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Because ever since their electric meeting yesterday afternoon, Alec had only one goal on his mind.
Seducing Eden Montgomery.
“YOU WERE RIGHT,” Jayne Lockerbee told Sarah Ramsey Armstrong. “They are perfect for each other. Sparks flew the minute they laid eyes on each other.”
Sarah pushed a strand of sleek blond hair behind one multipierced ear and grinned over the top of her cubicle at her co-worker. They were both financial analysts for Dean-Sterns Investments, although Jayne worked only three days a week.
“When you gave Zach and me that erotic gift basket for a wedding present I knew whoever had made it was exactly the kind of woman Alec needed. Earthy, grounded, intelligent and yet incredibly sensual.”
“That’s Eden to a tee—even if she doesn’t yet have the self-confidence to realize her feminine power. But with our help, she will.” Jayne grinned.
“Yes! Enough with the airheaded bimbos already. Alec goes for them because they’re not a threat. My brother needs someone who’ll challenge him both inside the bedroom and out, whether he knows it or not.” Sarah clapped. “Making this match is going to be such fun.”
“Are you sure Alec is ready to settle down?” Jayne frowned. “I care about Eden and I don’t want to see her hurt. She’s vulnerable, especially since the fire. I think the last guy she was seeing really did a number on her ego.”
“Relax. My little brother’s got his faults, but he’s not a heartbreaker.”
“But he publishes a magazine worshiping the merits of bachelorhood over marriage and he has dated a lot of women,” Jayne mused.
Sarah waved a dismissive hand. “A lot of what you see is public relations. Alec doesn’t treat women frivolously and he hasn’t had nearly as many girlfriends as he likes everyone to believe.”
“Really?”
“Now, he wouldn’t admit it if you tortured him, but I’ve seen the wistful way he looks at Randy and Jill and me and Zach. No matter how much he protests to the contrary, he’s not built like Uncle Mac. Sooner or later he’s going to realize what he’s missing by clinging to his silly belief that love and marriage mean the death of fun and freedom. And I think your Eden is just the woman to teach him how to face his fears. He’s going to love the intimacy of monogamy once he gets a taste of it.”
“How do you know?”
Sarah held out her left hand and admired the big diamond sparkling there. “Until I met Zach, I was afraid of commitment, too. We Ramseys are a stubborn bunch, but when we do fall in love, we’re in it for the long haul.”
“I remember.” Jayne laughed. “I kept trying to tell you what a wonderful thing a good marriage was.”
“So I’m a slow learner. Let’s hope Alec realizes sooner than I did that there’s nothing more profound than finding your soul mate. Not to mention hot, hot, hot.”
“The sexual chemistry between those two was unmistakable,” Jayne said. “I thought Eden’s boutique was going to combust.”
“All they needed was a push in the right direction.” Sarah nodded. “They’ll thank us in the end.”
“I’ll call Eden after she comes back from their luncheon and see how things went.”
“I’ll keep you posted on what Alec says.”
The two women grinned at each other and Sarah started humming the matchmaker song from Fiddler on the Roof.
WOULD LIGHTNING STRIKE twice? Or had yesterday simply been a fluke?
Wetting her lips to dampen her nervousness, Eden changed from her Nikes in the ground-floor ladies’ room at Trump Towers and slipped into the pair of four-inch Jimmy Choo ebony sling-backs Jayne had loaned her.
Was Alec Ramsey really the man she wanted as her love mentor?
That was the question she was here to answer.
In the meantime, she had caved in to Ashley and Jayne’s demands that she vamp out, although she couldn’t shake the feeling she was leading Alec on, acting like an experienced, sexually confident woman when that’s the last thing she was.
“Act the part,” Ashley had encouraged when she’d insisted Eden borrow her skintight black leather skirt that was long enough to hide Eden’s burn scars but short enough to generate plenty of head-turning interest. On the subway ride over she’d gotten a half-dozen appreciative wolf whistles.
“Perceiving, behaving, becoming,” Jayne had imparted along with the Jimmy Choos, and a pair of dynamite black fishnet stockings with sparkly rhinestones sewn into the back seam.
But what had finally convinced her to give their plan a try was the editorial in the front pages of the October issue of Single Guy. She was impressed by the way Alec advocated responsible sex and described all woman as goddesses. As the publisher of a magazine aimed at bachelors, he might be commitment shy, but reading the article clued her in that Alec definitely knew how to indulge a lady.
And that was exactly what she needed. A temporary tryst with a tender and considerate man who wouldn’t head for the hills when he discovered her secret.
Eden peered at herself in the bathroom mirror and was startled to see how unruly she appeared. She ran a hand through her rowdy curls to tame them. The humid weather played havoc with her hair, giving her a just-tumbled-out-of-bed look. Her lipstick color too red, her mascara too thickly applied.
Bad-girl glam.
She felt restless and reckless and edgy. And those alien feelings scared her. She wished she’d had the courage to explore her sexuality more fully before the fire, before she had the scars to contend with, but she’d been too chicken. Frightened of catching a communicable disease or of ending up like her mother or of getting her heart broken.
Or all three.
Which was why she was in the situation she was in now. Sexually frustrated, with her creativity stagnant. Dared she hope that Alec Ramsey held the key to her liberation?
She glanced at her watch. Five minutes to one.
“Show time,” she whispered to her reflection, slipped her sneakers into her satchel, took a deep breath and headed for the fourteenth floor.
Controlled chaos greeted her when she stepped off the elevator and pushed through the double glass doors with Single Guy etched into the panels with a bold, masculine font.
Phones rang incessantly. People hurried to and fro squeezing past each other in the narrow corridor at the same time someone was holding an impromptu sales meeting right there at the central credenza.
The walls were bright and splashy, featuring advertisers’ posters hawking everything from imported liquor to expensive automobiles to the trendiest menswear fashions.
Copies of Single Guy were stacked everywhere. Executive toys rested on computers and desktops. Daring alternative rock music blared from a high-tech sound system and a help-yourself popcorn machine filled the air with the scent of freshly popped, buttered popcorn.
The place was energetic, lively and imaginative. A grown-up guy’s playground. And Alec was right in the big middle of the free-for-all.
Eden stood to one side for a moment, watching him.
He wore a black turtleneck sweater and formfitting trousers that showed off his breathtaking physique. His longish hair was sexily tousled. His profile was dazzling—regal nose, rugged chin, high cheekbones.
Her pulse bounded through her veins at a feverish pace as the William Tell Overture galloped crazily inside her head.
He migrated from person to person, pumping his employees up, urging them to give a hundred and ten percent to the job at hand. He brainstormed concepts on the fly, storytelling, networking and motivating with nothing more than a smile and his irresistible presence.
She quickly realized he managed his team with the mental equivalent of chain-saw juggling. He kept a permanent smile hardwired to his chiseled features. He was everything she was not. Witty, inspirational, charming, impulsive.
Without a doubt this mover and shaker would be a dynamo between the sheets. If she slept with him, would some of that high-energy enthusiasm rub off on her? She hoped so.
Eden noticed a serious-looking young man hovering at Alec’s elbow. He was keeping up with everything that transpired, calmly and methodically jotting down notes in a Palm Pilot.
Ah, she thought, the follow-through guy. Alec was the idea man; the younger dude was the one who made it all come together. Alec was smart enough to surround himself with the right people.
In that brief span of two minutes, Eden’s admiration for him doubled. Oh, to be so spontaneous, so unselfconscious, so alive.
Alec pivoted on his heel, spun in Eden’s direction and stopped cold.
The minute he spotted her, his grin widened and his eyes rounded. He looked as if he’s just won an Atlantic City jackpot. The million-dollar expression in his eyes went a long way in repairing her damaged self-esteem and earning him a hundred brownie points toward becoming the lover she finally let see her scar.
“Wow,” he said, low and husky as he stalked closer, “look at you.”
Leisurely, he combed his gaze from the top of her head, down her low-cut red sweater, to the snug-fitting leather skirt, to her fishnet stockings, to the sexy stilettos and back again. Her clothes issued a provocative message Eden feared she could not back up. A long moment passed and she almost turned and ran.
But the appreciative look in Alec’s eyes held her anchored to the spot.
The entire office had followed his movements and now all of his employees were staring at her, obviously intrigued by the woman who’d captured their dynamic boss’s interest.
Eden felt her cheeks flush. Oh great. She was blushing like a schoolgirl. But no man this influential had ever had quite this reaction to her before. She had longed for this very outcome when she’d donned her sexy outfit, but now that she had his undivided attention, she wasn’t sure what to do with it.
She smiled shyly and raised a hand to her throat. “I overdressed, didn’t I?”
“No. Oh, no. You look absolutely gorgeous. Are you ready to get down to business?” His gray eyes smoldered with a sexuality that took her breath away and his full, masculine lips held her mesmerized.
“Pardon?” Eden blinked. She’d been fantasizing about kissing him and his question caught her off guard.
“Lunch, the gift consultation.”
“Oh, yes.” She patted her satchel. “I’ve got everything right here.”
“Yes, you do.” He grinned rakishly, allowed his eyes to take another trip over her body and Eden knew he wasn’t talking about what was in her portfolio.
In that moment, she made her decision. In spite of the nervousness knotting her stomach, in spite of her fears that he was anticipating a femme fatale and there was no way she could measure up to his expectations, in spite of the gamble she was taking by risking his ultimate rejection, Eden knew what she wanted.
Correction, what she desperately needed in order to recover her creative self-confidence.
A red-hot fling with the sumptuous Alec Ramsey.
4
ALEC TOOK HER to Maison Henri, an elegant new French restaurant in Midtown. He opened the door for her, lightly grasped her elbow and guided her in over the threshold.
Eden appreciated his proprietary touch. It made her feel protected. Her pulse accelerated at the casual contact and immediately a half-dozen sexual fantasies tumbled through her mind exactly as they had the day before. The same fantasies that had vanished the minute he’d left her shop.
The more she was around him, the more she suspected this man was indeed her sexual muse. A decidedly masculine version of the mythical Erato. Eden shivered at the fanciful notion.
Careful, Eden.
Starry-eyed romanticism had led her into that disastrous relationship with Josh. She had to be careful. Her fragile ego couldn’t handle another mistake like that one.
The maître d’ greeted them and led them to their table tucked behind a wooden partition draped with artificial grape vines. He pulled out her chair for her and then, with a flourish, settled a white linen napkin in her lap.
“Thank you,” Eden murmured, and glanced over at Alec.
His eyes were on her face. “This place is a little extravagant, but I thought perhaps you might enjoy something special.”
“It was very thoughtful of you.”
Eden felt like a powerful politician’s mistress meeting her lover for a clandestine tryst in the dimly lighted, quaint bistro at one-thirty in the afternoon. Only three other couples were in the restaurant and they were seated at the far end of the room. The isolated privacy, the decadent aroma of mouthwateringly rich food scenting the air and the flickering candlelight heightened the romantic mood.
Their garçon, efficient and ghostlike, waited at the ready with two menus and a wine list in his hand. A bottle of shockingly expensive champagne sat chilling in a bucket beside Alec’s elbow.
A nosegay of pansies graced the center of the table. Eden loved the delicate, colorful flowers and was surprised to see the card propped against the small bouquet with her name on it.
Oh, my.
“The flowers are for me?”
“Go ahead, read the card.”
Tentatively she reached for the envelope and opened it with shaky fingers.
From one sensualist to another, Alec.
Uh-oh. Because of her unusual profession, Alec had assumed she was much more sexually knowledgeable than she actually was. She hoped he wasn’t disappointed when he learned the truth about her.
If he learned the truth, she reminded herself. Keep things low-key for the time being. Feel out the situation before proceeding. Pretend this is nothing more than a business luncheon.
“The flowers are beautiful,” she said, feeling bowled over by his attentions, and dropped the card into her purse. “Thank you.” The garçon handed them their menus and an awkward silence ensued as they studied the choices.
“The coq au vin here is excellent,” Alec said.
“I’ll have that then.” She smiled and passed the menu back to the garçon. “And a house salad with vinaigrette dressing.”
“Oui, mademoiselle. Et pour vous, monsieur?”
“I’ll have the same,” Alec replied.
The garçon bowed and left.
“It’s too formal here.” Alec made a regretful face. “I went over the top.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” she reassured him. “Very elegant.”
“I gravitate toward grand gestures. My sisters say it’s because I’m a show-off.”
In that moment he seemed as vulnerable as a little boy gifting his mother with a dandelion bouquet and holding his breath waiting for her approval.
Why, he’s just as nervous as I am. She was touched that he cared enough to be anxious and the realization relaxed her a little.
“I’m flattered you consider me worthy of a grand gesture,” Eden admitted, while at the same time worrying that things were moving too quickly. “This is a great place.”
“Really?”
“It’s lovely.”
He looked relieved and grateful for her kind words. He wasn’t nearly as cool and suave as she’d first supposed and she found his humanity endearing.
“Why don’t we get down to business while we’re waiting for our food.” She lowered her voice and glanced over her shoulder to make sure the waiter wasn’t still hovering. “Let’s discuss your friends’ secret sexual fantasies.”
“Excuse me?” He blinked at her as if he’d been caught napping.
“Randy and Jill. Their wedding present. The reason we’re here.”
“Oh, yeah, that.”
“Generally, I start the process with a basic fantasy. For instance the fantasy inspiration for your sister Sarah’s Palm Tree Passion basket was Island Girl and Surfer Dude.”
“I’m not sure I want to hear about my sister’s sexual fantasies. Thank you very much.”
Eden chuckled. “Okay, I see what you mean. That was just an example.”
She took the portfolio from her satchel and opened it up to reveal pictures of gift baskets she had created. She scooted her chair closer to his side of the table so they could both see the book.
The warmth of his breath feathered the hairs along the nape of her neck as he leaned in closer. She turned her head to look at him. Lowering her lashes, she shyly issued him a provocative invitation with her eyes. Worst-case scenarios aside, this was turning out to be much easier than she expected.
“Tell me if anything strikes a chord with you.”
“Will do.”
It was a strange sensation, Alec watching her so intently. She found she couldn’t quite lose herself in the moment. His smoky-gray eyes split her focus between the portfolio and her awareness of him studying her.
He made her feel beautiful, she realized, and that unnerved her too. She wasn’t accustomed to captivating a man’s attention so completely. Especially a man as handsome and dynamic as this one. That feeling dared her to act bolder, more confidently, urging her to be everything that he saw in her.
“What’s this one called?” Alec tapped the first photograph.
“Here we have the Professor and the Vixen. That basket might include things like reading glasses, feather boas, classical music tapes, or even a whip.”
The sleeve of his shirt lightly grazed her forearm and damn if a shower of sparks didn’t shoot through her body. Eden blew out her breath slowly to diffuse the stunning heat.
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“The Rock Star and the Groupie?”
“Nah.”
Eden flipped the page. “Master and Slave?”
Alec wriggled his eyebrows at her.
“You think they’d like that one?”
“No, but I would.”
She felt her cheeks start to burn, but then she denied the blush and fought it off. She was a professional. She did this for a living. She refused to be ashamed or embarrassed by frank sexual talk.
“Which do you fancy,” she teased, slanting him a sidelong glance. “Role-playing the master or the slave?”
“Oh,” he said, “I’m totally democratic. I believe in taking turns.”
“I’ll have to keep that in mind.” Oh my gosh, had she just said that? Eden longed to slap her hand over her mouth, but she didn’t.
His gray eyes crinkled at the corners. “What else you got?”
“Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down?”
“Another intriguing prospect.”
In her mind’s eye she vividly saw Alec laying buck naked tied to a poster bed in four-point restraints and instant moisture dampened her panties. Her body ached all over with sudden need. How was it possible that a virtual stranger made her feel so recklessly intense? She swallowed hard and struggled to appear composed.
“More.” He waved a hand.
Eden shook her head to dispel the visual pImages** that didn’t want to leave. “The Biker and Lady Godiva. We’re talking leather and chains, long blond wig for Lady Godiva, that sort of thing.”
“Good one, but let’s keep looking.”
“The Chauffeur and the Countessa?”
“Perhaps.”
“The Playboy and the Virgin?”
Alec snapped his fingers. “There. Now that sounds perfect for Randy and Jill. What sort of items do you see in that one?”
Eden sucked in her breath. He had chosen her favorite fantasy. The uninitiated virgin’s sexual awakening at the hands of a master seducer thrilled Eden to her core. Her mind, which for the past few weeks had been completely sluggish when it came to new and sexy ideas, filled with a hundred intriguing possibilities.
“W-well,” she stuttered, and wondered why she was stammering. “In my creations I appeal to all five senses. We start with the crucible. The basket is not always an actual basket, you know. It can be anything from a motorcycle helmet to a briefcase to an Igloo cooler.”
“Ah. So in the case of The Playboy and the Virgin, we might use a champagne bucket instead of a basket.”
“Exactly. Let me make some notes.” She started to reach for her satchel again, but he pulled a pen from his coat pocket and held it out to her.
“Oh, thank you.” Tentatively she reached out.
Her fingertips brushed his and she nearly came unraveled. She took the pen, still warm from his body heat. The longer she held it, the warmer it grew against her skin. She gulped.
Excitement, along with a good deal of fear, sizzled through her veins. Hurriedly she scribbled on a yellow legal pad that she kept tucked in her portfolio and didn’t dare look up.
“Okay,” she said, after she’d jotted down what they had so far and passed that volatile pen back to him. How a simple writing instrument could evoke such tumultuous emotions in her she had no idea, but she couldn’t get rid of the pen fast enough. “I usually line the baskets with something. It can simply be a piece of fabric, or it can be a garment. Like a negligee or scarf. I’ve got fabric swatches.”
She flipped to the back of the portfolio, where she had glued small squares of sensual fabrics, and held her breath. Did she have the courage to continue the sensual exercise she performed with a client when helping them pick out the right cloth?
What if the erotic little exercise turned into a best-case scenario and led back to his apartment for some afternoon delight as Ashley so succinctly put it? What if she got what she wanted only to discover too late she wasn’t the kind of woman who could separate love and great sex?
Eden hesitated a long moment.
Go on. It’s your job. Just do it.
“Have fabric swatches, will design?” he quipped, gave her a friendly wink and a lopsided grin.
Whatever happened, whichever way it went down, at least she’d have fun with this guy. Besides, there was only one way to break out of her rut—plunge ahead. Bolstering her courage, Eden made her move.
“Close your eyes,” she whispered.
“Hmm,” Alec closed his eyes. “I like the sounds of this.”
“Give me your hand.”
Obediently he held out his hand and almost groaned aloud when her skin seared his. The pure charge of electrical passion that raged up his arm turned his world topsy-turvy.
She used his fingers to trace the material. The soft brush of velvet sent a bolt of desire blasting through his hard body.
“Velvet,” he murmured.
“Now,” she whispered. “Imagine your naked skin immersed in these materials.”
Dear God, did the woman have even a remote idea what she was doing to him?
She guided his fingertips over lithe silk, smooth satin, plush mink, glossy taffeta, nubby corduroy, scratchy tweed. She sauntered his fingers on a trip around the world with luxurious chenille, stiff Irish lace and sumptuous angora. Together they stroked rich cashmere and supple suede and stonewashed denim.
And with each touch, each journey, easy smooth glide, he grew more and more aroused. He would feel the imprint of her hand on his for days. He had to bite down on his tongue to keep from groaning.
He was dying to open his eyes and gaze into her face. He wanted to see if she’d been as deeply affected by their connection as he. He wanted more. To see more of her, touch more, feel more. He wanted to rip off her clothes and ravish her right here on the restaurant table while he licked and sucked and tasted every inch of her. What would you call that fantasy? The Caveman and the Epicurean?
“So which material do you think they will like best?” she murmured.
“Who?” he asked, opening his eyes and blinking away the dazed fog of sexual fantasies clogging his brain. Thank heavens Eden had no idea what he’d just been thinking.
“Randy and Jill.”
Oh yeah, them. “Too many choices,” he said.
“Focus on our theme. The Playboy and the Virgin.”
“If the champagne bucket represents the playboy, the liner should represent the virgin.”
“Exactly. We need something soft and pure and delicate.”
“Angora,” they said in unison.
“Hey.” Eden laughed. “You’re pretty good at this.”
“Line the champagne bucket with an angora sweater. Jill’s favorite color is blue and she wears a size six,” he said.
“Next,” Eden said, as she chuckled huskily and flipped the page, “come the sex toys.”