by Karen Docter
The contrast between his large, masculine frame and the delicate, feminine apparel registered on parts of his anatomy he’d been neglecting far too long. He must have taken leave of his senses when he agreed to do this.
"There you are, dear!"
Dan rounded a stack of boxes and faced Mary McDonald O'Shaunessy. "You didn't tell the staff I was coming, Aunt Mary. Does that mean you don't need me, after all?" He could be back on the road in an hour, holed up in his camper with Colby, free, unfettered. His demons unchallenged.
His silver-haired relative drew herself up, all five-foot-nothing of her. "Of course not, Danny Boy! But your arrival plans were rather vague."
Dan ignored the persistent use of a nickname he'd hoped by the age of thirty-five to have outgrown and acknowledged his tardiness with a kiss. It wasn't his fault the truck blew a gasket in Missouri. "I had a devil of a time getting that young girl out there to let me in."
"You're surprised? She probably expected her new boss to dress more conservatively. That flannel shirt should have been consigned to a rag bag long ago." Green eyes very like his twinkled up at him. "I see you also stuck with your guns about that disreputable thing on your upper lip."
Dan grinned, unrepentant, and decided right then that the mustache was history. His aunt's teases were bound to get worse yet there was another, more compelling reason to shave the offensive thing off. He hadn't known how many sensory perceptions he'd lost in his bid for change until he kissed Tess this afternoon. If she could generate electricity with his mustache in the way, imagine what she could do with nothing but naked skin between them.
"It took a while to settle Colby at the groomer," he said, "so I didn't take time to clean up."
"We aren't open yet. Besides, I could use help with these boxes." She made a face. "I don't know why those delivery men had to stack them so high. I can't reach half of them."
He chuckled. "You and Mom didn't tell me I was in this to shuffle boxes. Here I thought I was going to be a big honcho and I'm nothing more than a stock clerk."
"The best way to learn the day-to-day details of the business is from the ground up."
Another kernel of doubt sprouted in his chest. He hadn't counted on such an intimate involvement with the business envisioning management similar, though infinitely less demanding, than what he'd left behind last year. "You said you and Mom only need help until the wedding."
Sarah McDonald's marriage had burgeoned from a simple ceremony with thirty close friends to, at last count, several hundred people. Nothing short of his mother's impending happiness would have dragged Dan back to civilization this soon, despite his persistent restlessness these past few months.
"You still need a modicum of training before I skip back to Chicago to help your mother."
He sighed. "Okay. If I can work my way up the ladder of global finance, I can climb to the top of lingerie."
His aunt indicated the boxes closest to him. "Try climbing to the top of that pile."
"Yes, ma'am." He hid a smile and proceeded to lower all of the stacks to a manageable level. "Now what?"
"Open the box in that corner,” she waved toward the wall behind him, “and catalog the contents."
When he complied, lingerie snagged on his rough hands. The material reminded him of the silkiness of Tess's skin beneath his fingertips, which brought to mind the huskiness of her voice when she was confused, the rebellious spark in her eyes when she was provoked...the hint of sadness in her expression when she wasn't aware of being watched. His sultry brunette was passionate, complex, intriguing—
Off limits! Do the words 'workaholic' or 'leaving' mean anything to you, Danny Boy?
Regretfully, Dan eyed the material sliding across his fingers. With her long legs and slender curves, wearing this wisp of satin and lace, Tess would look like heaven lying under him in his four-poster bed. He wondered how many times he'd have to make love to her to replace the shadows in her spicy eyes with the soft glow of contentment.
He swallowed, hard, and forced himself to examine the construction of the piece with a critical eye. The long line of hooks and laces that closed the front would take a man forever to undo. It might be worth it though if the right woman wore it. A woman like Tess. "Do real women actually wear these things?" he asked, looking at his aunt.
"Of course. We don't carry anything we can't sell. That's your first lesson."
"Want to give me my second lesson?"
"What?"
With any luck, his face wasn't the same color as the material dangling off his fingertip. "What's this called?"
"That's a bustier."
"Bustier." He tested the sensuous word on his tongue.
He was pinned under an assessing gaze. "You've been living in the wild too long. Do you mean to tell me you've never seen one before?"
“What normal, red-blooded male hasn't?” he said. “That doesn't mean I can tack a name on it.” None of the women he'd had in his bed had worn anything like this! Were all his lovers as cold, as unimaginative as his career had become?
It wasn't necessary to think beyond Charlotte. It was her understanding of the pressures underlying a high-powered career that originally appealed to him as they raced up the corporate ladder together. However, it didn't take long for him to realize passions spent on the boardroom made for a cold bedmate.
He shuddered at the thought of what he'd escaped. "As you and Mom repeatedly tell me, I've been living a monk's life."
"Oh, dear. Have we been that crass?"
The financial wizards, wheeling and dealing around him before he retired from the scene, had nothing on Dan's female relatives. Ever since his illness, they'd been scheming to get him more involved with A Touch of Silk & Satin. One of their stronger arguments had been his lack of female company.
Did his aunt and mother expect their customers to walk in the store, see all the enticing underwear, and promptly throw themselves into his lonely bed? Appealing as that sounded to a man who'd been celibate for over a year, Dan knew casual sex wasn't for him and he had no business starting anything he couldn't finish. He had plans, and they didn't include hawking ladies’ underwear in San Francisco after June.
"You two are always ladies. You are never crass," he said diplomatically. "Outspoken is the word I'd use."
"We're only outspoken when we know we're right."
"I didn't say you were right."
Laughing, she returned to her work. "You'll find we're always right, Daniel. But, right now, we have only two days to prepare for our opening, so quit fingering that bustier before you wear the fabric through. It's on the invoice somewhere. It's spelled—"
"I know how it's spelled."
Aunt Mary smirked as she pulled a pile of fragile lace into her lap. "Of course you do, dear."
Dan stared at her and reexamined his notion of engineering another meeting with Tess. He'd introduced enough complications into his life. Another one, especially one as career-driven as Tess, was more trouble than he could handle. As Dan's doctor observed after meeting Charlotte, a man doesn't date a bartender if he wants to stay on the wagon.
Yes, when he did see Tess again—an inevitability as their new A Touch of Silk & Satin store was in her mall—he'd put distance between them. The question was, would the length of the building be far enough? He couldn't shake the tantalizing image of one luscious shopping center manager lying in his bed, wearing nothing but a beckoning smile and a tiny scrap of scarlet.
***
"Mrs. O'Shaunessy?" a clerk called out from the front of the boutique several hours later. "The mall manager is here to see you."
Dan helped his aunt up from her seat on the floor and steadied her when she teetered dangerously close to a mound of teddies they'd inventoried. Then, he hung back while she walked out of the stockroom.
He'd known this confrontation was unavoidable since following Tess to the mall and realizing it was his destination, too. Would she be angry he'd neglected to stop and tell her who he was? Or wou
ld the woman he'd glimpsed on the bridge—the one able to laugh at life's peccadilloes—come out to play? The tightness in his chest told him he was far more interested in the answer to those questions than was wise.
Leaning against the counter inside the relative anonymity of the stockroom, he skimmed her long-limbed frame, noting she’d changed into low heels and removed her jacket. With a silky white blouse and lemon-colored skirt, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, she looked soft, approachable. After hours of tagging lingerie, Dan could think of several more pieces he'd love to see on Tess, and peel off her, one tiny inch at a time.
Then, he looked into her dark eyes and every notion of sex fled from his mind. Something was wrong. He knew it after only a few hours in her company. Absently listening to his aunt, he scrutinized Tess's fleeting expressions.
"Tess," his aunt greeted, "how nice of you to stop in. I’d planned to swing by your office and got sidetracked."
"That's understandable. You're swamped," she said, shaking his aunt’s hand. “I was making my rounds anyway.”
Aunt Mary waved a hand around the cluttered store. "I know it doesn't look it, but we'll be organized on time."
"I've seen enough grand openings to know you have a firm handle on yours, Mrs. O'Shaunessy."
"Please, call me Mary. It's impossible to be formal when you're up to your ears in underwear."
She smiled. "I'll bet."
Dan caught the wince Tess couldn't hide when her smile tugged on her facial injury, the bruise now skillfully covered with makeup. His concern grew when he read the pain in her eyes and identified the lack of normal color in her cheeks. She looked too pale, on the verge of collapse. Abruptly pushing away from the counter, he strode into the showroom.
"I'm glad you're here, Tess. My nephew has arrived to oversee our new west coast operations." Mary waved him forward. "Daniel, I'd like you to meet—"
"You!" If Tess was feeling awful when she left her office, it was nothing to what she experienced now. She’d been lightheaded before but, pinned down under Dan’s piercing gaze, she suddenly felt hot and flushed and breathless. Her head buzzed like a swarm of angry hornets. She stared at Dan like he was an oversized leprechaun who'd leaped from behind a tree, then stumbled backward so she had space to breathe. "I...Dan?"
He reacted to her faint confusion with a harsh curse and a strong arm around her waist.
"Do you two know each other?"
"Not now, Aunt Mary," Dan clipped out. He pressed Tess's head down. "Take long, deep breaths. Breathe. In and out, in and out. Yes. That's right."
Tess didn't take time to dwell on her foolishness, focusing instead on his instructions, each inhalation easier than the last despite the throbbing in her head. "I'm okay. Let me up."
Dan eased her into a chair his aunt pushed under her. "Aunt Mary, would you find a glass of water, please?"
The woman hurried away, and Tess became aware of her surroundings again. Somewhere, a telephone rang. Her eyelids drooped against the strident noise. "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened."
"I do." Dan sounded angry.
Her eyes snapped open. She didn't say anything because the young clerk who’d left her into the store walked up, her inquisitive gaze darting from Dan to Tess. "Mr. McDonald, Mr. Zantori is on the phone for Mrs. O'Shaunessy."
His aunt came up behind the girl. "That's one of our suppliers," she explained, handing Tess a glass of water. "I've been trying to reach him for days." She hovered there, evidently prepared to ignore the call.
Dan nodded. "Go on and take it. We'll be fine. I'm taking Tess to the medical clinic. If I don't get back before you lock up, I'll catch you later at your townhouse."
Tess stared at him after his aunt and the clerk walked away. "I'm not going anywhere with you, Daniel McDonald!"
He squatted at her side so she didn't have to tilt her head awkwardly. "We'll discuss it after your color comes back."
She glared, not sure she wanted him this close. Every time she saw this man, he did the weirdest things to her equilibrium. When he looked at her—damn, like he was looking right now, like she was the only person in the room—her heart sped up and pushed common sense right out of her head. All she could think about was Dan’s kiss on the bridge, his mouth pressed to hers, the tickle of his mustache, the heat of his body against hers. "I-I'm fine."
"Right. And you prefer to sit doubled-up at my feet." He stroked a gentle finger across her forehead, his tone softening. "This line, right here, tells me you still have a headache, and it's probably worse than it was earlier." His palm cupped her aching cheek. "I'll bet this still hurts, too, although it does look a little better."
It was easier to nod than to argue with him. The motion disconnected his hand from her face, a need she didn't dare analyze too closely. She sipped some water. "Satisfied?"
"Hardly. As soon as you can manage it, we'll check in at the clinic where I’m guessing you haven’t yet been today."
Stubbornness was an irritating trait. So was bossiness. It looked like she'd met her match in both departments. "That’s not necessary."
"Bull."
She looked down her nose at him. "I beg your pardon?"
His lips twitched. "You should." He stood, crossed his arms over his chest. "Tell me. Did you have any intention of seeing a doctor like you said you would?"
Her answer would be self-incriminating, so she remained silent. Staring into his gorgeous eyes wasn't any easier now than it was when she made the promise.
"Guess that's a no." Dan helped her to stand. "Let's go."
Hearing the steel in his voice, she knew this battle was lost. However, she wasn't prepared to cede the war. "I'm only going to make you feel better."
Dan's smile told her he wasn't fooled in the least.
An hour later the clinic doctor followed her back into the waiting room, handing her chart to the receptionist as she continued the disagreement they’d been having in the examination room. “Tess, I said I don’t see a skull fracture in the x-rays. That doesn’t mean you’re free and clear. It’s still a good idea to keep an eye out for symptoms of concussion. There must be someone who can check on you for the next twenty-four hours."
The sad thing was there was no one unless she drove to her parents’ house on the coast or called her secretary back to work to babysit. Tess had had it with all the fuss. There were a multitude of things to do before she could go home and crawl into bed. "Anthony will watch me when I get home." She crossed her fingers behind her back. Her male canary would watch her, although he was hardly the support the doctor meant. If there wasn't a concussion, there wasn't a problem.
“Excellent!” The doctor nodded her satisfaction. “If you run into any problems tonight, have him take you directly to the emergency room.” She handed her a small prescription bottle. "Here are your pain pills. Don't take them without eating something substantial first. They can pack a wallop on an empty stomach."
"I'll stop at the food court." She’d intended to grab a bite to take back to her desk anyway.
Much to her dismay, Dan rose unexpectedly from a chair in the corner. Why was he still here? "I'll make sure she gets home okay," he assured the doctor.
His look dared Tess to contradict him, yet she wasn't prepared to reassert her independence. Not then. She waited until she stared at him across a food court table, not quite sure how she came to be sitting there, a huge gyro stuffed with chunks of beef, tomatoes, and onions clutched in her hands.
"Okay, lay it on me."
Irritated at his highhanded manner, she played dumb. "What?"
His expression was wary in the glare of overhead lights that brightened the food court. "You've been fighting the need to bite my head off since you laid eyes on me again."
"Fine." Tess propped her overflowing Greek sandwich in the plastic serving basket. "Let's start with why you lied to me."
"I never lied to you."
"Dan, you told me you were a fisherman. I spent two hours with you, and I d
on't know who you are!"
His gaze didn't waver. "I said I fished and, until this week, that's what I've been doing. I never claimed to fish for a living."
She thought over their meeting. "I'll accept that. But you said nothing about owning a store in my mall."
"I didn't know until I followed you here, and then it was too late. There's a lot we didn't discuss...world peace, fashion, Anthony."
That observation snatched the wind from her sails. How could she be upset with Dan considering the whopper she’d told the doctor? She should have corrected Dan's impression, then and there. A second look at his handsome face made her hesitate. A canary was a flimsy barrier to throw between them, but she was afraid to trust in her ability to keep the man at a distance. She was taking all the help she could get! "I'm sorry. Can we start this conversation over?"
He stared pointedly at the abandoned gyro in her basket. "Not until you eat everything in front of you."
She frowned at him, then picked up a fry and ate it.
As good as his word, Dan didn't speak again until she popped the last piece of pita into her mouth. She hated to admit that she felt immensely better by the time he asked her to grab the ketchup off the table behind her.
Her nose wrinkled when he drowned his remaining French fries in red goo. "That can't be good for you."
Dan raised an eyebrow. "You're a fine one to talk."
"I don't know what you mean."
He jabbed a lone fry into the air. "What have you eaten today besides that gyro?"
When she fidgeted silently in her chair, he nodded. "You can't remember because there's nothing to remember."
Her defenses snapped into place. "I drank your tea."
"Tea is not food!"
The remark echoed, almost verbatim, one recently made by her mother. Only she'd been referring to Tess's breakfast coffee habits. Her parents were known to be overly protective—it came with the territory as the only child of older parents—and she wasn't about to argue about it in the food court with a man she hardly knew.
"No one's going to rescue you, you know."
He was a mind reader, too? "I don't need rescuing."
