Negligee Behavior

by Shelli Stevens

  “Not at all.” A look of revulsion swept across Sebastian’s face. “The woman kept screaming ‘Screw me harder, you dirty Brit.’ I tell you it freaked me out after about the tenth time. Shite, I don’t know why I took her home in the first place.”

  “To get fucked?”

  “There is that aspect, yes.”

  “You’ll find the right girl, buddy. She’s out there.”

  Something close to unease flickered in Sebastian’s eyes, before he looked away. “She may be, but I’m not looking right now.” He cleared his throat. “Look, I didn’t come back here to just bring up Brandy, though.”

  “No?”

  “No. You have some big reporter out front who wants to interview you.”

  “Again?” Marco cursed and straightened a stack of papers on his desk.

  “Yeah. I don’t think they’re going to leave you be until you give one of the blokes an interview.”

  “Well, hell.”

  “Just make it clear you’re only giving one and be done with it.”

  Marco’s mouth tightened. Damn, this was not going to be pleasant. But Sebastian was right, it needed to be done.

  “Okay. Tell them I’ll be out in five minutes.”

  Sebastian nodded and left the office again.

  Marco attempted to gear up for the godawful questions that were sure to come his way. Questions about why he’d quit his career as a prominent defense attorney on the rise. Questions about why he’d chosen to open a bar.

  But those weren’t the questions he dreaded. Not by any means. The worst would be the question about Brandy.

  He drew in an unsteady breath and stood up. Now he just had to figure out how the hell he’d answer them.

  Brandy snuggled deeper into the couch, curling her legs up under her bottom and cradling the small glass in her hand.

  Her mother walked by and covered the mouthpiece on her cell phone, admonishing a quick, “Drink your scotch and soda, honey.”

  Wincing, Brandy took another sip. The fiery drink warmed her belly, but did little to ease the numbness in her heart. She set the glass down on her side table and then fiddled with the edge of her T-shirt. Well, not really her shirt, but Marco’s.

  She pulled the hem of the shirt outward and stared at the words Dante’s Place scrawled across it. She lifted the shirt to her nose and inhaled, hoping to find the scent of him still there. Nothing but her perfume by now.

  Tears pricked, but she blinked rapidly to dispel them.

  “You need to get out of the house, honey.” Her mother came back into the room and sat down next to her. “You’re so depressed.”

  “I’m not depressed.”

  “Oh, but you are.” Her mom shook her head. “Ever since you watched that Entertainment Hollywood show and saw that bartender you stayed with on there.”

  It had already been four days since the show had run, but the interview had been looping in her head repeatedly since it aired.

  When Marco had spoken about his new life running a bar, and why he’d left his past career, she’d bawled buckets of tears for him. She’d been struck by the anguish and pain in him that had obviously never healed.

  But her tears for him had turned into tears for herself when they’d asked about her.

  A pity party? Maybe. But being described as some random woman who’d just happened to turn to him for help kind of hurt a bit. And then when the reporter had probed to find out if there was a romantic connection between them, he’d paused and looked at the camera before saying quietly ‘She’s not really my type’.

  Which is what she’d known all along. She wasn’t Marco’s type. Right? She bit back another sniffle.

  Good thing she’d seen that show in time. She’d actually had plans to fly back to Vegas the next morning to see him again. To see if he still wanted her. Her chest tightened with immediate pain.

  The interview had answered that question well enough. Marco had only been amusing himself with her.

  “You really liked that man, didn’t you?”

  The question from her mom threw her for a curve.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “That bartender.”

  “He used to be a lawyer, and he actually owns half that bar, you know.”

  “I realize that.” Her mother crossed her legs. “And your father used to make pottery.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Nothing, I’m just saying you like the man. Maybe you even loved him?” She cleared her throat. “Or was it all about the sex?”

  “Mom!” God, if her mom had any idea how on the spot she was she’d never stop probing. Like a dog with a bone…

  “Sorry, honey. Just checking.”

  “Yeah, well, check something else please.”

  “All right, since you insist.” Her mom stood up and crossed the room to pick up her trendy designer purse. “I have something for you.”

  “I don’t need any money,” Brandy protested wearily.

  “I’m not offering you money. I’m offering you this.”

  Brandy finally noticed the envelope her mother held out.

  “What is it?”

  “A letter.”

  “From who?”

  “From the bartender.”

  Brandy snatched the letter from her mother’s hands, her mouth suddenly dry. “Where did you get this?”

  “I found it this morning while I was sorting through the bag of clothes you left at the bartender’s house. It was at the bottom of the bag.” She sat back down on the couch. “I fired her, you know. My assistant. The very same day I sent her to pick up your stuff. That girl was terribly moody and I caught her stealing some of my silver.”

  “That bartender has a name, mom,” Brandy replied in exasperation and opened the letter—which already appeared to have been opened.

  “Yes, it’s Marco.”

  “Did Marcy read this? It’s open.”

  “No, I found it unopened. She must have forgotten to give it to you—or maybe she was just annoyed I canned her butt and decided to let you find it months down the road.” Her mom waved her hand. “In any case, I read it.”

  “You read it?”

  “Yes, and it’s really a rather good letter. You should read it, honey.”

  “Oh my God. I can’t believe you read my letter. And I would read it if you’d let me.”

  She shook her head in disbelief and turned her attention to the letter in her hand. Her hands started to shake after the first line, and by the time she’d finished her vision was blurred with tears.

  “How could that bitch of an assistant forget to give me this?” she growled.

  “Yes, well, like I said, it may have been deliberate.” Her mom patted her blond coif and cleared her throat. “I can’t say she was too happy about being let go.”

  “This letter…” The words died as a flood of tears choked off her ability to speak.

  “It’s quite good, right? I mean, he loves you.”

  Brandy set the letter down and whispered. “Yes. He does.”

  “So that’s why I was asking if you loved him.”

  Brandy closed her eyes, her heart pounding as warmth spread to every inch of her body.

  That interview he’d done with Entertainment Hollywood…when he’d said she wasn’t his type had probably been a lie. Hell, he’d sent this letter a week ago and in his eyes she’d just never replied. What else could he be thinking?

  She opened her eyes and leaned back against the couch, relief making her dizzy. “Yes, Mom, I love him.”

  “Wonderful! I can’t wait to meet him! You’ll have to bring him by the—”

  “Mom, could you let me work some stuff out with him first?” She stood up and stretched.

  “Of course! It’s just after your dad read the letter he was a bit anxious to meet him—”

  “Dad read the letter, too? Oh for fuck’s sake.” She shook her head.

  “Brandy! I just adore this new side to you.” Her mom
stood and gripped her hands. “You’re really letting loose.”

  “Yes, well that needs to curb itself when I start the school year.” She winced and touched her forehead. “The kids will keel over if I come back in miniskirts and cussing like a sailor.”

  “Ah, yes, so true.”

  Brandy headed toward the bathroom, already debating what to wear.

  “Mom?” She turned around before she reached the door.

  “Yes, honey?”

  “Thank you for being so supportive.” She hesitated. “I’ve always been so proud of you and Dad, and how you built Sugar and Spice up from the ground.”

  Brandy saw the flicker of surprise and pleasure in her mom’s eyes, and it made her realize she’d been stingy with the compliments and admitting how proud she was of them.

  “And I just want to say…” She drew in another deep breath and then purged on with the other thing that had been weighing heavily in her heart. “that I would very much love to be a part of the company in the future. Not give up my career completely, mind you. I love to teach. But Sugar and Spice started as a family business…and it should stay in the family.”

  Her mother’s head bobbed up and down with obvious shock, and Brandy spotted the sheen of tears in her eyes.

  “Okay, now I’m off to shower. Because tonight I will get my man back.” She clenched her fists and moved out of the room, turning at the door. “Oh, and Mom?”

  “Yes, honey?” Her mom’s voice trembled with emotion.

  “I think tonight I’ll take you up on that offer to use the plane.”

  “I’m locking up.” Sebastian called from the front. “Do you want me to stick around until you finish up, mate?”

  “I’ve got it. See you tomorrow. Don’t forget we’re interviewing for a few new waitresses.”

  “I’ll be there. You know I love this part of my job.”

  “Pervert,” Marco called and plugged in some numbers into the calculator.

  “That I am. Good night.”

  The door slammed shut. Marco set down the receipts. Christ, he needed a vacation. He needed to get the hell out of Vegas for a while and maybe bury himself in some third world nation. Some place where his shredded heart would be considered a minor issue.

  He picked up the receipts again and started tallying them. The door to the bar opened, and a sliver of light spilled on the floor.

  “What did you forget, Sebastian?”

  There was no reply, only the soft click of footsteps. He saw her pumps first, heels that made her legs look endless, and a short denim skirt that ended midthigh.

  He lifted his gaze higher. A familiar purple shirt with a puffy cat on the front stretched over voluptuous curves.

  “Hey,” she said softly.

  Finally he lifted his gaze fully to meet hers. Brandy was here. She’d actually come back.

  “Brandy?”

  “Mmm hmm.” She sat down on the edge of the desk and her skirt rose higher. The familiar smell of apples teased his nostrils. “Did you miss me?”

  “What are you doing here?” He set the receipts down. He wouldn’t allow himself to be hopeful. Wouldn’t jump to any conclusions until she explained why she’d returned. Especially after she’d blown off his letter.

  “What do you think I’m doing here?” She gave a slight shrug and pushed her hair behind her shoulder.

  His jaw hardened and several possible reasons hit him at once.

  “Stop it,” she chided and leaned forward. “I know exactly where your thoughts are going, and you’re wrong.”

  “And where should my thoughts go?” he challenged, his voice harsher than he intended. “You blew off my letter and then show up a week later—”

  “I never received your letter.” She traced a painted nail over his mouth. “My mom’s crap assistant neglected to give it to me. We found it today. I read it, oh, three hours ago to be exact.”

  Relief coursed through his body. Marco grabbed her hand and pressed it into his cheek.

  “Is that so?” he asked, his voice husky now.

  “Yes.”

  “So you read it?”

  She nodded.

  “And you’re not appalled by me? Or disgusted in my decision to leave the firm?”

  “Of course not,” she said softly. “You’re doing what makes you happy. And I searched on the web for you like a mad fool for hours, Marco. You weren’t responsible for that woman’s death. You were a defense attorney, for Pete’s sake. Of course you’re going to take some cases you’d rather not.”

  “I didn’t want to take any. Law wasn’t for me. I pursued it because of my dad. He always wanted to be a lawyer. When he realized I’d argue for hours with a fence post, he encouraged me to pursue the field.”

  “And it wasn’t for you.” Her fingers stroked featherlight along his hairline. “Shit happens.”

  “You just swore.”

  “Yes, a bad habit I picked up from a couple of crazy bartenders I met.”

  “They sound interesting.”

  “Well, one interests me a bit more than the other.” She pushed her fingers into his hair. “Seriously, though, Marco. Why spend your life doing something that doesn’t make you happy?”

  He pressed a kiss into her palm and closed his eyes. God, he didn’t deserve her. She was too understanding. Knew him too well, as if they’d been together years instead of just a couple turbulent, amazing weeks.

  “Besides, you have a fantastic little bar here. Getting busier every day.”

  “Damn, you have no idea.” He shook his head. “We’re interviewing for three more waitress positions tomorrow.”

  “Make it two.”

  He froze and pulled away. “I’m sorry?”

  “Make it two,” she repeated and leaned forward, brushing her lips across his. “I want to work here on the weekends.”

  His pulse slowed and then sped up again. “You want to commute from California?”

  “No.” She brushed another kiss across his mouth, and lingered in a way that had the blood rushing south in his body. “I want to commute from your house.”

  He caught her wrist when she moved to pull away. His gaze searched hers, looking for any sign that she was joking.

  “You want to live with me?”

  “If you’ll let me.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a wad of folded papers. “I printed out a list of schools that are hiring music teachers in the area, and if I can’t get a job at one of them I’ll just teach private lessons.”

  His mouth opened and then closed. She wanted to move to Henderson?

  “Why?” He touched her cheek, sliding his hand around to cup the nape of her neck. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I refuse to have a long-distance relationship with the man I love.”

  “You love me?” Swept by an unfamiliar possessiveness, his fingers tightened around the nape of her neck.

  “Yes. Of course,” she whispered, searching his face. “I’m surprised you couldn’t tell.”

  “I wondered…and on the phone—”

  “I love you, Marco. I love you more than I love my piano, and that says a heck of a lot.”

  “More than your shirt with the cat playing the piano?”

  She tsked. “Now you wouldn’t be mocking me, would you, Mr. Vargas from Vegas?”

  “Hell no, princess. There are many other things I’d rather be doing than mocking you,” he muttered thickly, before tugging her onto his lap and crushing his mouth down on hers.

  His tongue delved past her lips, desperate and hungry to find hers. To have that connection that he’d missed all week. That had nearly driven him mad without.

  “I love you so much, Brandy,” he whispered and reached for the button on her skirt.

  She drew in a shuddering breath and her eyes filled with tears. “I read the words in the letter, but to hear you say them…”

  This woman would be his wife. He knew without a doubt. Already his mind flicked with the possibility of wh
at kind of engagement ring she’d like.

  “I know that look,” she teased and stood up. “Let me get out of these clothes.”

  Obviously she had no idea where his thoughts lay. Good. That meant he’d get the pleasure of surprising her with the ring.

  “Hey, princess?” he said softly as she started to undress.

  “Yes?” She looked up at him.

  “Leave the cat shirt on.”

  A devious smile crossed her face. “I always knew you liked it.”

  “Yeah I do.” He pulled her back onto his lap and murmured, “It grew on me.”

  She wiggled on his lap and dropped a kiss on his nose. “I know something else that’s growing on you.”

  Marco laughed and nuzzled her neck. “And what are you going to do about it?”

  She lowered her mouth just above his and murmured, “Oh, I’m sure I can figure out something.

  About the Author

  Shelli read her first romance novel when she snuck it off her mother’s bookshelf when she was eleven. One taste and she was forever hooked on romance novels. It wasn’t until many years later that she decided to pursue writing stories of her own. By then she acknowledged that the voices in her head didn’t make her crazy, they made her a writer.

  Shelli writes various genres of romance and lives in the Pacific Northwest with her daughter. She’s a compulsive volunteer, and has been known to spontaneously burst into song.

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  ISBN: 978-1-4268-9163-2

  Copyright © 2011 by Shelli Stevens

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