“Let me get this straight. You are asking me to give you a makeover. In order to get your boss to sleep with you. In order to keep him from sleeping with other women. So that you can convince him to settle down with another woman?” Lacy was clearly horrified.
“That’s about it in a nutshell. Sounded better in my head.” Andy peered into the mirror. “Definitely need to straighten my hair. I bought some dye, too. He likes them dark brunette.”
Lacy smacked the little cardboard box right out of Andy’s hand. “Absolutely not. If you are determined to go through with this preposterous idea, and I do think it’s a bad one, you will thank me later for not letting you permanently alter your beautiful hair.”
“I know what you think. But trust me. I know this guy. He needs this, and it’s going to change everything.” She pulled a curl down experimentally to see how long her hair would be when straightened. Inches longer, it turned out.
“Oh, I have no doubt about that. It’s whether it’s the kind of change you hoped for that I do doubt.”
“What are you muttering about, Lace? Hey, how do you use liquid eyeliner? It looks like it should be a lot easier than it is.” Andy turned to her sister¸ a smeary black panda.
Lacy burst into laughter. “You are such a mess. I can’t believe I’m helping you with this. Come here. We have to take that off. Hand me the cotton balls, I’ll do it for you.”
Andy obediently closed her eyes and allowed her little sister to glide the cool oil over her lids. She hummed a little under her breath, until Lacy smacked her again.
“I can’t perform a seduction with a bruise, you know.” She started to open her eyes, but saw a shadow applicator beginning the descent.
“You won’t perform one without an eyeball, either. Keep them closed until I tell you to.”
While Lacy worked her hand in a soothing rhythm across Andy’s lids, Andy allowed her thoughts to wander. After she showed up and knocked Blake off his feet and into his bed, what would happen? She got warm just imagining those strong hands gripping her close. His mouth, hungry for hers, taking what he wanted. Her breasts pressing into his solid chest as he thickened against her—“Ow! Stop hitting me!”
“Stop moaning! What the hell, Andy?” Lacy swatted at her upper arm again. “I am uncomfortable enough right now without having to hear your sex noises. Okay, open your eyes and look at my shoulder. I’m doing mascara now. Don’t blink. Don’t look away. And don’t blink,” as Andy’s lashes fluttered.
“Sorry. It’s just that I think I’ll enjoy it.” If his kiss was any indication, Andy was going to enjoy sex with Blake a lot.
“That’s quite obvious. Sex is enjoyable. And God knows you aren’t doing it very often.” Lacy recapped the mascara and flipped on the flatiron. “Speaking of which—are you still on birth control?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I got a three-year IUD about two years ago.” Back when she could afford such things. Lucky now since birth control wasn’t in her budget. She’d be using a condom with Blake anyway. She didn’t want to concern Lacy with the information, but his track record made STDs a real concern.
Andy leaned back into her sister’s hands as they massaged some sort of serum into her curls. “And anyway, you’re one to talk. When’s the last time you did it?”
“Not the point. You don’t see me jumping into Darrin’s bed, do you?” Lacy clacked the paddles of the flatiron together threateningly. “Though I’d probably get more hours…”
“Does Darrin even like girls?”
“Not sure about that, actually, I can’t make up my—you know what?” She paused for a moment to point the iron at Andy in the mirror. “Also, not the point. The point here is that you are making a bad business decision based on lust and not on reason. I don’t want to see you lose another job because you aren’t thinking beyond your own satisfaction.” Back to work she went. One strand at a time flattened, lengthened, and shined.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. I am starting to get a real read on this guy. Sex is the only Achilles’ heel I can find on him. It’s my in. I get to know the real Blake Donovan, I can figure out exactly what the angle is that I’m missing in matching him.”
Lacy’s tight expression said she didn’t believe Andy any more than she believed herself.
“So maybe I’m looking forward to it. So what? If I enjoy myself, well. It has been a long time. I barely remember how to do it.” How did Lacy always manage to pull confessions from her without batting an eyelash?
“The fact that you call sex doing it says a lot, I’ll give you that. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Lacy was making that concerned face that made Andy want to jump on her and pet her hair and assure her everything was okay.
But she knew from experience Lacy did not like the pouncy-petting. So she settled for verbal assurances. “I do. Remember, figuring out what people want is sort of my thing. Don’t worry about me, or my job. This is me doing my job. It’s always been unorthodox. I’m just taking the necessary steps now to do the best job I can.” Funny how her assurances sounded a tad bit more like defensive strikes.
Lacy ran a brush through Andy’s newly stick-straight strands. “You look different, that’s for sure.” Her voice was a bit gentler, though, as if the assurance/defense strikes had hit their mark.
Andy assessed herself in the mirror. Her hair was long, straight, and glossy. Her eyes were smoky and mysterious. A nude gloss shone on her lips, and the glow in her cheeks was all natural. She was as close as she could be to Blake’s ideal woman without suddenly developing an exotic heritage and dropping fifteen pounds.
So what if she didn’t look like herself anymore? This wasn’t about her. If only someone would tell her body that. It was thrumming with electricity even at the thought of Blake’s eyes touching her, much less the rest of him. All of her nerves were oversensitive, raw in anticipation.
Time for the coup de grâce. If Blake wanted a sweet, submissive woman, she’d deliver. Alone in her room, Andy stripped off her everyday lace-trimmed undies and donned an, okay, lace-trimmed pair of boy shorts. She skipped the bra, but only because the nightie she’d chosen was so chaste. There were sleeves, and it fell to her midcalves. It was a pure and virginal white.
She gazed at her reflection in the closet-door mirror for a few moments. She was the undeniable mix of Madonna and Magdalene—in about an 80/20 ratio—that she felt certain Blake was looking for.
Deep breath. You are about to have your world rocked. Was that too presumptuous? No, most of the women wanted to see him again. He had to be good in the sack.
She returned to her self-pep talk. Be prepared. Put your walls up now, just in case some unexpected orgasm threatens to knock them down. Just sex. Just professional sex between two consenting and—oh, God, didn’t professional mean hooking? Just unprofessional sex between colleagues.
She was already wet at the thought.
Gird your loins, Andy Dawson. This’ll be a doozy.
Feeling just as reassured as her sister—which was to say, not much—she topped her seductive outfit with a light coat she’d borrowed from Lacy. It was long-sleeved, pale pink, and gorgeous. The top was fitted like a corset, but the calf-length bottom swung freely in voluminous pleats. Best of all, it wasn’t stifling in the early-summer Boston evening.
Andy splurged on a cab. The thought of the cost made her a little queasy—especially since she planned to pay to have him wait for her while she did the deed—but she couldn’t call Darrin for a ride like she had when she’d delivered the puppy. Explaining her attire to her sister’s boss would be quite the story. Besides, she reminded herself, she was getting some bonuses in her next check.
Anyway, a girl in a nightie and a coat could hardly hop into a subway without being mistaken for a sex worker. An available sex worker, at that. The thought of the trouble that could cause made her queasier than the taxi bill. And she was already struggling with the difference between the job she’d taken upon herself and hooker. Was it better or worse than her previous self-declared status of pimp?
She didn’t dwell on the question. She also didn’t pause as she swung into the backseat of the cab and gave the driver her destination.
As they drove, she gazed past her reflection in the glass and out onto the dark Boston streets. Allowing her mind to wander once again, it went back to the same thing it always did lately when allowed free rein—the wine bar. It wasn’t just the kiss that stayed with her, though that was a highlight of the evening. There was more—a glimpse of Blake that had seemed almost warm and compassionate despite his self-centered behavior and egotistical nature. It intrigued her, drew her back to the memory again and again.
She had convinced herself that the man who had rescued her that night was an anomaly. That he didn’t really exist anywhere but in that brief moment in time. She could have entertained dating that man. Not that she’d seen him since, but surely he must be somewhere inside the boss that she faced every day—inside the hot alpha who constantly drove her insane with his maddening personality and his irresistible form. How was it possible to be so magnetically attached to someone whose neck she wanted to wring so badly?
Swearing not to have any physical contact with Blake in the weeks that had followed had done nothing to erase the attraction she felt every time her eyes accidentally grazed his crotch. But the thought of dating someone that self-involved made her ill. Good thing sex wasn’t the same as dating. In fact, for Blake Donovan, sex seemed to be the end to dating. Perhaps this planned tryst of hers would solve quite a few of their problems, including ending the crackle of energy that arced between them whenever they were in the same room.
At least, it would end it from his side. Whether she’d also get him out of her system remained to be seen. Why did she suddenly feel sad about her impending seduction?
She shook the emotion off and refocused her gaze on the ghostly image of herself reflected back in the taxi window. Lacy’s right—that doesn’t look like me at all. She slipped out of the coat and looked again. Still not her.
A moment passed as she debated whether that was a good thing or not. If she didn’t feel like herself, it would make the whole event more disconnected. That was a good thing. It made it more likely that she’d be able to walk away with her senses in order. Plus, I’ll have his missing puzzle pieces to work with. That was the main reason she was doing this. She had to remember that. Though, truthfully, his puzzle pieces took a backseat to his other pieces—such as his hands, his lips. His … lower region.
The more Andy thought about it the more excited she got. Might as well admit it full on—the man made her gaga. She’d been turned on by his body since the moment she’d first seen him. She just hadn’t been able to reconcile her desire with his ugly personality. But now that she’d gotten to know him better, she wondered if perhaps her definition of ugly was a little too harsh for the man.
Either way, she felt good about her seduction plan. By not sleeping with him, she was acknowledging there was a connection there. Finally. But by making that connection after hours, in well, costume, really, and by using it to lull him into answering the kind of personal questions she needed, Andy was using her horniness in a practical manner. She’d even go as far as to say responsible.
So maybe it was the biggest justification she’d ever made in her life. Second biggest—what she’d done to Max’s office after he’d fired her probably still took the cake. But there was no way seducing Blake could turn out as horrible as that.
Could it?
* * *
When the doorbell rang, the sleeping puppy in Blake’s lap stirred but didn’t bark. He called for his housekeeper to answer it while he considered the dog. He really was a good animal—quiet and cuddly, qualities Blake would rather like to see in a wife. Of course the creature could also be feisty and playful and that was all right, too. More than all right, actually. It was sweet. Entertaining. Endearing, even.
Somewhat like Drea.
Dammit, was he growing attached to the thing?
The puppy, not the woman. Though, if he was honest, he might be growing attached to that second one as well.
He pushed that thought from his mind. Much safer to focus on his attachment to the four-legged thing than on the two-legged one that had that very day rejected his advances. At least Puppy hadn’t rejected him. Maybe that was why he still hadn’t gotten around to getting rid of it. Even though he’d told Drea he was going to, somehow, he just couldn’t bring himself to fire it.
The bell rang again. This time he glanced up at the grandfather clock in his living room and realized his housekeeper had gone home more than two hours before. Good God, it was after nine p.m. Who would be visiting at that time of night?
With more than mild curiosity, he set down his glass of scotch and propped his detective novel open on the coffee table. He picked up Puppy with him as he stood, then set the dog in the warmth of the spot he’d just evacuated.
“Stay,” Blake ordered before tightening his robe and heading for the door. “Coming,” he called out to his mysterious guest.
Before he unlocked the dead bolt, he peeked out the peephole but was only met with a woman’s straight auburn hair. She was facing back toward his driveway and all he could see was her backside. Hmm. A woman was harmless enough. And the backside was enticing. He undid the lock and opened the door.
“May I help—”
His words cut off when the woman turned toward him.
He could hardly contain his surprise at her face. It was Andrea. Completely made up. In what he could only assume was supposed to be a nightgown beneath a ridiculous pink coat-thing.
“Blake—” Her mouth gaped as if she had more to say but had gotten stuck on her next words.
He understood the feeling. Seeing her standing on his doorstep with her eyes decorated to look like she was about to go clubbing and her hair lying flat and lifeless around her face—well, it rendered him speechless. A surge of excitement raced through him as he realized the intent of her visit, enough to get his cock stirring in his pajama bottoms, but the intensity of his interest was overwhelmed by the hilarity of her appearance. She looked so gaudy. So overdone. So not Andy.
Knowing it was absolutely the wrong thing to do, Blake did the only thing he could do in a moment like this. He laughed.
It wasn’t a soft chortle, either. It was full-blown, rib-bruising laughter that ripped through him. He wrapped his arms around his middle in an attempt to contain himself to no avail. It was just too damn funny to stop.
Through the tears that clouded his eyes, he noticed Drea’s expression—humiliation warred with frustration for top billing on her features. He didn’t want that. Not at all. But before he could gather himself enough to explain his reaction, she’d turned and stomped away.
“Andrea,” he called after her, except it came out more of a muffled mess of sound. He tried again. “Andrea, wait.”
He was met by silence.
Somewhat calmer, he checked to make sure the door wouldn’t lock behind him and ran in slippered feet after her. He knew she didn’t have a car; she couldn’t have gotten far. Thoughts of her riding the subway in that getup nearly had him laughing again. And he was concerned for her safety.
No, he wasn’t. No one would hit on her in that outfit. Laughing it was.
But then he rounded his garage, and found her gone, the taillights of a cab racing down the street the only sign that she’d been there. All traces of humor left him with a splat, like the air disappearing from a popped balloon.
What the hell just happened?
It was obvious her visit hadn’t been business-related. Then why had she run off so quickly? Sure, his laughter had been a bit overzealous, but come on. She looked outrageous. Was he supposed to have reacted differently?
With each step back toward his front door he felt more and more certain that he’d made a grave error. And that meant he’d have to apologize. Again.
Dammit.