Sheer Decadence

“It wasn’t ‘just’ anything, sweetheart.” Justin turned his head toward Olivia, his eyes erotically intense. “And try looking at it from the other side, if you don’t believe me,” he continued. “Are you honestly saying you couldn’t make a few educated guesses about my performance now?”

Flames licked through her blood. On the job, her vibrant visualization skills served her well, but all they were helping with now was raising the temperature inside the car. Justin sliding the straps of her bra down her shoulders, kissing her exposed skin…lowering her to a mattress, covering her body with his weight…kissing her as she straddled him…

Olivia wanted to tell him that his performance was none of her concern. But if she opened her mouth to speak, the words take me would spill out of their own volition.

Dear Reader,

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve decided on a clear plan, only to have it go…well, kablooey is the word that springs to mind. Cartoonlike, but accurate. Has this ever happened to you? It’s about to happen to Olivia Lockhart and Justin Hawthorne.

With a recent breakup behind her, Olivia has vowed not to repeat her past romantic mistakes. She’s going to find someone more stable than sexy and more interested in committing than flirting—despite her attraction to irresistible photographer Justin Hawthorne. Justin, who finished raising his sisters after his parents’ deaths, has just seen his youngest sister off to college and has resolved to reclaim his bachelor freedom—which does not include settling down with one woman. But the best-laid plans are no match for love!

I hope you enjoy Justin and Olivia’s story. I love entertaining readers, and I also love hearing from them. You can write me at t.michaels@earthlink.net or visit my Web site at www.tanyamichaels.com for information on giveaways and upcoming releases.

Wishing you plans that go smoothly, or at least plenty of laughter when they don’t!

Tanya Michaels

Books by Tanya Michaels

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

968—HERS FOR THE WEEKEND

HARLEQUIN FLIPSIDE

6—WHO NEEDS DECAF?

HARLEQUIN DUETS

96—THE MAID OF DISHONOR

Sheer Decadence

Tanya Michaels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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For Rachelle Wadsworth, Dorene Graham and Anna DeStefano. Thank you for all the feedback, support, brainstorming and just plain fun!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

1

“BUT DID I tell you what he said after I found him in bed with my roommate?” Olivia Lockhart sat behind her oak desk, scowling at the three-week-old memory of Sean’s parting words. “He said ‘Babe, when a man’s as in demand as I am, it wouldn’t be fair to the women of the world to limit myself to just one.’ I am finished with smooth-talking, good-looking men.”

Was early March way too late to add a New Year’s resolution?

Jeanie, the office receptionist who stood leaning against Olivia’s file cabinet, wrinkled her pixie features into an uncharacteristic grimace. “So you’re going out with ugly men now?”

They were probably more faithful. “I don’t plan on seeing anyone for a while.”

Olivia had spent her dateless high-school years with homemade brownies and her mom’s old Cary Grant movies. Now, she had plenty of dates, but she’d been better off with Cary and the brownies. In fact, if she could find a decent brownie that didn’t go straight to her hips, maybe she could give up men all together.

“If you don’t date, what will you do?” Jeanie’s distressed tone made such an existence sound unthinkable. For her, it probably was.

With her heart-shaped face and ultrashort platinum hair, adorably petite Jeanie looked like head cheerleader for Santa’s elves and had the bubbly personality to match. Men flocked to her, but she’d been pretty serious about the same guy, Albert, for the last few months. Olivia had high hopes for them. She had to have hope for someone.

“I have plenty to keep me busy,” Olivia said. “Friends, work. You know I want to be named Design Supervisor.”

Jeanie narrowed her brown eyes. “Are you sure you’re not just saying that because you’re gun-shy?”

“I’m sure.” Getting promoted had been Olivia’s real New Year’s resolution. When she’d been younger, she’d made up for romantic failures by excelling in school. Now, she’d apply the extra energy to her job until she could figure out how to improve her luck with men.

“Because I’d hate to see you cheat yourself out of The One just because of Sean,” Jeanie continued. “Albert has an older brother, and I’d be happy to set you up. He really likes exotic-looking women.”

Suppressing startled laughter, Olivia leaned back in her chair. “Exotic?”

“Well, you’re so tall, and you have all that long black hair. Gives you a mysterious aura.”

“Ah.” As far as she could tell, the only mystery in her life was her track record of bad relationship decisions. She was an otherwise competent woman. “Thanks anyway, Jeanie. If he’s Albert’s brother, I’m sure he’s wonderful, but I’m putting romance on the back burner for a while.”

“But—”

“Maybe we can discuss this later.” Olivia glanced down at the proofs for next month’s catalog on her cluttered desk. “I have a ton of work.”

With a nod and one last sympathetic glance, Jeanie scampered out of the office. The smaller woman often made Olivia feel like an Amazon; today Jeanie left her feeling old and cynical, too. Hard to believe only four years separated her from the twenty-two-year-old receptionist.

Pushing away thoughts of her co-worker, Olivia told herself to focus. She really did have a lot to do. Mondays were always jam-packed, full of new tasks as well as remaining errands that hadn’t been quite finished the week before.

The piles on her desk were organized by “Can put off,” “Must finish or I can’t go home today,” and “So long overdue I don’t even remember what needed to be done with it.” And those stacks threatened to grow even larger with the company’s expansion. Sweet Nothings, an Atlanta-based lingerie catalog had started as a strictly mail-order business, but with increased presence at fashion shows and a tremendously successful Web site, preparations were being made to open brick-and-mortar stores.

To increase buzz, corporate management had asked Olivia’s boss, Steve Reynolds, to bring in a second full-time photographer and begin planning the first ever Sweet Nothings calendar. Until now, their on-staff photographer, Fred, had handled the workload with the help of some freelancers, but Sweet Nothings was evolving every day. Olivia just hoped an upcoming promotion to Design Supervisor would be part of that evolution.

Seeking inspiration for all that remained to be done for the current issue, she thumbed through the catalog that had come out in December. She stopped on a glossy page featuring their most popular model, blond statuesque Stormy, in a lacy negligee.

Looking for something more effective than mistletoe this holiday season? Try surprising him in our burgundy silk… The text went on to detail make, fit and care of the garment, but all any man would care about was the fastest way to get the woman out of it.

Reminding herself that many women bought lingerie for the express purpose of having it removed, she told herself not to be bitter. Her bad mood was ironic since, as a teenager in what her mother had injudiciously dubbed the “ugly duckling period,” Olivia would have thought a single date with a gorgeous worldly man like Sean would translate to infinite bliss. Ha. She wasn’t sure they’d achieved bliss, but whatever they’d shared, it had definitely been finite.

Next time she met a man who seemed too good to be true, she should keep in mind he probably was. You’re too easily seduced. Not in the literal sense, but seduced by the romantic fantasies she’d built up during her wallflower years.

Prior to high school, Olivia had been taller than all but a few boys in her class, and had outweighed many of them. It wasn’t until college, when she’d taken every athletic elective her marketing degree allowed and walked several miles a day just to get around campus, that the last of her “baby fat” had really melted away. By graduation, the only area of her body she hadn’t been able to slenderize was her chest, but men didn’t seem to mind.

Since nothing could be done about her height, she tried to use it to her advantage, projecting confidence she didn’t always feel, a confidence that was at first bolstered by a dramatic increase in dates. It had been exciting to go to clubs on the arms of attractive men and, though the feminist in her cringed to admit it, validating. Too bad so many of her boyfriends had turned out to be jerks—Sean being the most recent in a parade of romantic mistakes.

The breakup, paired with her ethics-free roommate moving out and leaving Olivia to cover both halves of the rent, made this the perfect time to concentrate on becoming Design Supervisor. The promotion would include a raise and a much-coveted corner office. She’d been assigned more responsibilities lately, including her first supervisory role on an upcoming shoot, and she knew she was being tested. Maybe if she got the promotion, she’d dip her toes back into the dating pool, but when she did, she’d find someone nice and reliable, not another sexy playboy heavy on charm and light on scruples.

A knock against the open door startled her—people bucking for advancement shouldn’t be caught staring into space—and she jerked her head up to find a golden Adonis of a man leaning against the doorjamb. His eyes were a clear jewel-tone green, and his face was flawless, with a strong square jaw and chiseled cheekbones. Very tall, he had the kind of broad shoulders that would photograph equally well bare-chested or in a tuxedo shot.

Hardly the first time an incredibly attractive man had appeared in her doorway. Of course, they showed up at 461 when what they really wanted was 416. Story of her life.

“Male models should check in with Meg Jansen,” she told him. “Office 416, on the other side of the elevators.”

He arched a dark blond eyebrow in surprise. “Male models? I wasn’t looking for Meg Jansen. I wanted Olivia—” he consulted the yellow sticky-note in his hand “—Lockhart. Is that you?”

“Y-yes. And you are?”

“Justin Hawthorne,” he introduced himself. “Your photographer for the South Carolina shoot.”

This paragon of masculine appeal? No, no, no. “I believe Fred Elliot is my photographer for our swimwear issue.” She and grizzled veteran Fred already had a solid working relationship, had brainstormed locations and concepts often.

“Sorry, with Fred’s sister sick in Cincinnati, they substituted me for Stormy’s swimsuit shoot.” Justin grinned. “Try saying that three times fast.”

In addition to an obvious sense of humor, he had a great smile. Perfect even white teeth. A half dimple to the left of his mouth.

You are not going to notice his mouth.

Too late.

“I wanted to drop by and introduce myself before the meeting this afternoon,” he told her. “Steve just hired me away from Hilliard High Life, the sporting goods line for the ski-lodge and country-club set.”

She nodded to indicate familiarity with Hilliard’s catalog, but she’d only partially heard everything after hired. She’d assumed Justin was one of the freelancers, not realizing Steve had made a final decision.

“Don’t worry,” Justin added. “I’ve got plenty of experience, so you’ll be in good hands.”

The thought of being in his experienced hands made her mouth go dry. “Um…right, okay.”

He glanced past her shoulder at the bold painting that hung behind her desk. “Interesting.”

She followed his gaze. Her original Kallie Carmichael had been a gift to herself when she’d received her very first promotion at Sweet Nothings, graduating from copywriter to the layout team. The obscure artist’s use of bright colors and odd abstract visuals drew mixed reactions. Olivia wondered if Justin, as Sean first had, would pretend to like it in order to impress her.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I’m not wild about it.”

Well, if he hadn’t appreciated Kallie’s brilliant work, at least he’d been honest.

“I much prefer Ms. Carmichael’s later pieces,” he added. “Particularly the series in green she called Rebirth.”

She blinked. “You know who Kallie Carmichael is?”

His grin widened. “Did you think you were her only fan?”

What she thought was that Justin Hawthorne had one of the best smiles she’d ever seen.

When she couldn’t form an immediate answer, he nodded a quick goodbye. “See you at this afternoon’s meeting.”

Once he’d gone, Olivia exhaled in frustration and self-disgust. There was no good reason for her mind to have gone blank and her pulse to have jumped. Yes, he was incredible-looking, but so what? Her last boyfriend had been a model, and a very clear lesson that the insides weren’t always as attractive as the outside suggested.

Still, something about Justin…Don’t think of him as Justin. Think of him as Mr. Hawthorne. Or the photographer. Or even “that guy.” The less personal, the better.

They did have something in common, though. While she hadn’t been able to afford any of the paintings, Rebirth was a favorite series of hers, too. But shared admiration of an artist was no reason to lust after a co-worker she hardly knew. Co-worker. She clung to the steadying reminder that they’d be working together.

Securing her promotion required consummate professionalism, not drooling over J—that guy.

STACCATO high-heeled footsteps and accompanying feminine voices passed through the hall outside the Human Resources office, where Justin was completing personnel paperwork. One woman laughed, and the unabashed husky sound held just the right note of mischief to pique his interest. She sounded like someone who knew how to have fun.

Turning in his chair, he glanced through the open door and did a double take when he saw Olivia Lockhart. She stood waiting for the elevator with an attractive black woman, chuckling at something her friend had said. So much for first impressions.

When Olivia had first looked up at him this morning, he’d experienced a slash of desire—her clear gray eyes were a striking contrast to her jet-black hair and full red lips—but as beautiful as she was, she’d also seemed aloof. He’d wondered at the time if Olivia was always so withdrawn, or if she’d objected to something about him specifically. She certainly didn’t seem withdrawn now.

Her quick grin and earthy laugh heightened the attraction he’d felt earlier, and he watched her enter the elevator, appreciating the way her dark skirt hugged shapely hips. Between his line of work and having two younger sisters, Justin had run into a number of females who were dedicated to the pursuit of a stick figure. Personally, Justin liked women who were shaped like women. Olivia’s curves were damn near perfect.

“Almost finished?” The assistant HR manager, Kate Ames, tugged his thoughts away from Olivia and back to work. A young brunette with wavy hair and a bright smile, Kate had been nothing but friendly.

He nodded. “Just about.”

Two questions left, and he’d be a certified employee of Sweet Nothings. Excitement pulsed through him, not just because of the job—although what was not to love about photographing lingerie models?—but because of what this career change represented. For almost seven years, he’d dutifully put his wants and needs, from occupational choices to his love life, on hold. He’d taken on responsibilities he’d never expected, but now it was time to reclaim his life, be a little selfish. To begin with, he’d make up for the too many nights he’d slept alone. There were dozens of hot women out there, and he wanted to meet as many of them as possible.

Still, despite his enthusiasm over the new job, he had trouble refocusing on his paperwork. Which was the real Olivia: the coolly contained woman he’d encountered earlier, or the woman he’d watched in the hall, the one with the hint of wickedness in her laugh?

“I DON’T KNOW how you do it,” Meg Jansen said.

Ignoring the enticing scent of her friend’s French fries, Olivia picked at her salad. “If you’d seen me in high school, you’d know how I do it.” The willpower had been hard-earned, but worth it.

This is what’s wrong with my love life. Outside of finally ending a long-standing affair with Ben and Jerry, when it came to men, Olivia hadn’t found the self-discipline to replace the decadent with the nutritious. Men like Sean fell into the “dessert” category—no matter how tempting they were, they weren’t healthy in the long run.

Meg shook her head sadly. “All your attention to a well-balanced diet and getting up every morning to jog…that can’t be good for you.” Though Meg’s own curves ran toward the ample side, she was beautiful, dark-skinned with a close cap of short curls that accentuated her high cheekbones and wide hazel eyes, and she was at ease with her body in a way Olivia envied.

“No fries,” her friend continued. “Never any dessert. You don’t smoke. Jeanie says now no men, either? Tell me you have some vice I don’t know about, or I’m gonna worry about you just snapping one day.”

“So if I said I was a shopaholic, or drank martinis every afternoon, you’d feel better?”

“Much. Repression is not healthy.”

“Martinis are?”

“Maybe, maybe not…let’s discuss it over a round of drinks.”

Olivia laughed. “I’d love to, but this afternoon is one of Steve’s meetings.”

“In that case, we’d better order two rounds. Honest to God, that man can talk longer and say less than anyone I’ve ever met.” Meg swabbed another fry through ketchup. “Are you really going on a no-men kick?”

A kick that would be easier to uphold without Justin Hawthorne around. His smile had been plaguing her all morning. Okay, his smile and the first-rate buns she’d ogled when he’d turned and left her office.

“Not forever. And I’m not giving up all men, just a certain type. Sean lasted longer than the guy before him, but in the end…” Olivia speared a crouton on her fork with a crunch.

She wouldn’t say she was brokenhearted, exactly; the sting of finding Sean in bed with Candace had been more like a deep and unexpected paper cut. But the humiliation alone was something she’d never wish on another person, the embarrassment of having wrongly trusted, the paranoia of wondering how long it had been going on and whether or not they’d laughed at her.

If she hadn’t loved Sean, she’d at least thought they were working toward that possibility. During their six months together, his publicly flirtatious manner had sometimes bothered her, but he’d said it was just part of his professional persona. So she’d ignored her instincts, swayed by the argument that she was misjudging him based on previous bad apples. Turned out he was a lot like other McIntoshes and Granny Smiths she’d known.

Well, no man was making a fool of her again.

“You’re better off without him,” Meg said quietly.

“Hey, I’m just glad it happened when it did. A couple days later, I wouldn’t have been able to return his Valentine’s Day gift for a full refund.”

Meg ignored the attempted joke. “Not all men are like that.”

But I pick the ones who are. “Right, and I’m going to look for a completely different type of man. Just not yet. You know I want the design promotion, so as soon as I get back from vacation—”

“The doomed vacation?”

“Not doomed, postponed.”

Originally, Olivia and Sean had planned to go to the remote Pacific island resort of Kaokara together, but had rescheduled because he’d been sick. When she thought of how she’d taken the rat fink her homemade chicken noodle soup…. Olivia had been forced to reschedule again when a last-minute crisis arose at work. Now she planned to take the trip alone, needing the tropical rest and relaxation more than ever.

“I reconfirmed my flight this morning. The minute that shoot in South Carolina is wrapped up, I am out of here.” Mentioning the beach assignment reminded Olivia of the startling switch in photographers. “Hey, did you know Fred’s sister was sick?”

“I heard she needs an operation. Her prognosis is great, but Fred’s going down for a little while to help with her kids. What brought that up?”

“The new photographer, Justin Hawthorne. He’s being officially introduced at the meeting this afternoon. He dropped by my office earlier to let me know he’s going with me Wednesday. Met him yet?”

“Nope, I was tied up on the phone all morning with modeling agencies. Is he anything like Fred?”

“They could not be more different.” Unfortunately. “I mistook him for one of your guys gone astray.”

Meg arched an eyebrow. “He’s as attractive as our male models?”

Better. “Close enough.”

“Oh, good, new eye candy!” Meg leaned back with a grin. “Maybe this afternoon’s meeting won’t be so boring after all.”

Not sharing her friend’s enthusiasm, Olivia smiled weakly. After a brief dating fast, she was going to change her ways—stop dating yummy heartbreakers and find a nice reliable man and a healthy relationship, the romantic equivalent of salad. She didn’t need the temptation of walking pieces of chocolate like Justin Hawthorne.

2

OLIVIA WAS somewhat dismayed that, as soon as she set foot in the conference room, her gaze went to Justin in spite of the other people present. She barely saw Meg point out the seat she’d saved or noted that the side table actually held herbal tea today. Normally, there was just coffee, another one of Olivia’s nonvices.

Instead of paying attention to any of that, her eyes followed Justin. It was as if the meeting were being captioned in the same romanticized style as their upscale catalog. Although casually attired in dark denim and a white button-down shirt, there was nothing casual about the intimacy of his warm smile.

She blinked. Good thing she had that vacation coming up.

Standing at the head of the table, wearing a tie that made one wonder how he’d landed a job in the fashion world, Steve Reynolds smiled. “Liv, you’re here. Great, we can get started.”

As someone who had spent the fourth grade as “Big Liv,” she despised the nickname Liv, but not enough to remind her promotion-wielding—or withholding—boss.

People began taking seats around the dark oval table, and Steve pointed toward the still-standing Justin. “Everyone, this is Justin Hawthorne, the newest member of our team. We were lucky enough to steal him from Hilliard. Liv, he’ll be your photographer for the swimsuit spread. Justin Hawthorne, meet Olivia Lockhart.”