Overview
Valentine's got a talent for finding the right fit—whether it's matching an executive to a job or finding a lover for himself—but he's never had a first impression like Lucy before.
Commandeered by the intriguing stranger at a luxury London department store, Valentine's more than happy to provide the masculine opinion Lucy demands. After all, watching her model fabulous cocktail dresses, saucy shoes and mouth-watering lingerie is his pleasure.
He soon realises that he wants more than just one seductive afternoon with the luscious Lucy. Getting under those new clothes will be a challenge since she's gone back to New York, but he's not the only one being driven mad by the heat of their long-distance flirtation. Now Valentine just needs to convince his little tease that the best part of trying things on is taking them off again.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780857154675 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Totally Entwined Group |
| Publication date: | 02/14/2011 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 45 |
| File size: | 305 KB |
| Age Range: | 18 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Putting It On
Black tracksuit, patent trainers, smirk
Whoever she was, she had gorgeous ankles.
Valentine slouched down for a better view. Trim and touchable. The sort of ankles that he could imagine locking around his waist, or even better, behind his head, while he did all manner of naughty things to their owner. And her calves. Firm curves perfect for skimming his hand down. The opaque stockings she was wearing had a slight sheen to them, one that practically invited his hands to dirty them up, or even better, to rip them to pieces in order to get at all that soft skin beneath.
The bottom of the changing room door cut off his view from there, but fortunately a sordid imagination always had been one of Valentine's strongest points. It was a safe bet that the rest of her legs were touchable too.
Draining the last of his coffee, he crumpled the cup and stuffed it in the gap between the cushioned bench and the wall. Now freed, his fingers tapped a rhythm-less beat on his thigh, scratching the denim. There was something desperately old-fashioned about obsessing over a stranger's ankles, he thought. Like his inner Victorian had been unleashed by Max's Christmas party.
Speaking of which. He pulled out his phone to text Diana. SHOPPING WITH K. APOCALYPSE PLS. Diana — mutual friend, sometimes client and spectacular fuck when either of them could be bothered — always did love a juicy bit of schadenfraude.
Over in the changing room, his mystery lady was rocking back on her stocking feet, her left ankle tilting and taking the weight of both. He tilted with it, angling for a better view. He knew by now that this was her indecisive tell — the last ankle sway had been when he'd caught sight of the orange hem dangling below the frustratingly low edge of the door. That ankle had spoken volumes of potential buyer's remorse before the skirt had pooled onto the floor, abandoned.
Valentine wondered what uncertainty her posture hinted at this time. Leather, he speculated hopefully. An inappropriate-for-work leather mini she was going to show off to herself at the three-way mirror beside him.
"What are you looking at?" Kate wore a trouser suit that worked so well he immediately straightened, sensing the end might finally be in sight. But then she followed his line of sight to where his mystery lady happened to be shimmying into another skirt, the silky cream fabric sliding lovingly up her calves and out of sight.
She was wearing a gold bracelet, he noticed, a slinky little chain that caught the light before her hand disappeared once more behind the barrier.
"Valentine. Are you ...?"
Let it never be said that he did not own his perversions. Because, seriously, those ankles. "Mea culpa. Please tell me you're going to banish me from the ladies' fitting rooms now."
"I'm seriously considering it."
He tore his gaze away from the closed door. "If I might remind you it was your idea we spent quality time together ..."
"I was hoping you'd be a little more useful, to be honest, given that you're supposed to be the expert in all this." She looked down at the suit she was wearing then back at the carnage of her open fitting room.
"I told you already, that's the one. Fits you like a dream, it's a good colour, the cut's classic. Done."
She looked down at her suit. "What about the other ...?"
"It's wrong and you knew that twenty minutes ago."
"Stop whining."
"I know you mean that with love. Waste our time and try on the others if you want, but you know I'm right."
"That's it," she said. "Consider yourself banished."
"I love you too, Katie." He leapt up, stretching the last twenty minutes of sartorial torture out of a frame too big for the frou-frou couch. "There's a bar in Menswear, yours is a G&T, yeah? I'll —"
"You're not going anywhere until I'm done with you."
He and Kate both looked up in surprise.
She of the touchable ankles was leaning against her fitting room's doorway like she owned the place. Dressed in a knee-length camel coat over a black jersey tracksuit, with shiny black patent trainers, there was nothing uncertain about her now. As a matter of fact, she was watching him with the sort of smirk he recognised because it was exactly the same one he'd wear if their positions were reversed.
But bloody hell, it looked better on her.
"I need a man's opinion for the day," she continued when his dry mouth didn't cooperate fast enough for him to reply. "You'll do."
She gestured to the two hangers she'd draped over the doorway. One held a nice example of the business dress that came through his office door at least twice a week. Square neck, short sleeves, belted waist. The other held a pencil skirt in a light grey that she'd paired with a blue striped blouse with crisp white cuffs. Fresh and interesting, and he was intrigued that someone who'd picked the dress as a serious contender would go for that combination as well.
"You've been looking," she said. The subtext being, he thought happily, that she'd been looking too to catch him at it. "So tell me what you think."
Her watchful brown eyes were smudged with eyeliner that made them look even bigger then they already were. If those New York vowels had been French, he might have called her gamine. Instead, she held that pointed chin of hers as though she liked an argument, which was just hot.
"The dress won't work," he told her. "Love the other, though."
"Why?" she asked after a long, considering moment.
He pointed to the dress. "You walk in wearing that and I don't believe a word you say. You put it on because it's something you thought was appropriate to the occasion, not because you know it is. Now this," he said, nodding to the blouse, "wear this and they'll buy anything you're selling." Her dark brows drew swiftly together so he explained, unprompted, "It says 'I didn't over think this, I just love blue stripes'."
She hmmed at that. Sized him up and seemed to find him adequate after all, lucky him, because she asked, "And why do you think I'm in sales?"
He grinned wider, because it was one thing to enjoy her taking the upper hand, and another thing altogether to let her get away with it. "Everyone's in sales, love, it's just a question of what's on offer."
He got another smirk instead of the frown and counted it a victory.
"Is he always like this?" she asked.
"Only when he's on his best behaviour." Kate seemed impressed by the show, however, and Valentine respected that — there was no tougher crowd than a mother of three.
"I don't think we've met," he interjected. "I'm —"
They both ignored him. "I'll take him," his mystery lady said, her business-like tone reminding him of the way Kate dealt with the kiddies. "You can have him back when I've finished with him."
"Oh, please." Kate waved away the idea of it with a smirk of her own. "No hurry."
"Are you negotiating for me?"
Neither spared him a glance.
Call off the apocalypse, Valentine decided. He loved shopping.
And after all that, she didn't even wait for him; she simply turned on her heels and strode out of the fitting room. With the outfit he'd chosen, he noted happily.
"Right then." He kissed Kate's cheek and plucked at her sleeve. "This really is the one, you know."
She deliberately misunderstood him. "Yes, I rather suspect she is. Have fun and stay out of trouble."
"Don't I always?"
She snorted and waved him off.
Scooping up his coat, Valentine ambled out to where his mystery lady was waiting for him by the escalator.
She held out the hangers for him to take. "Coming, then?"
Was that a hint of a challenge in her brisk voice? Mmm, he hoped so. "Darling," he said. "I'm all yours."
New haircut, dimples, speculative once-over
She was tiny — he was delighted to realise. He hadn't noticed at first ... bizarre, since he noticed everything, especially at first, it was what he did. He could only put the lapse down to the power of her impression, the way he hadn't even dreamt of comparing her to anyone else because she'd been one hundred percent all there, utterly herself. It was in the way she held her body, he decided. All that confidence. Even standing with her back to him on the moving stair above, she still commanded his attention.
He thought about asking her right then and there if she was looking to switch jobs, but with the grin he could still feel stretching his mouth the professional enquiry would sound like a poorly done pick-up. For the moment it was far more interesting to puzzle out what other details he might have missed while so uncharacteristically distracted.
She was looking out across the space between the elevators, not so much ignoring him as honestly fascinated by the people travelling in the opposite direction. He glanced over, curious to know what she saw, but from this distance everything blurred into winter coats overlaid by the red foil hearts and sales signs dangling from the ceiling.
"Tourist or expat?"
The question got her attention. Her eyes really were striking, he thought, smoky and deceptively sleepy. "Business, actually. I fly out later tonight."
Valentine felt a slow dip of disappointment. A shame. Still, it was only early afternoon. "And the shopping?"
She had a dimple. A small one, but it quirked into view when she replied, "An unavoidable chore."
"I'm happy to be of service," he said gravely.
The dimple deepened for an instant then disappeared. He felt unaccountably disappointed, and slightly disturbed by the fact that he'd apparently turned into a teenage girl. They hit the floor and he followed in her wake as she turned onto the next escalator.
This time she didn't turn away, so he asked, "How do you know I wasn't standing up my date? When you commandeered me, I mean?"
She gave him the sort of stern look that, if he'd seen it on the face of a client, would have had him ditching the current prospect to pitch another, but she tempered it with a laugh. He liked her laugh — like everything else about her, it seemed very genuine.
"Your girlfriend? With those green eyes? Please."
Now that was promising. If she'd noticed the family resemblance, she'd noticed the rest of him. He straightened, giving her his full height, and was gratified when he saw the swift rise of her chest.
"You've met my older sister," he said with a casual grin, "surely it's my turn to discover something personal about you?"
She eyed him. "Go on."
A woman coaxing two overexcited children brushed past him to the left, nearly dislodging the hangers from his grip as he prompted, "Your name?"
Another laugh. "Lucy."
"Lucy." He rolled the syllables around his tongue, enjoying them. "I'm Valentine."
He waited for the question about first or last — everyone asked, after all — but she just smiled very professionally and nodded, leaving him hanging. Oh, he really did like her.
"Big day planned?" he asked as they stepped off the escalator amidst a crowd of shoppers and stick-thin mannequins and moved on to the next.
"For my credit cards? Sure."
Her dark brown hair was cut into a bob so sleek that it had him glancing at her shoulders for the telltale signs, and yes, look, there were the razored slivers lost in the jersey of her hoodie. He shifted on his stair tread, resisting the urge to take the easy stride up to her step. Definitely best to stick to verbal crowding only — as much as he'd enjoy it for the moment she'd let him get away with it, he suspected any other form of crowding would earn him a swift dismissal.
"Coming up, I mean. New kit. New hair. What's burning up your calendar?"
She relaxed against the railing. "Cocktail party. One of my biggest clients, with the prospect to network for more. I know what I should wear, I know what I'd like to wear, and now I have to find something in between."
"Hmm. And what business are you in?"
She grinned, the light in her eyes answering his earlier question about job searching — no, here was someone who still loved what she did. "Art expertise," she replied. "Twentieth century. I work with corporations, help them fill their lobbies, help them build collections."
"Brilliant," he said, because it really sounded like it. "You're with a firm?"
"Freelance consultant." She stepped neatly off the escalator. "Time?"
He rearranged his burdens under his arm so he could check his watch. "At the hour."
"Perfect." She glanced at him over her shoulder. "I've got an appointment with the personal shopper."
"I thought I was the second opinion?"
"Don't pout. The executives I work with are mostly men, which is why I want a man's perspective too."
The personal shopping suite was located through the back of Menswear, requiring them to wind their way through some very nice suits. He paused briefly to browse, lingering over one in a light golden-brown.
"Mmm, that would look great with your colouring." She came right up to him — and there he'd been worrying about crowding her — taking the breadth of his shoulders with efficient, warm hands. He'd worn a black shirt today, left it untucked and casual, and she fisted the open collar underneath his winter scarf.
"We'd need to get you a tie as well." Her fingertips brushed against his skin, lingering a little longer than necessary. He smiled down at her and she matched him, tooth for tooth, before she gave his scarf a playful tug. "Too bad today's all about me."
The personal shopper — a discreetly professional woman who introduced herself as Jennifer — took away their coats and the clothes Lucy had already selected. The shopping suite was a cosy room with excellent lighting and mirrors so lavish they set him to speculating sexual trigonometry almost immediately.
"I know what you're thinking," Lucy murmured.
"Do you?" he said, low, the half-question a caress. Her brown eyes went a little vague in response, enough to tell him that if she hadn't before, she did now.
If this was personal shopping, he rather fancied it.
While she conferred with Jennifer, Valentine made himself comfortable on the wide leather sofa. He alternated between watching her and scrolling his work emails on his mobile. Until her hand, with its squared-off, glossy French manicured tips, closed over his wrist. It was a thrill when he realised she was demanding his full attention, another jolt when he decided to follow her lead.
"One more. The Amsterdam office closes shortly."
"One." She made the number sound like she was granting him a favour, one that she'd expect to be repaid later. She crouched down by the side his chair in one fluid motion that hinted at yoga and many interesting ways to play with that flexibility.
As he quickly tapped out his response, Valentine felt his skin prickle with heat, all the way up the arm closest to her and round to the back of his neck. Concentration shot by proximity, he opted for a blunt — TELL HIM TO ACCEPT THE OFFER!!! — and handed her the phone.
She tucked it into the pocket of her hoodie but made no move to get up, ignoring the personal shopper as she arranged a number of dresses on a rack by the fitting room. "If you're with me, Valentine," she said seriously, "I want you with me."
"Keep it then," he said.
She went still, her body responding to the sexual rasp in his voice. He could see their reflections in the mirror, the back of her head with its teasing tilt and shining bobbed hair ... her proximity to his lap. In the mirror, their tableau seemed far less innocent. So easy to imagine the mirror-Lucy shifting between his legs, sliding her hands along his thighs, up, up, up ...
She rose smoothly to her feet, stepping out of his space but talking a little too quickly to be casual about it. "I see your office follows you around. What is it you do exactly?"
"Corporate head-hunter."
"That would explain it then. The way you were looking at everyone, when we were coming up here. Like you were at one of the auctions I attend," she said, "except deciding who was worth bidding on."
He enjoyed auctions — or at least, he'd enjoyed that bloke from Sotheby's whose areas of expertise had been broad enough to include some fantastic rimming. He also liked the fact she wasn't going to prevaricate about the fact that today he'd obviously raised his card for her. "Looks like I've settled for you," he said easily.
He caught the tiny evaluative flicker of her eyes across the lines of his posture, saw the burn of interest in the way her gaze lingered at her favourite parts. Slouching into the sofa, he spread his thighs a little. Her eyes were bright as she watched.
"Let's get started then," she said.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Taking It Off"
by .
Copyright © 2011 Rachel Randall.
Excerpted by permission of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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