“Aunt Sharon’s done her research. If she gets the Perfect Passion Lingerie account, she can keep her business going and only have to do half as much work. Not to be redundant, but Perfect Passion really is perfect. They’ll handle everything from manufacturing to distribution to sales. All she’d have to do is provide the designs.”
“But wouldn’t she have been more successful, and pull in bigger money if she’d handled the manufacturing herself, keeping control of the sales, distribution and such?”
“Maybe,” Natasha acknowledged. That’s how she’d do it. Actually, if the business was hers, she’d take a lot more risks, push the envelope on design a little wider and focus more advertising on the full-figured range of lingerie she’d designed. Instead of playing it safe and going the same route as so many other lingerie companies, she’d drop the storefront, go open an online store and scream out the differences.
But who was she to talk? She was still hiding the fact that she drew undies on the side from her parents.
And, in this case, it didn’t matter. Clutching a satin cami so tight she left wrinkles, Natasha tried to shrug it off. Sensual Supports wasn’t hers and how to handle it wasn’t her decision.
Aunt Sharon had been specific on what she wanted her niece to accomplish during this convention. At sixty, the older woman should be thinking about retiring, but the economy and her lifestyle didn’t make that an option.
“You want that Passion account, you’ll get it,” Lanie vowed, her words as fervent as Natasha’s thoughts.
“I hope so.”
“It’ll work out, Tasha. Don’t doubt yourself.”
“Lanie, I’m a fourth-generation engineer. Aunt Sharon is the only person in my family who would ever think I could step out of my glorified cage and embrace—” She waved her hand to indicate the sexually charged atmosphere. “—all of this.”
“And you’ve embraced it well. Now that you’re helping, the boutique is doing better than ever. You’ve got a knack for selling lingerie.”
Yet another secret. Thank God nobody in her family ever lowered themselves to visit Sharon’s boutique on weekends when Natasha helped out.
She did have a knack for it, though. After all, she was the perfect lingerie customer. She recognized a woman’s sexual fantasies and knew how to dress for them. And she was damned good at it—probably because she had so many of her own locked down tight.
That knack for selling wasn’t going to be enough, though. Natasha had been racking her brain for a solution to help save Sensual Supports when a friend had raved about how the SEMA auto convention had launched his little side business selling vintage auto-parts into a full-time enterprise. She’s figured it couldn’t hurt to give the lingerie version a shot.
Rufus Randall, the CEO of Perfect Passion Lingerie, was going to be at the convention. The guy was reputedly as eccentric as he was savvy and refused to do business with anyone he hadn’t met face to face.
So, here she was.
Before Natasha could worry aloud just how eccentric Rufus might be given everything they’d seen at the convention so far, there was a crash across the aisle. They both turned just as a mannequin fell to the floor in a tangle of plastic arms and legs.
“Uh oh,” murmured Lanie.
“I barely touched them,” Natasha defended as guilt surged. The booth had been empty at noon, so she’d written the vendor off as a no-show, and snuck over to swap mannequins. Her full-figured bra design looked so much better on the curvy plastic shapes instead of the stick figures that had come with her booth—the ones that were now a jumbled mess on the floor.
“Maybe I should go over and see if they need help,” she murmured. She’d assuage her guilt over the swap and scope out the competition all in one fell swoop. She was nothing if not efficient.
Leaving Lanie to handle things, Natasha slid around the table and brushed her hands over the paisley silk covering her hips. The fabric swished sensually against her calves as she made her way through the crowd.
Halfway across the aisle, her feet stuck to the floor as if magnetized. Her breath lodged in her chest while her pulse did a little shimmy. Oh, my.
The last time she’d seen a butt that sweet, she’d been in college. While this prime specimen was covered in well-worn denim instead of mouth-wateringly bare flesh, it definitely brought back a rush of memories. And lust.
Hot, sticky lust.
Stop, she scolded herself. The sexually charged atmosphere was obviously getting to her. Unable to resist the tug of desire, she stepped a little closer. Her mouth went dry. The wide swimmer’s-shoulders above that sweet butt were just as sexy. And eerily familiar.
Crazy. She wasn’t in the habit of checking out men’s butts or their shoulders. Much.
Her body humming with appreciation, Natasha wet her lips. It was hard to tear her eyes off those broad shoulders—the kind that guaranteed a woman a deliciously solid anchor during wild sex. Her gaze shifted, just a little, to the rich, russet hair curling against the man’s collar, just begging to be touched. The color, a deep autumn red, made Natasha’s stomach clench. This time it wasn’t lust that gripped her. It was nerves. She hadn’t seen hair that color since college.
Maybe coming over to the booth was a bad idea. Threaded through the simmering heat of sexual awareness and nagging sense of familiarity was the urge to run. As fast and as far away as she could get.
Before she could move, the man turned. Natasha’s heart stuttered once before sinking to the toes of her very uncomfortable high-heels.
“Drew.”
There was no way he could have heard her whisper in the noisy convention hall, but like a homing beacon, his soft brown eyes locked on hers. And Natasha melted. Simply melted in an intense rush of emotion. Feelings she’d locked away when they’d broken up seven years ago pounded through her in a painful gallop.
Desire, longing and need tangled with heartbreak and insecurity.
Oh, the insecurity.
Sure, their breakup had been amicable. On the surface. Natasha had agreed to a fling. A walk on the wild side with a bad boy pool hustler. Who’d have thought she’d fall for a Harley riding bad guy with hair longer than hers?
A guy with a reputation every girl in her sorority whispered about, and most tried to take on. But he didn’t do college girls. Except for her.
He’d done her. In many, many ways that still got her wet just thinking about. He’d been so good, he’d pretty much ruined her for other guys. Every lover Natasha had been with since had met with disaster.
Standing right in front of her with his sexy butt and gorgeous shoulders was the very source of her sexual curse.
His gaze widened in shocked recognition, then flashed with dismay before turning wicked.
Even as her body heated, Natasha felt herself morphing into that unsure, self-conscious twenty-year-old girl again, worried that she wouldn’t live up to the expectations of a man like him.
So fast she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined the flash of emotions, his eyes cleared and the wickedly inviting grin she remembered so well curved his lips.
“Tasha?” He tossed a handful of diaphanous panties on the table and sauntered forward. “Damn, you look good.”
As if running into ex-lovers was an everyday occurrence for him—and it probably was—Drew Walker hauled her against him for an enthusiastic hug. Natasha’s entire body melted into his before she could stop herself. She barely resisted grabbing onto those mouthwatering shoulders as she absorbed the feeling of his body pressed against hers, shoulder to shoulder and—Lord help her—pelvis to pelvis. Just a hug and her panties were damp. She’d probably have a screaming orgasm if the man kissed her. And it wouldn’t be the first time.
The memory was all Natasha needed to stiffen and pull away. She lifted her chin and smiled, that stilted, socially polite smile meant to put snooty sales clerks and ex-lovers in their place.
“Drew, this is definitely the last place I’d ever expected to find you.”
<
br /> Since he’d cursed her love life, her imaginings ran more toward seeing his picture on a post office wall or catching him leaving a VD clinic.
The chilly distance of her tone made Drew drop his hands away from her shoulders, but his easy smile didn’t shift. Nor had he had the decency to age poorly, Natasha noted. If anything, the man was more gorgeous than ever. Wasn’t that against the laws of nature for a guy be hotter at thirty than he’d been in his prime of twenty-three?
“No kidding. What are you doing here?” he asked, conducting a heated inspection of her figure. A small smile played at the corner of his lips, as if every inch of her reminded him of something very, very naughty.
To her shame, Natasha’s body responded instantly. Her nipples tightened, desire pooling low and needy in her belly. For the first time since carting a dozen boxes through the convention hall, she was glad she’d worn her highest heels. After all, it was hard to feel powerful at five-three.
“I wouldn’t be surprised to see you at some fancy high society event.” He paused to pull a face, as if the idea of him actually being at one was a joke. “Or maybe getting some big engineering award. But Natasha Stover, at a panty party? Boggles the mind, babe.”
She clenched her teeth so tight they hurt, but didn’t let her smile slip. Nothing boosted a woman’s confidence like her first lover thinking she wasn’t sexy enough to handle a panty party.
“I have a display here. Apparently you do too.”
Baffled, she gave the untidy rainbow of filmy fabric piled
on his table an arched look.
What the hell?
Pulling disdain around her like a chilly cloak, she made a show of shaking her head. “Who’d have thought the great sex-god, pool shark, and all-round bad boy Drew Walker would end up designing women’s underwear.”
His eyes narrowed and his stance shifted. She knew that expression. As quick with his mind as he’d been with his fists, Drew had always worn that same expression just before slaying someone with a brutal, clever remark. Or issuing some irresistible sexual challenge.
Not ready to play verbal thrust and parry—especially since the idea of any kind of thrusting with Drew got her all hot and bothered—Natasha offered a shrug and dismissive smile. “Well, fun time is over. I’ve got to get back to work. I hope the convention is good to you. Ta.”
For once grateful for her uptight upbringing, Natasha kept her spine rigid as she moved through the crowd to the haven of her own booth.
Her gaze snapped back to Drew. There he stood, in all his sexy glory, a wicked grin lighting his face.
“See anything interesting?” Lanie asked with her cherubic smile. “You sure weren’t gone long.”
“Long enough to rethink that dog collar and whip.”
Chapter Two
Well, well...
Drew Walker watched Natasha walk away with a satisfied sigh.
Hot damn.
Who’d have thought rushing off to save his sister’s sorry butt—again—would bring the luscious Natasha Stover back into his life?
He didn’t waste a lot of time with regrets, but he’d always been a little sorry walking away from her. In part, because he hadn’t gotten his fill. But mostly because it’d marked the end of his freedom. A middle-of-the-night call from his estranged father to say the old man was dying of cancer. A father he’d spent his formative years fighting with, rebelling against, and finally storming out on with a vow to live his life his way. And he had. Until that phone call. With one ring, the good times were over, responsibility demanded it’s due.
It’d sucked, and somehow, the two always intertwined in his mind. He’d gone from being free, living life by his own rules to tied down, responsible for things like hospice, taking over his dad’s bar and raising a sister who made his wild ways look tame in comparison.
And now that he was this close to making his life his own again? In walks Tasha. Even sexier than before.
Although he remembered her as a tempting little blonde he’d had some good times with, he’d clearly forgotten the finer details. Like how her eyes resembled a winter sky. Cool gray windows of pure emotion lit up a face that could have been carved in marble.
Now the hot nights sneaking out of her dorm to meet him at the lake, that he remembered.
“Hey, buddy, your booth needs help.”
Drew smirked at the passing heckler, but the sneer reminded him of why he was there.
Damn Audra. Twisted Knickers was her fledgling lingerie company, started last year with a loan Drew had taken against the bar. The kid had talent and she’d impressed him with a savvy business plan. But she was a flake. And that’s why he was stuck in Vegas. Not that he had anything against Sin City. But the bar was finally getting back on its feet, which meant Drew didn’t have time to party right now.
But Audra had played the sick card that morning, forcing him to bust ass to come in her place. Supposedly, she’d be on the next flight out. Drew made a mental note to call the bar and make sure she was up and moving. He figured his kid sister had been given to him as payback for being hell on wheels when he’d been younger. At twenty-two, Audra made him look like a choirboy. But Drew had promised the old man he’d take care of her.
And that meant getting her financially settled with a solid career that’d keep her out of trouble.
He squinted at the detailed booth schematic she packed with the merchandise. The only thing he knew about lingerie was how to strip it off. But, hey, he was a can-do kind of guy, he’d figure it out.
And just as soon as he got these panties unpacked and the show on the road, he was gonna chase down his luscious past. Because one way or another, he planned to get his hands on Tasha Stover again. Tasha, who still heated the occasional dream. His father had always said that life had a way of coming back around. It looked like that was happening now.
He’d never told Natasha why he was leaving. Maybe he’d figured if he said it aloud, it’d be more real. More likely though, he’d been thoroughly hooked and was afraid of letting her get any closer. She’d been getting weird anyway, probably having second thoughts about slumming with a guy who paid his rent by hustling pool.
So he’d simply walked away.
But that was then.
Drew had given up a lot of things over the years. Good times were one of them. But it looked like life had come full circle.
And this time Drew wasn’t walking away from Natasha Stover until he was damn good and ready.
*
“That guy needs help,” Lanie said with a pitying sigh as she eyed the booth across the aisle. “Do you think he knew what he was doing when he put that bustier on the bottom half of the mannequin?”
Natasha took a closer look at the booth she’d been pretending to ignore all morning, except for the occasional sneak peek out of the corner of her eye. Her peeks had missed quite a bit.
Like the fact that Drew had, indeed, dressed one of the skinny mannequins in two bustiers, one on top, one on bottom. It might have been an interesting look if the eye-watering neon-green floral hadn’t clashed with the black and red polka dots.
“What is the man thinking?” Natasha wondered aloud. The rest of his booth was just as bad. Instead of arranging the merchandise around the space, he’d formed piles. Lumpy piles. From what she could see, they might be sorted by category, but it was so jumbled it was hard to tell.
And where was the hunky lingerie vendor? Natasha forced herself not to look for him. She’d spent way too much time sitting, waiting and watching for this man already.
“Do you think this is his first time?”
No, but he’d been her first time. The memory of it had been teasing her all afternoon. A warm summer breeze, stars overhead and a frog orchestra on the edge of a lake. And Drew’s naked body poised above her, his eyes intense as he drove her body to unspeakable pleasure.
Natasha gulped. Nope. Not going there. No matter how much her body begged for just one more tumble for old time’s sake. Just a r
efresher, to see if he’d been as good as her memory insisted. Maybe sex with the guy who’d cursed her love life would break the jinx. Free her to finally have a regular love life. The kind that didn’t get interrupted by fire or beds breaking or erectile dysfunction, dammit.
He owed her that, didn’t he? She wet her lips and shook her head. Thinking like that was going to get her into trouble. Naked trouble, even.
“He doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing,” Lanie mused, still frowning at the booth.
Oh, he knew.
“To be honest, I’m shocked he’s hawking lingerie.” Natasha shrugged. She’d needed some explanation for the hug Lanie had witnessed, so she’d explained that he was an old friend from college. “I don’t think this is quite his thing.”
“No kidding. He really doesn’t look like a frilly undies kind of guy.” Lanie giggled, then patted her loudly growling stomach. “I’m gonna go find something to eat. You want me to bring you back anything?”
Natasha demurred and watched Lanie go, then focused her attention on sorting the business cards she’d collected so far. But the small stack of cards wasn’t enough to distract her brain from bouncing between worry over the lack of success so far to wondering if Drew was still single, still a bad boy and still great in bed.
“Natasha Stover?”
“Hmm?” Natasha murmured and looked up. The deliveryman’s grin glowed against his copper skin. In one hand he held a clipboard, the other was fisted around a bouquet of brightly colored helium-balloons. Natasha frowned. Only they weren’t balloons. Ribbed, neon and glow in the dark condoms were tucked in with vivid fruit-scented reds and purples.
Laughter and good-natured suggestions from the passing attendees filtered through the embarrassment roaring in her ears.
“Who...” Then she saw Drew leaning against the table across the way, his muscular arms crossed over his chest and his feet kicked out in front of him in a casual pose. His grin rivaled the deliveryman’s.
Natasha raised her brows. She tilted her head to the helium filled bouquet and Drew nodded, challenging her to accept it.
Lucky 7 Bad Boys Contemporary Romance Boxed Set Page 36
