Velvet, Leather & Lace

by Suzanne Forster, Donna Kauffman

  She couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened if they hadn’t fallen in the pool. Never mind the sexual bliss. Would he have been in bed with her now, his body curved behind hers, his arm carelessly draped over her breasts?

  She whimpered in despair and left the bed. She wanted it all, desperately. The entire mating dance, everything from eye contact to afterglow. Every sweet thing Jamie Baird could give her. She wanted it.

  Determined to break his hold on her mind, she made quick work of getting herself ready. Action would be her distraction. Smiling at the thought, she popped some rollers in her hair and then headed for the shower. Twenty minutes later, record time for her, she was groomed, dressed for comfort in white cutoff jeans and a parfait-pink top, and ready to go. Even her hair had cooperated. The long burnished waves looked bouncy and freshly washed.

  That must be a sign. A good hair day had to mean that the forces were on her side. Fortunately, the mission she had to accomplish would keep her from obsessing over what they’d done last night—and berating herself. He’d been as wound up as she had. Who made up the rule that she was the responsible party, even if she had used some wiles? He’d enticed her right back, and he was the sexual desperado, after all.

  She stopped on the way out of the bedroom, curious about the dressmaker’s dummy. It was draped with a cream-colored material that was as sheer and delicate as gossamer. She hadn’t noticed before, but the design looked like an antique nightgown with a high lacy neck and pearl buttons, except that some vital parts were missing. Two large openings were cut into the bodice, each with a flap that could be buttoned to create the image of a pocket.

  The gown must be for nursing mothers, Lorna decided. But then she noticed the skirt. It was tacked together with a panel between the legs, and a cutout where the crotch would have been. A birthing gown? Another opening in the back confused her, as did the false pockets along the side seams. All very strange, and there wasn’t time to investigate further. She needed to find Jamie and get started with the coaching sessions.

  As it turned out, finding him was the easy part. He was at the dining room table, bent over a legal pad and so absorbed with whatever he was writing that he didn’t seem to have noticed her. It was harder to believe he hadn’t noticed that this was the dining room table where he’d ravished her on their second date. To be fair, perhaps they’d ravished each other, but she wasn’t thrilled he’d picked that exact spot today.

  On that night she’d been up against the table, on the table and bent over the table, very near the spot where he was sitting. That might make it a little hard to concentrate, at least for her.

  “Hey.” He glanced up at her, his dark gaze sliding over the summery outfit she wore. “Today, you look like cotton candy.”

  She managed not to thank him for the compliment. He looked like an ad for the military in his camouflage-print trunks and muscle shirt. He could have been working on the engine of a jeep. Now she understood what the word ripped meant when it applied to arms and shoulders. She could see the visible grooves in his muscles, even when they weren’t flexed. In fact, it was hard to take her eyes off them.

  She slapped herself mentally. “Are those interview questions?” she asked, indicating his legal pad.

  “Not the actual ones, but I have a pretty good idea what the reporter’s going to ask, so I’m making a list of possible questions and answers for you to study. I’m almost finished. Meanwhile, are you hungry? I ordered in.”

  He got up from the table and showed her the island divider where he’d laid out an array of food. “Help yourself,” he said. “There’s a place down the street that makes the best heuvos rancheros in town. We’ve also got Spanish rice, black beans, hot tortillas and fresh salsa. Coffee’s on the kitchen counter. I just made a fresh pot.”

  Her last meal had been an early dinner of corn chowder and a green salad. She was hungry.

  “These eggs look good,” she said, admiring the colorful dish. It bubbled with cheese and a rich red sauce, and the aroma of onions and peppers wafted up to tantalize her. She scooped up plenty of the heuvos and rice, heaping her plate. She also spotted a bowl of fresh fruit and some fluffy lemon muffins.

  “Cream, sugar?” he asked, apparently intending to get her a cup of coffee.

  “Thanks, but I’m swearing off.” Caffeine was one of the stressors she’d eliminated in her quest to find balance and inner harmony. But the big one was supposed to have been men. Ha!

  She narrowly avoided walking into a shiny metal pole as she went over to the counter to sit on one of the stools. She was not up for eating brunch on the dining room table, everything considered.

  “Delicious,” she said, rhapsodizing over a bite of eggs and Spanish rice.

  He smiled, hovering. “Can I get you anything else?”

  He stood right next to the pole she’d nearly hit. The floor-to-ceiling device looked as if it had come from a fire station, and a person could actually slide down it. She must have looked right through it when she’d first come into the room. He really did distract her. Last night she’d completely missed that odd gown hanging on the dressmaker’s dummy.

  “What is that thing?” she asked him.

  “A pole.”

  “I can see that. Why is it in the middle of your kitchen?”

  “It isn’t normally in the middle of my kitchen, but if it were, it would be for pole dancing.”

  “You pole dance?”

  “Let’s just say Jamie Baird pole dances.”

  Lorna had been kidding. He obviously wasn’t. He shrugged as if to say why not? Wink, wink. Pole dancing is great exercise.

  She gaped at him, wondering if she would ever get her mouth shut again. “Tell me you’re not serious. Please, tell me you’re not.”

  “It’s great exercise,” he said, slapping the pole.

  He was so predictable. “If you’re a firefighter, yes. But I’m a carb-loving thirty-year-old woman who considers yoga strenuous exercise, and you’re not getting me near that thing. Forget the vacation in Tahiti. Forget you ever met me. The deal is off.”

  She rose from the stool and turned on her heel, but her swinging foot hadn’t even touched the ground before he whipped her back. They could have been taking a tango lesson. “Jamie!”

  “How do you know you won’t like it?” he argued. “You’re beautiful, voluptuous and sexy. I’ll bet you could make that pole sweat just by—”

  “It is not my goal in life to make a pole sweat. Any pole, even your— Oh, never mind.”

  His eyes glinted, hot with male interest. He wanted to pursue her slip of the tongue, but something else was driving him.

  “I am serious,” he said. “You’re a shapely woman, Lorna, emphasis on woman. You could stop traffic. The 405 freeway would be a parking lot.”

  “Also not one of my goals.”

  “What is your goal?”

  “To end this conversation?”

  “All right,” he said, releasing her. He nodded, as if coming to his senses. A hurricane-force sigh escaped him. “You don’t have to pole dance. It was probably a bad idea…but it would really help me if you did.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s good business. VLL is featuring the poles in the next catalog, and we’re betting they’ll be one of this year’s hottest Christmas items. We have an entire pole-dancing package, and I’d like you to plug it during the interview.”

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “I never agreed to anything like this. I’m not pushing packages for you, especially if poles are involved.”

  “No one’s asking you to push anything.” He went to the table and grabbed his sketch pad. “All you have to do is show this design to the reporter, tell him it’s VLL’s latest creation, and when he asks what it’s for, you can show him the pole. There’s no shame in that. You represent a lingerie company, Lorna. I mean Jamie. The pole is part of our marketing strategy for the goods we sell.”

  He held out the sketch pad, which she
ignored. “The reporter’s a he?”

  “A he whose name is Hudley Campbell, and his normal beat is technology. Should be interesting.”

  “Won’t he be angry when he finds out you duped him? Can you afford to make an enemy out of a Times reporter?”

  “No,” Jamie admitted, “which is why I’m going to offer him an exclusive after the fashion show. He’ll get to break the real story on Jamie Baird. I’m hoping that will make him happy and generate more publicity for VLL. It’s a risk, but I don’t have much choice at this point.”

  “A risk because of the timing?”

  “Right. An exposé about VLL’s closet male could eclipse the launch of the show. It’s impossible to control the media, especially when they smell a scandal. That’s why I can’t go public now. After the global launch, with any luck, it will keep the buzz going.”

  He’d thought of everything, and she didn’t doubt that he would land on his feet. Guys like Jamie always did. “Would I be expected to talk about my designs,” she asked, “meaning your designs?”

  “If he brings it up, just be coy. Tell him we can’t give away all our trade secrets. As I just said, I don’t want him to break the story about Jamie Baird being a man. It would take the focus off the show and put it on me.”

  Reluctantly, Lorna took the pad from his hand. Even more reluctantly she admitted that his pole-dancing idea wasn’t bad. The drawing wasn’t finished. He hadn’t completed the model’s facial features, but he’d colored in the fabric, and it appeared to be a red velvet leotard, or maybe a cat suit. The lines were fabulous. The plunging V-neck would show off a woman’s décolletage and the wrap midriff would support the bust and tuck in the waist, giving the illusion of an hourglass figure.

  Now she was thinking like a designer?

  Jamie poured himself another cup of coffee and returned. “Campbell will want to see some of the designs that will be featured in the satellite show. Would you be willing to show him this?”

  Lorna nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  “Thank you.” Relief was evident in his voice. “You can’t tell by the drawing,” he said, pointing to the design, “but the material is stretch velvet, and it does more than cling—it holds and controls. See how the fabric hugs the tummy and the butt?”

  As he bent over her, pointing out various aspects of the outfit, she could feel the steamy combination of his breath and his body heat.

  She glanced up at him. “Is this me?”

  “The woman in the drawing? Is she you?” He met her gaze and very nearly stopped her heart. “Right down to the mole on her breast,” he said, his voice growing increasingly husky.

  “I don’t see the mole.” She touched her throat.

  “Would you like me to draw it for you?” he asked.

  Lorna didn’t realize where her hand had drifted until she saw his eyes darken, and his face go hot. “It’s right here,” she said, pretending she’d meant to touch her breast all along. “But thanks anyway.”

  “Not a problem. Any time.” He coughed and thumped his chest with his fist. “I have some calls to make. I’ll leave you here with the interview material unless there’s anything else you need. Oh, you haven’t finished your breakfast. Want me to warm it up in the microwave?”

  Lorna had taken exactly one bite. “Thanks,” she said.

  Just moments later, he had her settled on the great room couch with a lap tray, a plate of steaming food and his legal pad of questions and answers.

  “Sorry I took up the whole dining room table,” he said, “but this should be more comfortable anyway. And I just happen to have something to show you.”

  The great room had a large flat panel TV that dropped like a movie screen from the ceiling. Beneath the TV, a glass and mahogany console housed Jamie’s video collection. He took an encased CD from a revolving rack in the console.

  “This should answer any questions you might have about pole dancing,” he said, showing her the case. “It’s the video we’re including in the package.”

  “I don’t have any questions about pole dancing.”

  “You never know.” He slipped the disk in the player and hit the button, then flashed her an encouraging smile and made his exit.

  His teeth were sparkly enough for a toothpaste commercial.

  Pointed canines, she observed. Don’t be fooled. He probably polishes off little girls like you for brunch.

  Lorna had given up on the heuvos. And if she had doubts about what pole dancing was, the video quickly cleared it up. The TV screen was filled with the image of a woman slithering up and down the pole and essentially making love to an inanimate object. The whole thing was rather snakelike. Jamie was right about it being good exercise…but only if you had the vertebrae of an anaconda.

  Still, Lorna watched and became increasingly fascinated with the woman’s fluid grace. She’d never seen anything quite so sensual. It was almost as if the pole were partnering the woman, and they were performing a strange and beautiful dance. They both seemed to be moving, although Lorna knew that wasn’t possible.

  She smiled as the woman gripped the pole and swung in a wide arc, flinging out her arm as if she were reaching for the gold ring. Next, she hooked the pole with her knee and arched backward from the waist, whipping around, her hair flying. The wicked part of Lorna would love to have tried that move, but not under the present circumstances.

  Pole dancing might be the perfect opportunity to bring Jamie Baird—or any man—to his knees. But last night had cured Lorna of trying to teach him a lesson with her womanly wiles. She didn’t have enough self-control for that. She would have to find another way to get her point across—and quickly. Scorned women everywhere were counting on her, and she was running out of time.

  SHE WAS CIRCLING the pole. Jamie watched her from the terrace, hidden by the French doors. He hadn’t intended to spy. He’d left her in the great room to prepare while he’d gone to the guest room to check his voice mail and make some phone calls.

  The voice mail had been light, probably because it was the weekend, although some of his staff were working overtime now because of the show. There’d only been a dozen calls stacked up since last night. He’d left messages for his two partners, who were both heavily involved with other aspects of the show, and then he checked in with his assistant for updates, and to let her know he wouldn’t be in the next day because of the interview. After that, he’d thought about crunching some numbers, but had decided to get some fresh air first. That’s when he’d come outside and seen her through the door’s louvers. Naked curiosity had held him fast.

  She did fascinate him beyond comprehension, especially after last night. The physical attraction was obvious. She’d turned him into one of those Mayan fertility statues with penises like brickbats. It wasn’t enough that his morning erection never went down; she stirred feelings in him that didn’t make sense. When he was around her he felt happy and sad at the same time. It should be one or the other, right? What was it with these undifferentiated pangs? How was a man supposed to know if he was feeling good or bad?

  It was tough enough to think with a perpetual hard-on. It was impossible with these…feelings.

  Maybe you should actually go crunch those numbers, Baird.

  It reassured him that a part of his brain was still struggling to make sense against the onslaught. He ignored it, of course, and maneuvered to get a better look at her through the space between the open doors. The woman hadn’t stopped in the entire time since he’d been listening. She’d gone over the interview material, and then busied herself rearranging the area. He appreciated that she’d tucked away some of the guy stuff he’d overlooked, like his sports magazines and his barbells. When she was done with that, she had actually rehearsed some of the interview questions out loud—and she was good. Very natural. Very chatty and funny. The reporter was going to love her, thank God.

  But now she was in the kitchen, circling the pole with an intrigued expression. And Jamie loved that. She looked
as though she might want to try a move or two. He knew how sexy she could be. The pole was about to find out.

  He drew in a breath as she let her fingers glide over the smooth metal surface. She wrapped her hand around it and tugged, probably testing it for strength. That gave him a couple of twinges, which only deepened as she clasped her other hand and fell backward, swaying.

  She began to swing in a circle, drawing her body up and falling back, moving faster as she went around. He didn’t fail to notice that each time she came up, her breasts made contact, brushing the pole and gliding along its smooth surface. It almost hurt to watch. If he could have traded places with anything in the world right then, it would have been that goofy pole.

  “You really should try it,” she said, giggling merrily. “It gets the blood racing, and it’s great for erections.”

  Jamie’s besotted brain snapped to attention. He thought she was talking to him. But she was looking the other way, and he realized she was pretending to talk to the reporter. She must be rehearsing again.

  “Do I pole dance?” she said. “Oh, you bet. I’ve got a few moves in me.”

  Jamie sincerely hoped that she didn’t plan to discusss erections with Hudley Campbell. However, if she did a little demonstration, it should get plenty of attention, which would be good for VLL. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or nervous that she was getting into the idea of being Jamie Baird.

  Clearly, he was under too much pressure. There was a lot at stake beyond his personal interest in the company. VLL employed about thirty people at the administrative level, which was his baby. But that was a drop in the bucket compared to the work they subcontracted out. They didn’t outsource the production of the clothing to other countries. It was done right here in the U.S. by hundreds of workers who needed their jobs. And then there were his partners, Samantha and Mia. He’d never seen two people work harder. This might be the company’s only shot at a larger share of the market and he couldn’t let their efforts be wasted.

  Jamie’s focus shifted back to Lorna, and he realized he was smiling. He had the feeling his body was smiling, too, in places it shouldn’t be. Good thing she’d studied that interview material because he might just have to corner her a little later and give her a pop quiz.