Sex Appeal. Lori FosterЧитать онлайн книгу.
Brent didn’t say anything, simply stared at her with narrowed eyes. Shadow had a hunch she’d somehow offended him, or at the very least, irritated him. She asked curiously, “How tall are you?”
That brought him to his feet. “I think I’ll be going now. It was, uh…uncommon meeting you.”
Shadow scrambled after him, wondering exactly which part of what she’d said had been too much, when he abruptly halted. He gazed around her small shop in something akin to wonder, his eyes alighting here and there on particular items. “What the hell kind of business is this?”
Immediately affronted, Shadow propped her hands on her hips. “It’s a novelty shop.”
Brent took two long strides toward the door, stuck his head out and looked up at the sign overhead. “Sex Appeal? What kind of a name is that?”
“I’ll have you know a friend of mine in advertising came up with that name, along with a nice advertising campaign. She also contributes some of the slogans I use on shirts and things.” His eyes were so dark now they looked black rather than green. Shadow tilted her head. “Would you like a brochure?”
He turned to face her. “Why don’t you just explain to me what type of business you’re running here.”
She frowned, feeling stubborn for just a moment, then shrugged. It really wasn’t worth getting annoyed over. She ran a hand through her hair, glanced around and wondered where to start. “I sort of specialize in sexy items,” she said finally. “Not your usual silk and satin negligees. I’m not that serious and I don’t think love should be, either. What I sell is fun. And comfortable. Sexy can be fun, and vice versa, if the right woman wears it. I think men have known that for a long time.”
She saw that she held his interest, and expounded on her theories. “I took a poll once, and do you know most men thought women looked very sexy when they were rumpled? Can you imagine? I mean, women run around all the time trying to be perfect. Perfectly manicured, perfectly attired, smelling perfect with their hair styled perfectly. It’s all nonsense.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“One man,” she said, “who’d been married to his wife for ten years, told me it really turned him on to see her in her apron, cooking. Another told me his wife was sexiest when she first woke in the morning, all warm and drowsy. There was a young college guy who said the sexiest thing he’d ever seen on any woman was a pair of well-worn cutoffs. But a sense of humor was top of their lists.”
“So what do you sell?” Brent asked, his curiosity snagged. “Aprons and cutoffs?”
Shadow scoffed at him. “Of course not. I sell shirts, like this one, that are just plain humorous. And under-things made of the softest cotton, which I can tell you is a lot more comfortable than silk.” She didn’t miss the way his eyes widened, possibly over her disclosure of the type of underwear she preferred. She crossed the room to lift a nightgown from the rack. “Take this gown, for example. It’s soft and warm and comfortable.” She slipped her hand inside. “But also pretty much transparent. See my fingers?”
He watched as she pressed her palm against the bodice of the gown. “Hmm.”
“And all these tiny buttons down the front are a challenge. Can you just imagine standing there, waiting, watching while a woman—”
“You?”
“Any woman you want,” she clarified, “undid all those little buttons?”
“She could just pull it off over her head.”
Exasperated, Shadow said, “That wouldn’t be any fun. You have to use your imagination a little.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
She stared at him, the gown hanging from her hand. “All right. I can see you aren’t the type to appreciate humor at just any old time.” She returned the gown to the rack. “Would you still like to fill out an application for the contest? I need three more men to meet my quota.”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
At least he wasn’t turning her down outright. She took a little comfort in that. “Don’t wait too long,” she cautioned him. “We have to have all the entrants photographed before the end of November. The contest will run the first two weeks of December.”
“Photographed? As in posed in some lewd and revealing way?”
“Of course not.” She almost laughed at his appalled expression. What did he have to hide? she wondered. Hoping to reassure him, she said, “You don’t have to expose yourself, but we are encouraging the rugged look. You know, jeans and boots. You can show your chest if you want, but that’s all. The friends I talked into entering wore flannel shirts or sweaters. This is a classy operation. No sleazy shots allowed.”
Brent pursed his mouth, his darkened gaze going over her once again. It disconcerted Shadow.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Thinking.”
“Oh? About what?”
“Actually,” he said, his smile very nice, “I was thinking we should have dinner and discuss all this in more detail.” He looked at her ringless hand pointedly. “You’re not spoken for, are you?”
“Only by about a half dozen guys. Nothing serious.” Despite herself, Shadow was interested. He was a little aloof, a little uptight, but he was still a hunk and quick with the banter. “What about you?”
“Is that part of the criteria?” he asked. “That I have to be single to enter the contest?”
“No. That’s part of the criteria if you want me to have dinner with you.”
“Then I suppose I should admit I’m entirely single, new to town and therefore completely alone and unattached.”
“All that?” She grinned, realizing that he was flirting with her. She liked it. “Truth is, I’m fairly new to this area, too, although I’ve already made several friends, so I can’t claim to be entirely alone.”
He glanced at his watch. “I’m late now for a meeting, but I can come by and pick you up in an hour.”
Shadow tilted her head, studying him. “Why don’t we hold off on dinner. After all, I don’t really know you. Your name could be Hector, and you might have lied about the rest. But I’d be glad to have lunch with you tomorrow. Here? At the coffee shop?”
He hesitated so long, Shadow was afraid her reserve had chased him off, but she had to be cautious. She knew that.
She was ready to call the whole thing off herself, hoping to save face, when he said, “You have beautiful eyes. I’ve never seen that shade of brown before. Warm, like whiskey. Lunch will be fine. Around noon?”
He’d said it all in one long, drawled comment. Had he done that on purpose, mixing outrageous compliments and suggestions to take her off guard? “Noon would be fine. I’ll meet you there.”
“No. I’ll come here and we’ll walk up together.” As he left, he picked up one of her brochures, and Shadow saw him make note of her name and business number printed in the upper corner. He left without another word, this time stepping very carefully onto the icy walk.
After he’d gone, Shadow put her hand over her heart. It drummed madly against her palm. Good grief, a man like that carried a lot of impact, and she’d barely gotten to know him. Still, she’d recognized right off that he liked to control all situations. He had been equally put off by, and intrigued with, her bold manner.
Lunch, she thought, should prove interesting.
* * *
AFTER A LONG NIGHT of pondering possibilities, Brent had decided he was pleased to be leasing business space to Shadow Callahan. Very pleased. “Micky, I need you to hunt up a