A Courtesan’s Guide to Getting Your Man

by Celeste Bradley

  She continued to glare down at him. Up this close, he got a good look at the subtle sweep of dark eyeliner on her upper lid. It was perfectly executed.

  “You know what, Linc?”

  He gulped. The sudden change in Piper was more than skin deep. Her vibe was stronger. It was like she had purchased a backbone along with that spectacular Marc Jacobs bag she’d shown off at the staff meeting. “Yes?”

  “You don’t threaten me,” she said, a strange little smile spreading across her perfectly glossed lips. “We both know one of us is probably going to lose their job soon. It’s an economic reality. But if you think the board’s decision will be based on your superior skills as a curator, you are sadly mistaken.”

  Linc sniffed. “Really?”

  A glint appeared in her eye when she smiled. It made Linc slightly uncomfortable.

  “Really. And just so you know—you’ve picked the exact wrong time to fuck with Piper Chase-Pierpont.”

  Oookay. Maybe turning thirty had sent the Geek Goddess right over the edge.

  As he departed a moment later, he saw Malloy heading down the hallway. Linc nodded deferentially, watched Mick walk through Piper’s open door, then slinked his way back, where he plastered his body against the wall so he could eavesdrop.

  “Piper,” he heard Mick say. “We need to talk.”

  Fourteen

  Saying no to Mick Malloy was proving to be far more difficult than Piper could’ve imagined.

  Thank God she’d memorized the advice the Swan had given Ophelia: “Remain loving but elusive, affectionate but intangible. A man must never believe his pursuit is complete. Availability is death to Mystery.”

  But damn, he was gorgeous! He’d just charged into her workroom like he owned the place, propped his delicious man-bottom on the edge of her worktable, and folded his hands in his lap. “We should have taken care of this ten years ago,” he said.

  Piper was grateful she was seated and her legs were hidden under the old gunmetal-gray basement desk, because her knees were shaking.

  “I’m a bit busy right now.”

  “You never let me explain myself back then.”

  She did her best to produce a gentle—and mystery-filled—smile. “There was nothing to explain.”

  When he frowned, those thick, dark eyebrows angled down, and his entire face took on a broodingly sexual intensity. She couldn’t help it. She pictured him lying beneath her in the Irish heather, his waistcoat and shirt ripped open and his nankeen breeches undone, her skirts of gathered muslin and eyelet embroidery puddled around them, hiding their heated union.

  Keep it together, Piper.

  “Have lunch with me.”

  “Mick, I’d love to. Really.” Piper offered what she hoped was a self-effacing laugh. “But as you might have noticed from my presentation this morning, I’m not exactly ahead of schedule.”

  Mick turned his handsome head on his sun-kissed neck and began studying the floor-to-ceiling catalog of artifacts. When he pivoted at the waist, Piper could see the firm tapering of his midsection beneath his shirt. Suddenly, Mick jumped up. He strode across the room to the far corner, to the towering chestnut headboard that had once held sentry over the marital bed of Ophelia and her husband.

  She watched Mick slowly brush his fingertips along the ornate carved pattern of the wood.

  He turned around quickly, a thoughtfulness in his expression. “Coffee, then,” he said, lowering his arm to his side. He began to walk back toward her. “I’d like to hear more about your plans for the exhibit. She was quite a character, wasn’t she? The world had never seen anything like her, had they?”

  Piper straightened in her chair, alarmed. It took a moment for her to realize Mick was referring to Ophelia’s solo public speaking engagements, an undertaking thought to be scandalously improper for a woman of her time. Of course, he knew nothing of Ophelia’s life as a courtesan. He knew nothing about the roots of her infamous daring. No one did. None of the little fourth-grade girls in Massachusetts had any idea what she’d risked to live life on her own terms.

  And they never will—unless I tell them.

  Just like that, Piper ended the inner turmoil. There would be no more wishing for things to be different—that the exhibit had a bigger budget, or the trustees were more forward-thinking, or the job market was better. If things were ever going to be different, she’d have to make them so.

  Telling the truth about Ophelia Harrington’s life was the only choice. It was the right thing to do. She was a curator. It was her responsibiilty. Damn the consequences.

  Mick had come to a stop in front of her desk. He peered down at her with a frown. “You okay, Piper?”

  “What?”

  “You got extremely pale all of a sudden. Are you all right?”

  “Oh! Sure,” she said, taking a deep breath and shaking off the enormity of her decision. “I was just thinking about what you said, and you’re right—Ophelia Harrington was something else.”

  He smiled at her. “You love your work, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely.” She smiled back at him politely, thinking, I’m really going to lose my job over this, trying with all her might not to show him how close to tears she suddenly was. “And on that note, I’m afraid I’ve got to kick you out.”

  He nodded. “So we’ll go for coffee tomorrow.” It was not a question.

  Piper bit her tongue. In her mind, she was panting, Yes! Yes! Take me now!

  “Tomorrow’s not going to work,” is what she said.

  “When, then?”

  She watched his chest rise and fall, saw the hint of dark curls at the vee of his button-down shirt. The man was far more spectacular than he’d been a decade ago. Or maybe she was far more obsessed with sex than she’d been back then. She began to feel a bit light-headed.

  “Fine.” Mick reached for a straight-backed chair and pulled it up to the side of Piper’s desk. “You want me to grovel? No problem.” He crossed one leg over a knee and clasped his hands behind his head, as if he were settling in for a nice long chat.

  Piper shook her head. “That’s not—”

  “I wanted you that night, Piper. Bad.” Mick paused for an extended moment before he let his hands slip from behind his head. He leaned forward, wide shoulders rounded, and studied the floor.

  Piper had the urge to grab a handful of thick black hair, yank up his head, and maul his lips with her own.

  “But I couldn’t.” He looked up, a sadness in his blue eyes. “Piper, you were polluted, talking crazy and tearing off your underwear. I wasn’t even sure you knew who it was you’d decided to drag off to bed. And what kind of man takes advantage of a girl—one of his students, no less—when she’s out of her head like that and he’s planning to leave the country as soon as the semester’s over?”

  Piper didn’t know what to say.

  “I admit I may have left in a hurry, but I didn’t trust myself to stick around.” Mick ran a hand nervously through his hair, which made Piper’s mouth go dry. “I had to get out of there before my lizard brain kicked the shite out of my good judgment.”

  She couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “And afterward, you never let me anywhere near you. Never once did you pick up the phone or answer my e-mails or come to the door to talk to me.” He shrugged. “I sent you flowers, you know.”

  Piper let go with a quick gasp. The scene flashed before her eyes—a dozen long-stemmed red roses scattered in the dirty snow. She’d thrown them out of her second-floor window, locked the sash, pulled the shades, and promptly forgotten she’d ever received them. It was less painful that way.

  “You turned a cold shoulder to me, colder than Cambridge in February, and before we knew it, the spring semester was history, my teaching assistant job was over, and I left the country.”

  Piper tried to create one of those mysterious smiles again, but her cheeks hurt from the effort. Everything Mick said was true. She hadn’t wanted to talk about any of it, because she did
n’t want to admit it had happened.

  “So, here I am now. I’m explaining.”

  Piper stared at him, blinking, stinging with the realization that she might not have been the only one hurt by the episode. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to open her arms and smother him in her newly freed 36Cs.

  She summoned the wisdom of the Swan again: “Men are hunters. The chase itself is their true ambition. The moment they feel they have won, they will turn to a new pursuit.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” she said. “We left a lot unsaid back then, but now really isn’t a good time.” She reached out and placed her hand on his forearm. The harmless contact sent heat radiating through her belly and right into the business section of her expensive panties. She snatched her hand away. “Can you check back with me later in the week?”

  Mick laughed and shook his head, his eyes moving to the exact spot where her hand had been. “Fine,” he said, looking up again. “I’ll leave you and Ophelia to your secret plans. But only if you answer me one wee question.”

  Piper did a combination sigh and giggle, hoping it showed she was only slightly annoyed, yet flattered. The dance of seduction had so many twists and turns it was making her woozy. “Sure, Mick.”

  “What’s with the change in your appearance today?”

  “You mean the clothes.”

  “Yes, and the hair and the shoes and the…” Mick’s voice trailed off. “Please don’t get me wrong. You look truly beautiful. But why now? Why so drastic?”

  “Ah.” Piper folded her hands in front of her on the desktop. “Well, last Monday, when you ran into me? That was the worst day I’d had in quite some time. You know, bad hair day, bad lip day.”

  “The duct tape was quite fetching, however.”

  When Piper and Mick laughed, it reminded her of how it had been with them so long ago. Mick had made her laugh every time they’d talked. Even on that infamous night—somewhere between walking her home and walking out her door—he’d made her laugh. Funny how she’d forgotten about that, too.

  “I turned thirty last week,” she said, knowing that would be explanation enough. “I’d been thinking about making some changes. I thought of it as my gift to myself.”

  He smiled at her, all white teeth and full lips and dimples. “Happy birthday,” he said, his voice a deep whisper.

  Piper had to shut her eyes and summon the Swan again, due to the fact that she was dangerously close to jumping up and wrapping her thighs around Mick’s neck. “Fully half the art of seduction is the creation of Mystery…” Piper stood suddenly. “Unfortunately, I’ve got to get to work.”

  “All right, then,” he said, pushing himself from the chair. “I’ll check in with you later in the week.”

  “Wonderful.” She watched him walk out the door, fixated on how his dark curls brushed against the back of his shirt collar. Then she allowed herself a brief fixation with the rest of him. If he didn’t hurry up and leave, she’d start screaming for him to stay. It seemed they both had a lizard brain to contend with.

  She didn’t ask for intervention, but the Swan popped into her head anyway: “A man must never believe his pursuit is complete.”

  “Shut the hell up,” Piper hissed.

  “Did you say something?” Mick spun around so suddenly he nearly caught Piper in mid-fixation.

  “What? No.” She waved at him awkwardly. “See you later.”

  “You know…” Mick let his eyes do a double take on Piper, then he scratched at his chin as if he were stalling for time. She found it charming. “When I said you looked beautiful, I wasn’t being completely honest.”

  She sucked in air.

  “You look strong, Piper. Sexy as hell.” When Mick smiled at her this time, she felt her insides drop. “I’ve always thought you were pretty, but I’ve got to tell you, there’s nothing hotter than a woman who’s not ashamed of her beauty—or her strength. I’m happy to see that you’ve found both.”

  He walked out the door.

  As much as she hated to see him leave, Piper was relieved that her first attempt at seduction was over.

  She really, truly, had work to do.

  * * *

  Linc studied the two of them at every opportunity that week. The dynamic was fascinating. Mick was smitten with Little Miss Makeover, who had somehow acquired enough master-class flirtation skills to handle him with aplomb. Maybe she’d taken some kind of online course.

  True, Linc’s position as Mick’s errand boy completely sucked, but it had provided a ringside seat to the action. On several occasions, Linc witnessed Piper lure him in only to gently push him away. And Mick Malloy, for all his much-publicized worldliness, had become just plain stupid for Piper.

  It was as amusing as it was vomitorious.

  The workplace seduce-a-thon took a sudden turn on Friday, when Mick mentioned he’d scored a coffee date with Piper for Sunday afternoon.

  That pretty much locked it up, Linc knew. He’d be the only senior curator on staff immediately after the Fall Gala, because there was no way Piper could simultaneously start a hot-’n’-heavy relationship while reaching any modicum of success on the Harrington exhibit.

  It wouldn’t be long before Linc was back in the men’s room, laughing his ass off.

  Fifteen

  Piper smiled and waved when she saw him, and Mick’s heart kicked in his chest. She was seated at a small table in the café section of Beantown Books. From his vantage point, he could tell she was wearing a pair of jeans and a sleeveless silvery top that draped right above the swell of her breasts. At closer range, he noticed that a peek of cleavage was showing—incredibly sexy but ladylike at the same time.

  She stood to greet him, and that’s when he noticed her choice of a low-slung leather belt, another pair of sexy heels, and silver hooped earrings peeking out from under her shiny hair. She was hot enough to toast bread.

  “Hi, Mick.”

  He grabbed her hand and bent close to kiss her cheek—the first time he’d put his lips anywhere on her body in ten years—and breathed in her essence. Piper Chase-Pierpont smelled as sweet and silky as she felt. The hint of flesh beneath his lips tasted like some kind of exotic confection. He hated to end the contact, but it had to be done.

  The last thing Mick wanted to do was scare her off. He’d worked too feckin’ hard for this Sunday afternoon sort-of-but-not-quite-date, and he planned to make the most of it.

  They sat down across from each other. He watched her cross her legs. He listened to her talk about how this little independent bookstore was her favorite Boston hangout. That led into a good, long conversation about books, which segued into music and movies and work. By then he was parched.

  With the help of the nice young man running the café cash register, Mick managed to rustle up a pot of strong Ceylon tea—from the bags, of course, but what could he do?—and set about giving Piper a short lesson on the Irish and their tea.

  He filled both cups about a third of the way with whole milk. “Did you know the Irish are the largest per-capita consumers of tea in the world?” he asked her.

  Piper shook her head. “I had no idea.”

  Next, he poured in the tea. “The Gaelic expression for this delicacy is cupan tae.” He looked up at Piper to find her studying him, those stupendous green eyes lit up with enjoyment. “That’s what our family’s always called it, even after we came to the States.”

  Piper repeated the phrase, slowly and carefully.

  “I had no idea you spoke Gaelic!” Mick said, grinning. Clearly, Piper enjoyed his teasing. She looked so very beautiful when she laughed. It came back to him: how lovely she’d seemed all those years ago, how he enjoyed her sense of humor, her headlong passion for knowledge, her kindness—and how horribly it had ended.

  Mick began to spoon in the sugar. “What we really need here is a couple thick slices of Irish shortcake. Have you ever had that?”

  “No,” she said. “But it sounds glorious.”

  “
Oh, it’s decadent, all right.” Mick wagged an eyebrow as he stirred. “All that rich butter melting on your tongue.”

  He peeked at Piper, noting how she hung on his every word. “Or a nice slab of chocolate potato cake—ever have that?”

  Piper shook her head.

  “I’ll bake it for you one day.” Mick reached over and handed Piper her cup and saucer. “Have you ever prepared your tea this way?”

  “Nope.” She took a small slurp.

  “Do you know I never forgot you, Piper?”

  Her cup clattered onto the saucer.

  “Did you know that for the last ten years I’ve regretted that night with all my heart?”

  Her eyes bugged.

  “I should have walked you home like a gentleman, tucked you into your bed—fully clothed—and called you the next morning to explain my intentions.”

  Piper gulped. “What intentions?”

  “That I was interested in getting to know you, but not while I was your teacher and heading for an overseas dig site as soon as the semester ended. You may think I’m old-fashioned, but that sort of slam-bam sex has never set right with me, and never will.”

  Mick sat back in his chair, crossed his legs, and took a sip, watching the emotions float across Piper’s face. She seemed truly surprised.

  He took his time with her. He told her about the women in his life over the last ten years, relationships that went nowhere—the British research assistant, the South African yoga instructor, the poet from Quebec. He told her about his father’s death, how his brother had shouldered the burden of caring for him, and why Mick felt he needed to come home and make up for his absence. He told her about the reality show, and how a decent deal could save the pub. He told her that all of these things had helped to pull him back home, but the possibility of seeing her again was part of the lure.

  “Did you ever think of me, Piper?”

  She tipped her head and ran her fingers through her shiny, deep brown hair. Mick wanted desperately to experience the sensation for himself—thick and soft handfuls slipping between his fingers, brushing against her bare shoulders …