Arm Candy

by Jo Leigh

  “Frankly, I don’t think I do, either.”

  “You will, the more we talk.”

  “Don’t be so sure. I’m not terribly bright when it comes to men. I’ve never been in love or anything remotely close to it.”

  His eyebrows came down for a moment, and he sipped some more of his wine. “I don’t think that’ll matter.”

  “No?”

  “My questions are about you. About what you want. What you need.”

  “I can tell you that in about two sentences.”

  “I’m sure. But I hope you won’t. I want you to answer my questions in the order I’m going to ask them. Not before.”

  “Fair enough.”

  He smiled.

  She ate the last piece of bread on her plate. After she’d swallowed, she tapped the table. “Well?”

  “What?”

  “Ask.”

  “Oh, no. Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m having a really good time.”

  She laughed. “And questions will spoil it?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Just how offensive are these questions?”

  It was his turn to laugh. “Not at all. Although, they are personal.”

  “So I’d assumed.”

  “We’ll start later.”

  “When, later? I’m exhausted. All I want now is bed. I have to be up at five.”

  “Which means I have to be up at five, right?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. Tomorrow morning is makeover day. I’ll be at Bloomingdale’s. Owen won’t be.”

  “So when do I report for duty?”

  “Tomorrow evening. It’s the big opening party. I’m afraid it’s black-tie.”

  “No problem. I’m all set.”

  “Okay, then. Just be available from about five on.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She knew he would handle the party well. He was every bit the sophisticate, although not in the least obnoxious about it. The conversation had flowed with surprising ease. But still. “No, it’s not going to work,” she said.

  He immediately sat forward. “What?”

  “I’m never going to get to sleep wondering what the hell you’re going to ask me. So you have to. Ask. At least one question. Dinner’s about done, so it can’t ruin much.”

  He leaned back, not looking pleased. “All right. If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  He looked down for a long moment, long enough for her to grab her fork so she could stab him with it if he didn’t for Pete’s sake say something. Then he lifted his head and his gaze met hers. “Do you like being tied up for sex?”

  Five things you’ll NEVER hear one woman say to another woman:

  1. Oh, look, that woman and I have the same dress on! I think I’ll go introduce myself!

  2. His new girlfriend is thinner and better-looking than I am, and I’m happy for them both.

  3. I’m sick of dating doctors and lawyers! Give me a good old-fashioned waiter with a heart of gold any day!

  4. He talks our relationship to death! It’s making me crazy!

  5. Why can’t I find a guy who’ll have a wild carefree night of sex and then just go his separate way for once?

  Source: Thompson, Dave “Things You’ll Never Hear”

  http://www.ijmc.com/

  5

  JESSICA STARED at Dan, the words he’d spoken echoing in her head. He sat languidly against the dark brown leather, his right arm on the seat, his left still on the table. “Do I what?”

  “Like being tied up for sex?” He leaned forward, moving both hands to his wineglass, his eyes dancing with the light from the flickering-candle centerpiece. “You know, being dominated. Letting yourself be taken, giving the control over to your partner.”

  She took her own wine and drank it all, then put the crystal goblet down carefully. “You said you wanted to ask questions about women. Not about sex.”

  He shook his head. “Sex is part of it. A big part of it. Of course, it’s true, I hadn’t planned on opening with this question, but evidently it was on my mind. So, what the hell.”

  “What the hell?” She crossed her legs, folded her hands on her lap. “I know I agreed to be candid, but for God’s sake, Dan, this is a bit much.”

  “Oh,” he said, surprise evident in his voice and his expression. “I thought you understood. It’s all going to be personal. Intimate. That’s the point.”

  There was still a bit more wine in the bottle, and she poured it all in her glass. If it wasn’t for the day she faced tomorrow, she would have asked for another bottle.

  “I’m not asking to make you uncomfortable. Honestly. I just need to understand you.”

  “And whether or not I like being tied up is going to give you special insight?”

  He nodded. “Maybe not special, but insight, definitely.”

  “Why would you even think—”

  “Because you’re so strong,” he said. “I watched you work today, and you’re a woman who likes to be in control. At least in the workplace. Which made me think that in other areas, you might find it a relief to give up that control.”

  She’d heard that, herself. Actually read about it. Mostly in regards to powerful men, who went to expensive sex clubs where a dominatrix would put them through their paces. After another sip of wine and a deep breath, she met Dan’s gaze. “Well, I’ll tell you, Dan. I’ve never been tied up for sex, so I can’t honestly say I like it or I don’t.”

  “Ever thought about it?”

  “No.”

  “Really?”

  “Now that’s not going to work. Either we’re doing this thing, which I now doubt, or we’re not. If we do proceed, you’re going to have to believe me, or what’s the point?”

  “No. I didn’t mean I doubted your word. I meant—”

  “Okay, then. And yes, really. I’ve never thought about it.”

  “I see.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “I’m not. Well, maybe a little.”

  She laughed, more out of surprise than anything. “You’re a very unusual person. You know that, right?”

  “Unusual? That’s a nice way to put it. But yes, I know. I’ve been that way forever. Probably because of the way I was brought up.”

  “Which was?”

  “My parents didn’t believe in traditional education. I didn’t go to school.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I was homeschooled. But even that wasn’t done in the traditional way. My parents were devotees of a man named John Holt. He believed that children are sponges, and that curiosity is innate. Given the opportunity, kids will explore every subject they can. But most kids aren’t afforded the luxury of being able to learn freely. I was.”

  “How did you decide what to explore?”

  “Whatever caught my interest. I liked bugs, so I went out and caught all kinds of bugs. I read books on entomology. I went to museums in Africa, Asia and right here in New York. So I know a lot about bugs.”

  “But that supposes you knew how to read. That you knew what to look up.”

  “Right. My folks taught me to read and write. Very early, evidently. And I went to libraries and museums before I could walk.”

  “And that’s how you learned everything? What if you’d decided you didn’t like math?”

  “That’s the whole point. Anything can be interesting if it’s presented with passion. I saw early that money was a powerful tool, so learning how to count it came as a natural consequence.”

  “But there were subjects in school I hated.”

  “I’ll bet your teachers had a great deal to do with it. Remember, the key is passion. It’s infectious. You want to participate when someone’s having a blast. My parents made sure I was exposed to people who loved what they did.”

  “My God. How did they know you’d be well rounded? What about college?

  He smiled. “I didn’t go. The
way I see it, I’m still in the university. Remember, learning isn’t really about rote memorization, not even close. It’s about understanding. Not that I understand everything I tackle, but I get close. I mean, I get the basics of quantum physics, but that’s it. On the other hand, I know quite a bit about computer software.”

  “So I read.”

  He raised a eyebrow. “Read?”

  “You didn’t think I was going to let you stay in my room without doing some research of my own, did you?”

  “I didn’t think about it, but now that you mention it, smart move. What did you discover?”

  “That you’ve got a highly successful software consulting business, and that you weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t need my money.”

  “That’s it? All you found out was about my business life?”

  “I looked on the Internet, not into a crystal ball.”

  His laugh made her smile. The conversation made her dizzy. He was like no one she’d ever met. The sex question had thrown her for a loop, and she still wasn’t sure she wanted to bare that much of her life to a stranger, but on the other hand, my God. He was fascinating. She hadn’t been fascinated by a man in…forever.

  “Well, next time, go beyond Google. I’m in there.”

  “What would I find?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. I’m not going to tell you. I don’t want to be the only one who’s surprised during our time together.”

  “I think that ship has sailed. I’m surprised. Trust me.”

  He leaned over so his mouth came very close to her ear. So close, she could feel his warm breath. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he whispered.

  “No,” she said, her voice just as soft, although she couldn’t fathom why. “I imagine I haven’t.” After she cleared her throat, uncrossed her legs and checked the time, she turned to him again. “But let’s try not to shock me out of my wits, shall we? This week is awfully important.”

  “I can’t make any promises,” he said. “But I’ll try.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s time to hit the sack. Unless you want dessert?”

  She shook her head. “I need sleep. As much as I can steal.”

  “Then let me take care of this posthaste.”

  He was true to his word, and in short order they were back at the suite Owen had so kindly provided. The first thing she saw when she turned on the light was a basket of inordinate size sitting on the coffee table. She crossed the room and plucked the card from the wrapping. She read:

  Jessica, I loved the gag. Let’s talk. Breakfast tomorrow before Bloomingdale’s? I’ll be in the coffee shop at six.

  The note wasn’t signed, but of course she knew who it was from. At least she knew she’d be having breakfast in the suite.

  “Cool basket,” Dan said. “From Owen?”

  “Yep.”

  “I see chocolate. I see champagne. Excellent.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s worried. By the time the party’s over tomorrow night, he’ll be totally convinced.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Trust me.”

  She tossed the card on the table and looked into Dan’s eyes. “You know what’s completely weird?”

  “What?”

  “I do.”

  MARLA CHECKED her clipboard for the fiftieth time in the last hour. Everything had gone like clockwork at the makeover, which made her very nervous.

  All ten of the lucky winners had been coiffed, massaged, facialed and made up with New Dawn cosmetics, and they all looked fabulous. Pictures had been taken, the media had been cooperative, and all in all, the first leg of Operation New Dawn had been a smashing success.

  Now, while Jessica was doing her last-minute thing at the Panorama, Marla was in charge of collecting the models and getting them spruced up and prepared for the night’s soiree.

  No problem. Except, of course, for one thing. In Marla’s not-so-humble opinion, the model, no The Model who was the star of the campaign wasn’t Sheree O’Brien, although she was making almost five million dollars a year as the New Dawn woman. The real star was none other than Shawn Foote. He wasn’t as famous as Sheree, but he was much, much better-looking. In fact, he was the single most handsome man on the face of the earth. Marla knew this, because she’d seen a lot of people, and none of them came close to Shawn’s gorgeousness.

  Just thinking about him made her palms all sweaty, which sucked because she might get to touch him, and she didn’t want him going “Ugh” first thing. First impressions, and all.

  But, oh, he was so…She sighed. His hair, honey-wheat and thick, tumbled around his face in the sexiest possible way. His brown eyes were sweet and soulful. She sighed. She was going to be a gibbering idiot when she met him, she just knew it.

  Checking her watch again, she saw the models were due in, like, two minutes. They had taken over half the salon at the hotel, and cordoned it off. A whole lot of lookie-loos were standing outside the barricade, waiting to see what was going on. Also some paparazzi, but she wasn’t worried. Publicity was the name of this game.

  All she had to do was not trip or throw up or something. Act like a professional. Act like Jessica. She could do it. At least she could try.

  A limousine pulled up under the awning, and a uniformed bellman went to the door. Marla’s heart started thumping in her chest and she wiped her hands on her skirt. Pasting on a smile, she walked to the curb, but it was just Sheree. Of course, the throng went a little nuts, and the flashbulbs exploded all around, but she’d met the supermodel before, and Sheree even remembered her name. Marla escorted her to the waiting stylists, made sure she had coffee, then skedaddled back outside.

  Two more models showed up, and Marla hustled them inside, and then, it happened. He arrived. The only male model, there to show off Daybreak cologne, he stepped out of his limo wearing worn jeans, a Joe Boxer T-shirt and scuffed Skechers. Her heart skipped, jumped, leapt as he turned her way and smiled. Oh, God! That smile. That face. That hair. She couldn’t take it. She was going to die, right here, and that would be okay because Shawn had smiled at her as if she was a real person or something.

  “You must be Marla,” he said.

  His voice. It was just as she’d imagined. Soft, low, perfect. She managed a nod.

  “Great to meet you. I’m Shawn.” He held out his hand.

  She panicked. Sweat. Ugh. But she couldn’t wipe it again. Not while he stood there. So she just swallowed hard and stuck it out there.

  His grip was gentle, but not wussy. He hesitated for just a few seconds. She knew because she counted every heartbeat. Then he let her go, at least her hand. Not her gaze. That he held, and she was lost. Lost.

  “Where to?” he asked.

  “I don’t…Oh. Uh, this way.” She spun around, almost losing her footing, but she didn’t fall, thank God, and she somehow walked him past all the photographers and gawkers until he was inside the salon.

  Terry, the lucky dog, was going to put on Shawn’s makeup for all the pictures and stuff. There were going to be tons of TV cameras and photographers. But he didn’t seem to mind. He just sat down, grinned and said, “Have at it.”

  Marla watched as Terry put a big cape over his body, then ran her fingers through his hair.

  That was it. All Marla could stand. If she watched for another second she would expire from the sheer magnificence of it all.

  She tore her gaze from the mirror, then from the back of his head. She forced herself to take a step, then another until she was around the corner. She slumped against the wall, desperate to get her breathing back to normal. She still had a lot of work to do. But for the moment, while she recovered, she could think about the way he’d smiled.

  She sighed. It was going to be a weird and wonderful week.

  Why do men get married?

  So they don’t have to hold their stomachs in anymore.

  What are a woman’s four favorite animals?

  A mink in
the closet, a Jaguar in the garage, a tiger in the bedroom and an ass to pay for it all.

  How do you get a man to do sit-ups?

  Put the remote control between his toes.

  What’s the difference between men and government bonds?

  Bonds mature.

  Why are married women heavier than single women?

  Single women come home, see what’s in the fridge and go to bed. Married women come home, see what’s in bed and go to the fridge.

  Source: Thompson, Dave “More Dumb Men Jokes”

  http://ijmc.com/

  ♥ Uploaded by Coral ♥

  6

  DAN LOOKED at himself in the mirror, and straightened his tie. He liked the Armani tux and thought it worth the extravagant price he’d paid. The tailoring was so fine he felt completely at ease and ready for the night ahead.

  He expected to find Jessica waiting for him in the living room, but the bedroom door was still closed. She’d gotten home an hour ago, given him a brief report on her day, including Owen’s insistence that Dan wasn’t really her boyfriend, and then she’d closed herself in to get ready for the gala.

  He’d stared at the door for a long time, aware of the urge to walk in on her, to watch her as she dressed. In his mind’s eye he’d imagined her sorting out her things, preparing herself layer by layer. Dressed in nothing more than a long royal-blue kimono, she’d passed by on her way to her shower. When she reappeared, her hair was fixed in a sensual updo and her makeup made her blue eyes seem startlingly vivid and her full lips moist and ripe as just-picked strawberries.

  She’d disappeared again, leaving him to get dressed, and he’d taken his time. They were to be at the party a full hour before the first guests should arrive so that Jessica could take care of any last-minute details. Marla had called once, and Jessica had taken it in the bedroom. Other than that interruption, he’d been left to his own thoughts, which had gone in one very narrow direction.