WITH A LOUD RIP, CARLY Mackenzie tore off the packing tape and folded back the cardboard flaps on the huge carton. Silks and satins in an array of brilliant jewel tones greeted her eager eyes. She hummed with a mix of excitement and relief. This was the last of the new Valentine’s Day stock, and when the contents of the other three boxes revealed mostly black, with the occasional item in uninspiring, virginal white, she worried she’d have to resort to a tired old-Hollywood theme for her window display.

Carly held up a stunning backless chemise in eggplant and grinned. “Thank heaven the lingerie gods have excellent taste and sent me scarlet, sapphire, and purple.”  

With what could only be described as reverence, she carefully unpacked everything from imported charmeuse robes, to hand-stitched camisoles, to delicate French silk panties. Every item she withdrew was a designer original, each more beautiful than the last, and all appallingly expensive. She was in heaven.

Putting it plainly; Carly loved lingerie, the lacier, the sexier, the better.  What girl didn’t?

Okay, maybe she had more of a fascination with underwear than the next girl, but she was elbows deep in it on an almost daily basis. And this wasn’t the stiff, scratchy, cheap stuff; it was the very best of the best, made of the most exquisite fabrics, so unbelievably soft it was like a sensual dream against the skin. In fact, with the treasures she discovered in the last box, if a lace-induced orgasm were possible, she’d be lying face down on the floor in a puddle right now.

Carly’s problem? She had 5^th Avenue taste, on a bargain-basement budget.

She blamed her costly intimate-wear obsession on Sweet Nothings, the boutique where she worked four nights a week. Located in the Northpointe Towne Centre, an upscale mall near three of the most affluent suburbs of the city, the shop’s clientele could afford the best, and demanded it. This meant it was imperative the boutique carried only the very finest, ultra-exclusive labels: Lise Charmel, Eberjey, and Samantha Chang, to name a few.

Monica, the owner, gave her employees a generous discount. But even at 40 percent off, on Carly’s barely over minimum wage salary, she still couldn’t afford to buy anything, not when a single pair of La Perla boy shorts went for $360. For that kind of money, she could buy enough cotton panty ten-packs at Walmart to last a decade, maybe two.

So, she lived vicariously through the store’s wealthy customers. And, she found working there a welcome escape from studying, doing tax returns, and keeping books for the few private clients she had. She enjoyed it so much, she’d been giving a good deal of thought to staying on after she finished graduate school in the spring. Most of her other clients’ businesses were in the mall, and Monica let her use the space in the back of the shop and the computer whenever she needed.  This saved the added expense of an office. All things combined, if she scrimped and saved for a few years, maybe then, she’d be able to swing $200 for skimpy hipster panties.

Another bonus of working at Sweet Nothings, she got to design the corner window display. It was purely an indulgence, but she had the eye for it. And it was a good thing too. Monica knew quality, had excellent taste in fabrics, and stocked her store with the right designer names which induced her customers to fork over a small fortune for the barely-there underthings. But the woman lacked creativity and had no concept of how to arrange her merchandise to its advantage. There was a fine line between sexy and vulgar, and it took finesse and inspiration to make the sheer thongs and see-through demi-bras appear classy instead of skanky and something you’d find in the triple-X adult shops lining the road out by the airport.

Today, eager to get started on the new Valentine’s display, she’d come to work an hour early. She was already elbows deep in briefs, chemises, and several thong bodysuits which were smoking hot and probably too risqué for her to use in the display. While dressing a mannequin in a sexy little red camisole and panty set, a loud shriek from somewhere outside the shop startled her enough to make her jump. When she looked up, she saw bags flying every which way and an older woman collapsed against the second-floor railing. Carly leaped up, a split-second from rushing out to help, when three other shoppers moved in to assist her.

While they assisted the shaken woman, she took a step closer to the glass and scanned the area for the two boys—the probable instigators—who’d been running in circles around the mezzanine overlook for the past half hour. She spotted them at the far end of the enclosed railing, not slowing a fraction as they rounded the corner to begin another lap.

They couldn’t have been more than ten, maybe eleven—old enough to know better, but evidently too immature to be left unattended. From her vantage point, surrounded on three sides by glass, she’d seen several shoppers and a few irritated store owners tell them to stop. They did, only to start up again a few minutes later.

Carly had worked in the boutique for three years and had seen this before. It would continue until someone called security and made Mom or Dad haul their misbehaving kids’ butts out of there. She could only hope it happened before someone got seriously hurt.

Unruly, unsupervised kids were an occasional annoyance throughout the mall, but on this level, it happened on a regular basis. The reason? The overlook, which was like a magnet to kids. Making it an even greater draw, the three-tiered fountain which shot nearly thirty feet in the air, and the best view was from the second level where observers could watch the water dance before their eyes.

“I called security. If those menaces aren’t stopped, someone’s going to be more than shaken up after being body slammed into the railing.”

She glanced over to find Sherry, the assistant manager, standing beside her. Carly frowned, confounded by how she’d managed to enter the display case without her noticing. Whenever she opened the sliding doors that served as the backdrop for the windows, they dragged in the metal track and often got jammed completely. Unsticking them, despite spraying them liberally with WD40 required force, at least for her, and made one heck of a racket.

Her frown deepened when she noticed the doors were closed, which meant they opened and shut for Sherry without making a sound. What the frick?

“What peeves me most is parents,” her supervisor went on to say, “who let their brats race around terrorizing the entire mall while they leisurely shop.”

Just then, the two hooligans ran in front of the boutique shouting at the top of their lungs. She would have laughed at their timing, if she didn’t think steam would hiss from Sherry’s ears.

“We’re not a daycare center, for cripe’s sake,” she snapped angrily. “And it’s not as though the rich bitches who shop here can’t afford a nanny.”

They both watched the boys pushing and shoving one another trying to be first around the end, then racing down the other side, oblivious, or simply not caring that dozens of shoppers and irate store managers glared at them as they passed.

“Absentee parents,” Carly muttered heatedly seeing the older woman limp away with help. “Kids don’t have manners or get disciplined anymore. I’ve got to wonder, though, what the designers and whoever signed off on the fountain were thinking. Anyone who knows kids, or with a hint of intelligence would know they’d be drawn to it. And they designed the overlook so it’s like a race track. I grew up with three younger brothers. Boys are compelled to chase each other. They can’t help it. I think it’s in their DNA.” She flung her hand toward the boys as they ran by once again. “They had to know this would be the result.”

“I’m surprised one of the little hellions hasn’t tried to dive off the rail into the fountain. It’s eighteen inches deep. They’d go splat!” Sherry clapped her hands once for effect making her flinch. “And there’d be nothing left but an oil slick in the water below and a bad memory.” 

Carly grimaced as the graphic image formed in her head. “Don’t even think about something like that, and for darn sure don’t say it where any kids can hear. You might give them ideas.” 

At the sound of heavy footsteps, they both leaned forward, cheeks almost touching the glass trying to see who was coming their way.  

“That’s security I bet,” Sherry predicted. “They’ll handle these delinquents.”

Expecting Curt, the usual evening shift guard, when a different man came into view Carly’s heart ticked up a few beats. Wearing a navy-blue polo with “Security” embroidered in gold over the left pec, he was bigger, taller—topping Curt’s six-foot frame by several inches—and a whole lot more intimidating than the smaller man ever thought to be. The pair of rowdy fifth graders were about to get a much-needed wakeup call from Trent Jacobs, the badass owner of Jacobs Security, himself.

He appeared to survey the area without pausing, quickly keyed in on the troublemakers, and moved to intercept them. His path took him directly by where she and Sherry stood. With a small, shy smile, Carly raised her hand, ready to give him a little wave, but when he passed without so much as glance her way, she dropped it quickly. Maybe he hadn’t seen her. At least it’s what she told herself.

Not taking her eyes from him, she noticed how his long legs ate up large distances with each stride. For a man of his size, he moved with agility and unexpected masculine grace. She wasn’t surprised when he quickly overtook his targets.

“What’s Trent doing here?” Carly asked.

“Oh, I can’t believe I forgot to tell you,” Sherry exclaimed, turning to her with a wide, happy grin. “Curt’s wife had her baby this morning; a ten-pound, nine-ounce, future linebacker, bless her heart. Trent’s filling in, and I heard he’ll be doing it a few nights a week for a while because one of the other guys is on medical leave.” Sherry nudged her in the side with an elbow. “Guess you’re all broken up to hear that, huh?”

She ignored her, used to the teasing, and went right on ogling the incredibly fit, NBA tall, bodybuilder cut, movie-star handsome, ex-Special Forces captain-turned-security specialist along with at least a dozen equally appreciative women in the vicinity.

Her mother’s voice echoed in her head, scolding as it had in her childhood. It isn’t polite to stare, Carly Ann.

But she couldn’t drag her eyes away. From his thick, wavy, slightly overlong hair—the dark rich color reminding her of the no foam macchiato espresso she guzzled on the way to class every morning—to his incredible upper body which was outlined deliciously in his snug shirt. Trent Jacobs was gorgeous.

He had a trim waist, lean hips, and the best ass she’d seen in her twenty-seven years on this earth. And right then, his rear end, in dark washed denim, was pointed her way. That’s because he’d corralled the boys into a corner, and with his back to her, had bent forward in a half-squat, his hands braced on his thickly muscled thighs to face them on their level. This stance stretched his already close-fitted jeans tautly across his perfect backside.

Carly knew without question other eyes were taking in the same view, and she bet hearts were going pitter-pat as panties got drenched up and down the second-floor mezzanine. And for damn sure, she wasn’t immune to him either. In fact, a groan slipped out.

Beside her, Sherry chuckled.

She ignored that too. All the girls at work knew of her infatuation with Trent, unrequited though it was. It was such common knowledge, they created a nickname, calling him Carly’s Crush—though never within hearing distance of the big guy. Their teasing was reserved solely for her and accompanied by well-intended though unsolicited advice. 

“Go for it,” was Sherry’s recommendation. “Men appreciate straightforwardness. Tell him you want to jump his bones, or vice versa.”

But brazenness, by making the first move, or bone jumping of any kind weren’t skills she possessed, especially with a man who was as sexy as he was intimidating.

Deirdre, one of the older women on staff, had offered different advice. “Flirt with him, honey. Turn your baby blues his way and bat those long eyelashes. He’ll get the idea, especially if you lick your lips when you talk to him. If he still doesn’t take the hint, twist a finger around one of those strawberry blonde curls. Oh, I almost forgot the most important part.” This was where the plan had gone south for Carly. “Undo your blouse several buttons. No man can resist a flash of tits.”

To this day, her jaw dropped when she replayed the encounter in her mind. The sixty-year-old grandmother of eight had used the word tits. Eek!

Others had offered suggestions, each one growing bolder and more outrageous. Being shy by nature, she didn’t have a prayer of executing any of them without her blushes setting off the sprinkler system and flooding the place.

But she had to do something.

As she contemplated Trent’s butt aimed her way, she briefly wondered if he was doing it on purpose. Undeniably handsome, with the body of an Adonis, heads turned and covetous female eyes stared wherever he went. He had to know he attracted attention. The thing about Trent, though, was he hadn’t let the fact he was all-that go to his head. Unlike the hardbodies at her gym, he wasn’t always flexing and showing off. Although, as ripped as he was, he could give any of them competition.

She nixed the ridiculous idea as soon as it came to her because Trent wasn’t like that. And, judging by the stern expression she’d seen on his face when he strode past her window, he was totally focused on the miscreants in front of him.

But she couldn’t deny it stung when he hadn’t acknowledged her, not sparing her so much as a glance, a nod, or the cool-as-crap two-fingered, flick-of-his-hand greeting she’d seen him give others in passing.

Being hurt was unreasonable. He was busy. Intent on doing his job. But crushes weren’t rational, and she’d nurtured the one she had on Trent for a long time. She wanted him to notice her as a woman, one he might feel romantically inclined toward, and tried every subtle way she could think of to get his attention. Yet, to her utter frustration, he seemed blind to her efforts and treated her the same as every other shop girl, which, in a mall the size of Northpointe, numbered in the hundreds.

Trent was friendly, spoke to her whenever their paths crossed, and he teased her. Not in a flirtatious way, which would have been welcome and given her a glimmer of hope he might feel more. Instead, it was how a man would tease a female friend, or worse, a kid sister.

But Carly didn’t need another friend, or a brother—she already had three of those—and she didn’t want nice. She’d dated nice guys in the past, but they were boring, especially in bed. She wanted the man from her daydreams. Someone tall, strong, and ruggedly handsome. He’d be dominant. Not a thug or a jerk, but with natural authority and confidence to go after what he wanted and get it. And high up there on her perfect man checklist, a skilled lover, one who would not only take the lead but rock her world between the sheets.

Maybe she’d seen too many romantic comedies, but, after her last boyfriend who stopped every other minute during sex to ask if he was doing it right, she wanted the dream. Trent was that dream, and she refused to settle for anything less.

After observing him for months, she decided Trent checked off all the characteristics on her list. She admired his calm, capable demeanor. He was friendly, polite, and everyone who worked at Northpointe spoke of what a great guy he was. Despite this, and because he didn’t outwardly flaunt his authority, she felt certain he had a badass simmering inside him. Wasn’t it a prerequisite for the Special Forces? Even if he hadn’t served and had worked at a ritzy mall all his life, she would have known by simply looking at him.

Some of the girls at the boutique had seen him in action, either with a shoplifter, or an irate customer who had more money than social skills. They’d gushed as they told of how Trent had stepped in, diffused the potentially volatile situation—something rare at Northpointe—and did it all with a quiet authority. 

She’d learned from Curt, he’d been the same way in the Army. Except now, rather than dodging bullets and IEDs, and leading men on missions more dangerous than she dared imagine, he dealt with demanding shop owners, impossible to satisfy rich snobs, and their entitled brats.

It was no wonder he stayed calm and cool during a crisis. Compared to being in danger constantly, running his own company had to be a breeze—albeit annoying at times.

She couldn’t see any outward effect of his years serving abroad. Pretty much, you got what you saw—a usually easygoing, frequent to laugh, capable man who could be counted on in a crisis, something rare at Northpointe. But it didn’t mean he didn’t have a temper.

On a warm night last fall, while taking her break on a bench outside, she’d overheard him on the phone. He’d used words like stalker, restraining order, and the phrase “shut the mother fucker down.” It bothered her thinking he might be into something shady until she recalled someone telling her Jacobs Security also took private protection cases—acting as bodyguards to high profile VIPs. Despite hearing only one side of the conversation, there had still been no question who was in charge. He had given explicit, concise orders and very plainly wasn’t about to take any shit.

Carly already had an established crush on the man, but it deepened with every new morsel of information she learned about Trent Jacobs. He ran a successful company, had an impeccable reputation, and employed veterans, the same kind of men he’d served with. And even though everyone called him a ‘nice guy,’ she had to believe if other badasses respected him, didn’t that say something about his own badass-ness?

And, although she had no hard proof to base it on, she knew with as much certainty as the sun rose in the east each morning and set in the west, Trent would be explosive in bed. How could he not be when the mere sight of him, so handsome, with his size, and all that muscle and strength, sent a tingle to her girly parts?

He, on the other hand, didn’t seem have the same intuition about her, though not for lack of trying on her part. She gave him every opportunity to see her and get to know her. Not the stalkerish, in-your-face psycho behavior—it wasn’t her style. But she made herself visible, every chance she got when he was on duty. She learned his schedule and the usual times he made rounds—thank you, Curt—then risked the incessant teasing of her co-workers by rushing outside for an accidental meeting. Okay, maybe it was quasi-stalkerish behavior, but it was harmless.

She did things like folding and straightening the already neatly organized items on the clearance tables out front when he was due to come by. Or, would suddenly find the windows in urgent need of cleaning from non-existent fingerprints on the glass the exact moment he turned onto the second-floor mezzanine. The other girls rolled their eyes when she asked to trade shifts if there was the barest suggestion he might be filling in for someone. And she did this merely for a glimpse of Trent making his rounds, or for the off-chance she might catch his eye and get a smile or a wave. The ultimate thrill, and what made her night if it happened, was when he stopped by the boutique for a chat.

Now, while he delivered what must surely be a stern lecture to the school-age boys, she took in their scared faces. One bit his lip as he stared at his feet. The other fidgeted nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other completely cowed by a man at least three times his size, whose size fourteen boots could easily squash him as if he were a bug.

Carly almost felt sorry for them. Heaven knows, if Trent got in her face, and gave her a stern talking to, she’d nod to anything he said, call him sir gladly, and salute if he asked her to. And she’d be as squirmy, except it wouldn’t be from fear, but because his brilliant green eyes, when aimed her way, made her warm inside, his incredible body made her ache, and just being near him inspired tingling and wetness in certain feminine places.

Her gaze shifted to Trent as he stood upright, hands propped on his hips, his stance more formidable as he towered over the boys. Seeing all that muscle moving in concert, which even from this distance was a sight to behold, made a tight ache form in her throat. While her eyes gobbled him up, they homed in on his waist. She swallowed, doing so with an audible gulp. 

There was something about a man’s hands she’d always found incredibly hot. Especially Trent’s—big and masculine, with long-tapered fingers, and ropey veins standing out on the back giving the impression of raw strength. And he had broad wrists, which would look awesome wrapped in the snug cuffs of a white dress shirt or a sexy gold watch.

Carly blinked at the detail her daydreaming brain devised and wondered in a sudden moment of self-reflection if she had gone beyond a mere crush and slipped headlong into an obsession.

“Drool much?”

Having forgotten completely Sherry was still there, Carly jerked in surprise.

“You need to get yourself a taste of Trent Jacobs before you spontaneously combust. I’m sweating over here from the heat of you lusting over him!”

Mortified, she spun and got back to work, pretending she hadn’t been doing precisely what she’d been accused of. She didn’t quite pull it off, however, because her abrupt movement upset her balance, and she staggered a bit. Things went from bad to worse when she tripped over a box on the floor.

“Careful,” Sherry called too late.

Lurching forward, she fell into the mannequin she was supposed to be dressing in a red Valentine’s bustier and lace panties. Too busy leering at the sexy man across the way, she hadn’t gotten the darn thing fully laced up, so it fell to the floor, leaving the molded plastic covered in only a scrap of red at the crotch when it slammed into the window. The loud bang drew every eye in a four-store radius, including the head of security, who also turned toward her.

Face flaming, she grabbed the mannequin and pulled it upright. Trying not to look, but unable to keep from it, she glanced in Trent’s direction. His surprised expression slowly morphed into a sexy, gorgeous grin. Unsure what to do, she raised her hand and started to wave, but felt stupid and put it back where it was.

His grin widened at the same time she heard the low buzz of laughter from the shoppers outside in the mall, and a low throaty chuckle from beside her.

“What’s so funny?” she demanded of a thoroughly amused Sherry.

“You,” she replied amid her snickers. “Check out your reflection.”

It took a moment before it became clear, but there in the glass, which she personally kept sparkling clean, was her mirror image holding the headless mannequin in her arms. Ordinarily, she’d think nothing of it, but it had aligned so perfectly in front of her it looked as though they were one and the same. As if her head sat atop its shoulders, or it’s body was her own. Either way, her hands, which had grabbed the model from behind, were cupped around its plastic boobs.

To an observer, of which there were many, it gave the impression that Carly stood in the display case, holding her tits while wearing nothing except a pair of bright-red panties.

“Oh my God,” she shrieked. She also dropped the armless, headless, plastic woman with a loud clatter and leaped out of the window—after struggling with the screeching, hard-to-open sliding doors that only she seemed to have trouble with—and fled to the back of the store. Once there, she flopped down on a bench and hid her burning face in her hands.

A few moments later, Sherry came after her. Carly didn’t look up, but knew it was her.

“Aw, come on, hon.” The amusement lingered in her voice. “You gotta admit it was funny.”

“It was humiliating. I’ll never be able to show my face here again. All those shoppers will think of me in red panties and nothing else, from this point on. Including, Trent, ohmigod! It’s like he’s seen me naked.”

“Worse things could have happened. You could have gone head first through the plate glass. Besides, your mannequin BFF is in perfect shape. No sag to her boobs, or an inch of body fat, so when he pictures you naked, he’ll think you’re a supermodel.”

Carly raised her head and shot her still laughing boss a scowl. “You aren’t helping.” With the awful scene continually replaying in her head, a tear rolled down her cheek.

Sherry finally sobered. “Don’t think about it for another second. Trent won’t. He’s a good guy.”

“He laughed,” she shot back accusingly.

“No, he didn’t. I was watching him.”

“Okay, he grinned. Which is the same thing.”

“No, it isn’t, and you have to give him credit for that. Everyone else was laughing their asses off; it was hysterical.”

She dropped her face in her hands again and muttered, “I’m moving to Calcutta.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you. It’s crowded and too damn hot in the summer,” Sherry joked, but when Carly didn’t so much as move, let alone crack a smile, she patted her back, trying to reassure her. “What if he smiled, so what? I’m sure it was at the situation, not you. Besides, weren’t you looking for a way to get him to notice you? Mission accomplished, I’d say.”

“Kill me now,” she said as she groaned again.

“I thought Trent Jacob’s attention is what you wanted?”

“Not this way!” Carly cried while wrapping her arms around her waist. She felt sick.

The bell indicating a customer had entered the store sounded. “I’ll go out front while you wipe your face and pull yourself together.”

“Okay, I’ll see you next month.”

“You’ve got to finish the display.”

“Uh-uh, no way.”

“You don’t want Monica doing it.  Remember the last time? When she got done, it looked we were a seedy leather and bondage shop rather than selling designer lingerie.” Sadly, Sherry wasn’t exaggerating. “We got tons of business, but when mall management got calls and letters, they had a fit.”

Carly stewed silently for a moment before she grumbled, “Fine. I’ll come out. Except I’m staying at the register, wearing a bag over my head, or one of those feather masks for Mardi Gras for the rest of my shift. Possibly, for the duration of my employment here.”

“Okay by me,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried out the shop door. “But make sure you cut holes for eyes if you go with the bag. Making change will be pretty dicey, otherwise.”

“Ha-ha,” she called after her. “Are you a sexy underwear peddler or a stand-up comic?”

This only made Sherry laugh harder.

It took her only a minute to dry her eyes, but another ten to get up the nerve to go back out to the sales floor. But she refused to return to the window, hiding out behind the register or at rear of the store, while Sherry finished her design.

And later, when Trent dropped by on his rounds, she ducked into the storage room like a coward. She was also an eavesdropper because she listened at the door, ready to bolt out the back if Sherry didn’t live up to her part of the deal and tell him she’d moved out of the country, permanently.

In truth, she told him she was on an errand, but right then, Calcutta looked mighty tempting.