vowed early on that she would never end up like her mother. Her father had walked out on them when Sam was a toddler, stranding his poorly educated wife—who’d intended to spend her life being a housewife and mother—in a low-paying job with no hope for advancement, and no time to improve herself.

  Samantha had only been nineteen when, after years of struggling just to put food in their mouths, her mom had been killed in a single-car accident; she’d fallen asleep behind the wheel after a week of pulling double shifts. But one thing Sam had gotten from her mother was her work ethic. She knew better than most that if you wanted something badly enough, you worked for it. For her mom, it had been putting a roof over their heads and clothes on their backs. For Sam it was the dream of a better life. Her mother’s sudden death had only strengthened Samantha’s resolve to never depend on anyone but herself. She’d already busted her ass all through school and landed herself a college scholarship. She went on to earn a degree in fashion marketing, and never looked back.

  Sam had taken an early liking to power and control. In all areas of her life. Financial stability would give her both of those things. But that was only the beginning of her plans. After a few years of working hard to make other people successful, she realized the only way she was going to control her own destiny was to work for herself.

  Realistically, she knew she needed help to make that vision come true, so she’d compromised. Her first call had been to her college buddy, Mia. Mia had the design smarts and Sam had the industry contacts. All they needed was money. Enter Jamie, financial wizard, and recent fling of Mia’s. The fling didn’t survive, but the friendship had. They’d ended up forming an equal partnership, and Velvet, Leather & Lace had been born. Sam was intensely protective of their baby, as were her partners, and they all worked just as doggedly to make their venture the success they knew it could be.

  Sure, it got lonely on occasion. Having a career as your significant other was like tha
t. But even with her thirtieth birthday mere months away, Sam had no regrets on how she ran her life. Besides, the occasional hot fling took the edge off and, more importantly, didn’t slow her down.

  Which was exactly what Sam thought when she first laid eyes on Marsh Conley. It had been late fall, and plans for their show were just heating up. They’d been so busy, it had been months since she’d squeezed in even an afternoon’s worth of R & R. Or S & S as Samantha called it. Sex and Socialization. So she had been feeling a bit needy.

  Watching this enigmatic cowboy tame half a ton of writhing horseflesh as easily as she handled nailing a six-figure deal for a new line of bras and panties had definitely gotten her mind off of business…and onto more personal matters. Like Marsh’s rugged body…and how hard it would be to tame that.

  She’d been intrigued, to put it mildly. Marsh was completely different from the men she usually dated. The epitome of the quiet cowboy. No flash, no cocky bravado. Just all man. And inside one hour she was dying to find out how fast she could get Marsh out of that saddle…and into hers.

  As it turned out, Marsh wasn’t all that impressed with her brand-new, formfitting riding pants. Nor did he seem to care all that much about power or success. Mostly he seemed disappointed in her woeful horse-woman skills. Not that he was overt about it; he wasn’t overt about anything, but she sensed his growing impatience with her inability to sit on a horse properly, her lack of communication skills with the beast—it was just a horse for God’s sake!—not to mention her less than graceful dismount technique.

  Samantha smiled now, remembering just how arrogant she’d been that afternoon, convincing herself that, despite appearances, Marsh must be gay. After all, no man could resist Samantha Wallace when she put her mind to it. Well, Marsh had resisted her with no apparent problem.

  Then she’d slid off the mountain of a horse she’d been attempting to ride and all but fallen butt first into the mud. Rather than let her fall—which she knew he would have relished watching, and which she admitted now was the least of what she’d deserved—he’d proven himself to be the gentleman he was, and had swung her clear of the mud and the snorting, stamping horse.

  She sighed, remembering that first time he’d put his hands on her. He had plucked her off that horse as if she’d weighed nothing more than a feather. And at five foot nine, Samantha was no feather. He’d punched her pulse rate up a bit that day, too. Then he’d set her back on her feet and walked away as if he hadn’t just set her entire body on high alert.

  She’d followed him into the barn, not really thinking at all clearly. She’d forgotten all about seduction. Okay, so that was a lie. She wanted him more than ever at that point. But she was mostly intent on just figuring the man out. She’d assumed, with the arrogance of a woman who was willing to work for what she wanted—and was used to getting it—that the rest would simply follow. But Marsh wasn’t most men. He didn’t say much, and when he did, he chose his words carefully. He didn’t reveal much about himself, but somehow she’d ended up revealing a great deal about herself that day.

  She’d ended up leaving the ranch alone. But not before scheduling another riding session.

  And then another.

  Restless memories made focusing on the pending business calls all but impossible. She needed a fresh influx of caffeine, not more thoughts about the man she’d been seeing far too little of lately. She missed him. And that bothered her. Okay, it was more like it scared her. A lot. She didn’t really need Marsh. Well, other than for the obvious reasons. But a lack of sex didn’t quite explain why he popped into her thoughts far too often, and at the most inopportune moments. She was too busy to be mooning over a lover. Especially when she’d never been one to moon in her entire life.

  Samantha shoved her chair back and went to put a fresh pot of coffee on. Fifteen minutes later she was gripping the warm mug like a lifeline and punching in the overseas number. She made both calls in record time and was even happy with the results, but rather than congratulate herself with a chocolate bar and the usual renewed zest for success, she found herself standing at her office window, frowning.

  She wasn’t looking out and absorbing the pulse and vibe of the city at night as she so often did. No, in her mind’s eye, she was still seeing Marsh. As she had, all throughout the damn phone calls.

  She shook her head, trying to free herself of the sensual spell, then resolutely turned her back to the window and resumed her place at her desk. She’d already given Marsh far too much of her time and thoughts. They both understood theirs wasn’t a traditional relationship. It was a union of…convenience. One that would last as long as they were both getting something out of it—one that would end the moment either one decided it was time to move on.

  And that’s what unnerved her. Nine months later, and she wasn’t ready to move on. Sometimes she kept him at arm’s length, even when she didn’t have to, just to test herself. She didn’t do it on purpose; it was more like an instinctive measuring stick. If things were getting a bit too hot, a bit too…good, she purposely dived back into work and refused to come up for air—or Marsh—for as long as she thought she could get away with it.

  And every time she saw him again, she’d end up holding her breath as she waited those endless seconds to see if he’d tell her not to bother this time, that he’d moved on. He hadn’t.

  Yet.

  She blew out a long breath and leaned back in her chair, stretching the kinks from her lower back. With the show moving into the frantic final stages, she’d had little time to spare, even if she’d wanted to. Marsh never pushed when she begged off, but lately, rather than feel relieved, she’d found herself hoping he’d push for more, demand more of her.

  Which made absolutely no sense. Her company was finally on the verge of making a global impact on the lingerie industry. It was the worst possible time for her to be thinking dangerous thoughts. Thoughts about wanting something more…permanent in her personal life. It would be the ultimate in stupidity on her part to risk what they did have. Especially when she was far from sure what she really wanted from him.

  Besides, he hadn’t given any indication he was unhappy with their arrangement. No, Marsh wasn’t the whiny sort. She smiled, unable to imagine him pouting, much less throwing a temper tantrum. That wasn’t Marsh’s way. He was patient, quietly confident, observant. Much like he was with his horses. He was content to let his actions speak for him. She shuddered with remembered pleasure of just how…illuminating some of those actions could be.

  The buzzer on her intercom went off right then, startling a surprised gasp out of her. She barely kept the coffee from sloshing out of the mug. Hand to her heart, she set the mug down. “No more coffee for you,” she said, knowing damn well it wasn’t caffeine overload making her nerve endings twitch. It was Marshall Conley withdrawal.

  Sam shook her arms, rolled her shoulders. “Get back to business,” she murmured. “Keep your eye on the ball.” The buzzer went off again and she punched the button to the lobby desk. “Yes, Dave?” she asked the night guard.

  “Your car is here, ma’am.”

  Samantha frowned. “My car?” She hadn’t ordered a car.

  “A limo. The driver has a personal delivery for you.”

  “I’m sorry, there must be some mistake.”

  There was a pause. “No, ma’am. No mistake.”

  “Who’s the sender?”

  There was a pause, then Dave said, “There is a card with the package. The driver says you’ll understand when you open it. If it helps, I’m familiar with the limo service, Ms. Wallace, and I’ve scanned the package. Everything appears to be in order. Shall I send it up on your private elevator?”

  Samantha smiled as she suddenly realized what was happening. It was probably one of the designers she’d yet to decide on, trying to impress her. After Jamie’s big media splash, the hype around the show had mushroomed. Now instead of wooing the hottest designers, they were coming to her. Not usually in the middle of the ni
ght, but she was dealing with an international clientele at this point, so maybe they had crossed a time zone or three. Intrigued now, she pushed the button. “Send it up.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  SAMANTHA WALKED out of her office to VLL’s private elevator. It had been one of the perks of securing the top-floor offices. When they’d first set out to open up shop, Jamie had insisted on the three of them getting as nice an office space as possible. “You have to look like a success to be a success,” he’d told them. Mia and Sam had readily agreed but wondered how Jamie would pull it off with their limited capital. In the two years since, Sam had learned to never underestimate the creative money genius that was Jamie Baird.

  She reached the doors as they slid open. “Wow.” The box was huge. Flat and rectangular, it was wrapped in a red silk bow and filled her arms as she lifted it out of the elevator car and carried it to her desk. “I could fit our entire summer catalog of lingerie in this thing.”

  As promised, there was a cream-colored envelope tucked inside the ribbon. No name on the back. She pulled a thick vellum card from the envelope. Handwritten in black ink, in a decidedly masculine slash, the card read:

  Your chariot awaits, the driver discreet.

  Come if you dare, a challenge you’ll meet.

  Open the box, wear only what you discover.

  Life is more than just work, or being your lover.

  What? Her heart had begun pounding halfway through the note. This wasn’t from a designer. So who the hell—? Then she reread the last line…and sank back against her desk, suddenly weak in the knees. Could it be? No. But she only had one lover. She read the note a third time.