by Lisa Plumley
Sam squinted at her, probably wishing he’d had more coffee before being forced to deal with her family. “Are you sure this is necessary?”
She nodded. “Thanks, Sam. You don’t know what this means to me.” With another deep breath for courage, she headed back inside.
Sam had a pretty good idea what it meant to Holly, despite wishing he didn’t. After hearing her conversation with her mother, he was starting to understand why she was so persnickety about everything. She was trying to make everything she did mistake-proof. Trying to get the jump on her mother’s constant criticism.
Shouldering the grocery sack, Sam counted to one hundred, then cautiously opened the front door. All clear. He started toward the kitchen. Halfway there, the doorbell chimed loudly enough to make his left eardrum go numb.
He was standing beneath the old-fashioned doorbell chimes mounted near the ceiling. Sam whipped open the door.
Clarissa and David looked at him, then at the sack he was holding. “Is that a door prize?” Clarissa asked with a teasing grin, “or did Holly finally kick you out for leaving your socks in the refrigerator one too many times?”
David chuckled. He and Clarissa were a perfect match. He actually seemed to think his wife’s jokes were funny.
“It was just that one time,” Sam said. “I set them down while I was getting a beer.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
He couldn’t believe Holly had actually told someone about the sock incident.
“Get used to it, Sam,” David put in. “I don’t have any secrets left.”
“Holly really told you about that?”
“Holly tells me all about you.” Clarissa sauntered inside, sniffing. “Is Holly’s mom here already? I thought I smelled that ritzy perfume of hers when we were coming up the walk.”
“She’s here, all right.” Sam carried the groceries to the kitchen. Clarissa and David followed. “She’s making Holly crazy.”
“That’s what mothers are for,” came the sound of an evenly modulated voice behind him. A voice belonging to Holly’s mother, Sam assumed.
They all turned to face Linda Aldridge. Standing on the other side of the built-in bar, she looked like an older, brittler version of Holly, with auburn helmet hair, a lot of careful makeup, and a slick business suit. She said hello to Clarissa and David, then smiled and came around the bar to meet Sam.
“Isn’t it a mother’s job to watch out for her child?” She offered him a bejeweled handshake—and a quick once-over. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Linda Aldridge, Holly’s mother. And you’re…?”
Sam glanced behind her, where Holly stood watching.
“I’m Sam McKenzie. Clarissa’s cousin.” He juggled the grocery sack to accept her handshake. “I hope you don’t mind me crashing the party. I offered to…ah, cook.”
Holly’s eyes widened. She shook her head.
“My, isn’t that enlightened? It’s nice to meet you, Stan.”
“Sam.”
“Of course. Silly me.” Linda put both hands together and tilted her head. “Why don’t we all go in the other room and give Sam here room to work?” she suggested.
“He’s not the caterer, Mom.”
“Oh.”
Sam bit back a grin. Now he understood why Holly was concerned about being dressed up enough for her mother’s visit.
Holly hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t want some help, Sam?” Please let me help, her expression said.
He shook his head. The least he could do was let Holly off the hook in case the French toast tasted like soggy cardboard and wrecked her brunch party. “Leave it all up to me.”
The women—except for Holly—beamed at him.
“I think it will be nice to be catered to by a man, for a change,” Linda said, smiling. Clarissa agreed. Holly groaned.
“You ladies go on,” David put in with a subtle lift of his chest. “We men will take care of you.”
Sam didn’t want to raise expectations too high, so he only smiled encouragingly. Once the women had disappeared into the living room, he turned to David. And gave him a shove.
“Are you nuts? ‘We men will take care of you’?” He smacked his hand on his forehead, then winced. “I’ve got the hangover of the week—thanks to you, by the way—and you’re going on as if we’re culinary geniuses, here. Have you ever made French toast before?”
David shrugged. “How hard can it be? I’ve watched Clarissa do it.”
Scowling, Sam upended the grocery sack. Two loaves of Wonder bread and a pound of bacon fell on the countertop. The selection at the mini-market on the corner wasn’t the greatest, but it was at least close by.
“As for the hangover,” David continued, “I’m not the one who poured all those beers down your throat last night.” He gave Sam a sympathetic look. “Did you talk to Holly when you got home, like you said you were going to?”
“No. The timing wasn’t right.”
It never would be right, as long as Holly was hung up on making things work with Brad. After she’d left for her romantic dinner with him at Francie’s, Sam had rambled around for a while in the empty house, trying not to wonder what they were doing together. It had taken him about five minutes to realize he needed a stronger dose of distraction. Somehow he’d wound up in a bar downtown until after midnight, spilling his guts to David.
“The timing wasn’t right?” David shook his head. “You’ve got to go after what you want, Sam. Grab Holly and make her forget about Brad. Make her yours, man. Tame her!”
Sam rolled his eyes. “She’s a woman, not a wild horse. Does Clarissa know about these caveman episodes of yours?”
“Are you kidding? She’d probably kick my ass if she heard me say that.” David laughed and took a carton of eggs from the refrigerator. “The point is, Holly and Brad together were about as hot as day-old bread. He treated her more like a roommate than you do, if you catch my drift. Like a business partner. That guy’s cold. I don’t know why she can’t see it.”
Sam unwrapped the polka-dotted Wonder bread package and stacked the slices on a plate. He didn’t want to think about Brad the Bad anymore. “Let’s just get on with this.”
“Besides,” David persisted, “they’re split. It’s just taking Holly a while to catch up. She’ll give up sooner or later.”
Sam hoped he wouldn’t be a gray-haired, arthritic old man by the time that happened. From the living room came the sound of Holly’s mother, asking how things were coming in the kitchen.
“Just fine, Mrs. Aldridge,” David called. “We’d better get busy.” He lifted his baseball cap, then rammed it in an I mean business fashion on his curly black hair.
“You know, the hat makes all the difference. Now you really do look like a culinary genius.”
David cheerfully raised his middle finger in reply. “Stand back,” he said, grinning as he cracked eggs in a bowl, “and watch a real master at work.”
“It’s too bad Brad can’t be here,” Holly’s mother said.
They all took their places at the banquette table—Clarissa and David on one side, Holly and her mother on the other, Sam perched at the end—then dug into the plates of French toast, strawberries, and bacon.
“He’s working,” Holly said quickly, crossing her fingers beneath the napkin on her lap. “Maybe he’ll be here next time.”
Sam shot her a dark look, one she understood better than she wanted to. No matter which way she turned, it seemed she hurt somebody.
“Well,” her mother continued, “I wanted to invite you both to my company’s annual holiday party. It’s at the Cheshire Hotel downtown, two weeks from Saturday night.” After chewing a bite of French toast with strawberries, she rested her fork atop her plate. “I’ve never had anything quite like this, boys.”
Holly doubted her mother meant it kindly, but David smiled at her anyway.
“Glad you like it,” he said. “Sam deserves most of the credit, though.”
As a show of loyalty, Holly helped h
erself to another piece. It tasted a little eggy, but she wanted Sam to know she appreciated his trying to help her.
“I’d love to come to your Christmas party, Mom,” she said, “but I’m not sure Brad will be able to make it.”
Linda pursed her lips. “I hope he will.” She leaned forward and, as an aside to Sam, added, “Brad is Holly’s fiancé. A doctor. He always makes such a good impression at these events. We’re all very proud of him.”
Holly sunk a little lower in her seat. Dating Brad was the first thing she’d ever done that her mother actually approved of. How was she going to break it to her if things didn’t work out according to her plan?
“Yes, Brad and I have met,” Sam said. “Briefly. He’s a busy guy. If Brad can’t make it, Holly, I’d be glad to escort you.”
Sam gazed straight at her, his eyes so blue and honest she could read his feelings in them. Be with me.
“It’s a formal business function, dear,” her mother put in, frowning. “Don’t you think Sam might be a little uncomfortable? I hope this doesn’t sound too harsh, but these are professional people who—”
“I don’t think Sam would be uncomfortable anyplace,” Holly interrupted, smiling as she gazed back at him. “No matter who was there. And come to think of it, I’m just about positive Brad won’t be able to make it.”
Complete silence descended. All four of them stared at her. Holly’s knees starting shaking, and her throat closed up with panic. How was she going to follow up on that?
Beneath the table, Sam squeezed her knee. His show of encouragement brought a fresh sting of tears to her eyes. She had to blink them back before she could go on.
“I’d love it if you escorted me, Sam,” Holly blurted.
Her mother’s mouth dropped open. “What will Brad say?”
“He’ll probably say he’s got to work late,” Holly answered truthfully, “like he usually does.” She hoped she wasn’t making a stupid, life-changing mistake. Taking a deep breath, she clarified. “I’d really like to go to your party, Mom. But it will have to be with Sam.”
Thirty seconds later, her mother’s voice broke the silence. “If…if you insist,” she said, sounding bewildered.
Across the table, Clarissa applauded.
Despite her impending date with Sam, Holly wasn’t ready to give up on her plan yet. How else was she going to get her life back to normal? How else was she going to feel like herself again? She’d even started skipping workouts once a week and leaving work at five o’clock most of the time, all so she could spend more time with Sam. It wasn’t like her at all. She needed to re-focus on her goals.
So Holly spent the next week thinking up ways to put the final seduction phase of her plan into play. Friday night, Brad dropped the solution in her hands by asking her to stop by his office the next morning to evaluate a new accounting software package he was considering for his office.
His request couldn’t have been more convenient. Even better, the place was usually deserted on the weekend.
Late Saturday morning, all systems were go.
Just before noon, Holly drove to the parking lot outside the medical complex that housed Brad’s office. She couldn’t pull into either of the spaces right next to Brad’s shiny BMW, since he’d parked on the line between them, so she parked nearby and turned off the ignition. Her old convertible’s engine clattered loudly enough to wake the dead as it gradually wound to a stop.
Wincing at the sound, Holly checked her makeup in the rear view mirror. Tasteful, yet flamboyant enough so Brad would know she wasn’t the same old unspontaneous Holly, she decided. Good. She slid her briefcase across the seat. The implements of her mission—the bottles of Lover’s Potion and Aphrodisia Massage Oil—clinked together inside. She checked to make sure her garter belt fasteners were still holding, gave her hair one last pat, then got out of the car.
Brad wouldn’t know what hit him. The thought made Holly smile as she opened the front door with the key he’d given her long ago, then locked it again behind her. It was now or never.
Dressed only in a belted trench coat with her new lingerie beneath—Clarissa’s idea—Holly navigated the wide austere corridors that led to Brad’s office. The hallways were chilly. Then again, it was probably perfectly comfortable for people who were dressed. A nervous shiver passed through her. Steeling her resolve, she pressed on, the whisper of her stockinged legs sounding unnaturally loud in the deserted building.
Holly breathed a sigh of relief when her key still turned in Brad’s office door. Opening it quietly, she tiptoed into the darkened recesses of the suite, where Brad kept his private office. The red spike-heeled shoes Clarissa had talked her into buying didn’t make a whisper of sound on the carpeted floor, but Holly could have sworn her heart was thumping loudly enough to announce her arrival a mile away. And if the hammering of her heart didn’t do it, then the aggressively musky perfume she’d dabbed on would give her presence away for sure.
Neither did. Rounding the corner, she heard the low-pitched hum of Brad’s computer and the tap-tap-tapping of his fingers as he typed. She gripped her briefcase handle tighter, took a deep breath, and approached his open office door.
Her thong panties chose that moment to shoot the rest of the way up her behind.
Holly flung herself against the wall. A long, agonizing minute passed before she was sure Brad hadn’t seen her. Lowering her briefcase gingerly to the floor, she flipped up the back of her tan trench coat and tried to extricate herself from her thong-panty prison.
It was a tricky maneuver, at least when performed on three-inch spike heels. Wavering a little, Holly tugged at the strip of flowered fabric. It stayed in a comfortable position for all of thirty seconds. She might as well have put on the rubber band from the Sunday newspaper, called it underwear, and saved herself a few bucks, for all the luck she had getting the thing to stay where it belonged.
She sagged against the wall to catch her breath. The way things were going, she was tempted to just back up, really slowly, and leave.
No. She wasn’t giving up yet. Spreading her knees further apart, balancing precariously on her shoes, Holly tightened her grip on the thong. Nervous perspiration trickled between her breasts, dampening the red and black velvet groping-hands bra. Great, that would make a really sexy impression. Stifling a groan, she gave it another try.
Still holding the panty away from her behind, Holly snapped her knees together again, performed the greatest butt squeeze of her life, and released the thong. The thought crossed her mind that this was probably a pretty good workout—Thongs of Steel. Tight Thongs in Thirty Days. Thong Aerobics.
Oh, boy. Getting hysterical wasn’t helping. But she thought the butt squeeze might. Reaching back, Holly gave it one last try, squeezing for all she was worth this time. As long as she stayed clenched, the thong stayed put. Success!
Smiling triumphantly, Holly grabbed her briefcase and glanced up. Brad leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her.
“I thought I heard something out here,” he said mildly. “I was afraid the cleaning lady was having a heart attack, judging by all the thumping on the wall and the heavy breathing.”
He raised his eyebrow—just one, a trick that always irritated her a little because it made him look so superior. Also because she couldn’t do it.
“You’re late,” he said. “I thought you’d changed your mind.”
“Are you kidding?” Holly laughed, stepping closer to him. You can do this. Confidence is sexy, she told herself. “I’d love to have a look at your, ahh…hardware, Brad.”
He frowned. “It’s software. Didn’t I tell you that?”
Geez, he used to understand innuendo.
“That’s not what I meant.” She clarified her intentions with a caressing hand on his starched shirtfront. The sharp scent of Brad’s aftershave hit her with the force of a dozen memories, helping to shore up her courage. Lowering her voice seductively, she said, “I’ve got more
than accounting software on my mind.”
Brad lifted her hand from his shirt, then straightened his glasses. He peered closely at her. “You should get that hoarseness checked out,” he said, stepping backward. “It might be bronchitis.”
For a second, Holly wished she did have some virulent, highly contagious illness. Something Brad could catch from her that would make him feel miserable, but wouldn’t be life-threatening.
In her normal voice, she said, “I feel fine. I just think we’ve been apart long enough, don’t you?”
Think sexy, Holly commanded herself. It’s your last chance—be bold. She advanced toward him. Brad backed up, all the way into his office. Slamming the door shut with her foot—hey, this was fun!—Holly tossed her briefcase on the leather sofa that lined one wall and reached for her coat sash.
“You didn’t really invite me here to look at software, did you, Brad?” she whispered.
“Holly! What’s gotten into you?” Trapped between her and the rosewood executive desk at his back, Brad gaped at her. “This isn’t like you at all.”
“It’s the new me,” she murmured, actually starting to enjoy herself. It was like playing a role in a movie. It was like riding a roller-coaster, drunk, at midnight. Not that she’d ever really done something like that, but Holly was starting to believe the new, spontaneous her just might try it.
Smiling, she finished undoing her coat sash and raised her fingers to the lapels. “Come home, Brad. We can be so perfect together. I know we can.”
Inch by inch, she slowly opened her coat. His eyes widened. It was just the reaction she’d hoped for. Encouraged, Holly raised her knee to the desk, high enough for Brad to see her garter and the top of her stocking.
The pressure of balancing on one foot snapped the spike heel clean off her shoe. She went down like an anchor tossed overboard.
“Holly! Are you all right?” Brad crouched in front of her and caught hold of her arms. Briefly his gaze dipped to the groping-hands bra, then upward again.
“I’m fine,” she said, feeling ridiculous. “Help me up?”
