She’d show him sex kitten

Sex panther was more like it.

Growling under her breath, she headed for the hotel elevator. She had splurged on a manicure, pedicure and a facial. She’d shaved her legs, plucked her eyebrows and waxed her upper lip. She was smooth and pampered and sleekly groomed. Tonight Eden was an overworked Manhattan CEO in a black bustier with a garter and thigh-high stockings on underneath her staid gray business suit—an executive who liked tying men up and having her way with them.

And Alec would be the one.

By the time he knocked on the door, Eden had music playing, candles flickering and the champagne uncorked. When she opened the door, he bounded inside and swept her into his arms.

“God,” he groaned, “I thought tonight would never get here. The waiting kills me.”

“Ah,” Eden replied, “that’s part of my plan.”

“Your plan is more evil than world domination.”

“Ha. You’ll think evil when you find out what I have in store for you tonight.”

“Bring it on,” he said, a smile searing his lips.

Dear Reader,

One day when I was cleaning my house—yes, even we Blaze authors must put down the sex toys occasionally and dust cobwebs—a snippet of provocative dialogue popped into my head. I had no idea who the characters were or the premise of the story, just the opening conversation.

However, it didn’t take me long to realize I had a powerful theme to explore. What holds a woman back from acting out her most seductive sexual fantasies? Once I asked that question, Eden Montgomery began to whisper her story into my ear. And when I learned Eden’s secret shame I knew she needed someone tender and caring. Someone fun loving and spontaneous and just a little bit reckless. Someone who would encourage her to face her fears and embrace her sexuality. Someone like daredevil Alec Ramsey.

Except, with the help of her friends and a very special stone, Eden ends up teaching Alec far more about love than he ever bargained for. I hope you enjoy Eden and Alec’s story and that your own romantic adventures are, well…wickedly wonderful.

I love to hear from my readers. You can visit my Web site www.loriwilde.com or write to me at loriwilde02@yahoo.com.

Lori Wilde

Packed With Pleasure
Lori Wilde

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Diana Tidlund

A very special woman who makes the world a better place.

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

Epilogue

1

“RED-VELVET-LINED handcuffs?”

“Check.”

“Silk blindfold?”

“Check.”

“Crotchless crimson lace panties?”

“Check.”

“Cinnamon-scented massage oil?”

“Check.”

“Video camera and extra cassettes?”

“Check and double check.”

“Plenty of condoms?”

Eden Montgomery clicked her tongue and shot her petite, purple-and-scarlet-haired assistant a chiding glance. “Ashley, I’m a professional. Of course I’ve included condoms.”

“Hey,” Ashley protested, waving a tattooed wrist. “I’m just trying to keep you out of trouble.”

“What do you mean?” Eden frowned. “Trouble?”

Ashley cleared her throat. “Well, I didn’t really want to say anything because this was a rush order, but you do realize that you created this exact same gift basket a couple of months ago? Back then, I think you called it Seduction in Scarlet.”

Eden stared at her assistant, and then shifted her gaze to the basket. A lump of dismay slid down her throat. Good grief, Ashley was right. The basket was identical to one she’d made for a famous Broadway actor’s thirty-fifth birthday. Right down to the vermilion pashmina she’d used to line the basket.

“Don’t look so stricken. Repeating yourself is no great tragedy, even if you do advertise your baskets as one-of-a-kind creations. Seriously, E., who’s gonna know?”

“I’ll know.” Immediately, Eden began dismantling the basket, tossing items out across the counter. Her reputation was based on her word. She would not be guilty of false advertising.

“Look, you don’t have time for a major overhaul. The customer is due to pick it up this afternoon.”

“I don’t care.”

“What are you going to do instead?”

“I don’t know.” Eden looked at the demolished basket, the urge to cry surprising her with its intensity.

“Admit it, you have been rather frazzled for the past month or so,” Ashley observed. “What you need is a good long vacation.”

Frazzled wasn’t the word for it. Lately, she had been well…stagnant.

As the proprietor of Wickedly Wonderful, a tiny boutique in a trendy slice of Manhattan that specialized in erotic gift baskets for those uniquely seductive occasions such as honeymoons and anniversaries, Eden’s business lived or died on the strength of her creativity. Unfortunately, her artistic fount had run dry.

She had slammed headlong into an invisible mental wall. She was blocked. Clogged. Bereft of an original concept.

The thrill was gone.

Think. Come on, Eden, you can do it. Come up with a fresh idea.

She couldn’t really pinpoint when she’d started to lose intimacy with her work, but about five weeks ago, almost two years to the day after the tragic fiery accident that had led her to specializing in erotica, she’d noticed her concentration slipping. Before the fire she had operated a normal gift store, producing baskets for all occasion from holidays to bar mitzvahs to baby showers, but she’d had difficulty keeping the business solvent.

And then two things had happened. One, a regular client had asked her to design an erotic gift basket for her sister’s honeymoon and, two, Eden’s apartment building had caught fire.

She’d helped her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Grant, escape, but she’d then gone back into the building to help others. A burning ceiling beam had fallen, pinning her pelvis to the floor. Two burly members of the FDNY had arrived just in time to save her from succumbing to smoke inhalation. They hadn’t, however, been able to stop her from receiving third-degree burns.

Eden briefly closed her eyes, sucked in her breath and grimaced at the remembered pain of the fateful night that had changed her life forever. Involuntarily, she splayed a palm across her lower abdomen.

“Is there something going on?” Ashley angled her head. The tiny hoop earring pierced through her left eyebrow caught the light and glinted gold. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” she denied. Usually people confided in her, not the other way around. She was more comfortable being the shoulder to cry on than the one revealing her feelings.

“Does it have anything to do with the fire?”

Eden shot her a look. Ashley was much more perceptive than most people gave her credit for. Her flibbertigibbet personality gave the impression of someone too mercurial for deep thoughts.

“Why would you suppose that?”

“Because every time you think about the fire you touch your scar.”

Immediately, Eden jerked her hand from her abdomen. She’d had reconstructive surgery last summer and the scars were much less noticeable now. She needed to stop focusing on her wounds. Not so easy to do when the burns were indirectly related to her current creative slump.

Following the fire, a prominent newspaper had done a feature piece on her, lauding her as a hero. She’d felt awkward with the title and uncomfortable with the attention. She’d only done what anyone else would have done in the same situation.

A reporter and her cameraman had come to the shop and spied the sexy basket Eden had started concocting for her client, but hadn’t completed before the fire put her out of commission. The reporter had honed in on that basket and enthusiastically touted Eden as the Renoir of erotic gift basket design.

After the article came out, Eden’s phone had rung off the hook with orders. Business mushroomed. She renamed the store, changing it from Hildy’s Hideaway to Wickedly Wonderful. Her financial woes vanished, but she had felt like a fraud. She knew next to nothing about the sexual adventures she created in her baskets beyond her own vivid imagination.

To counter her feelings of inadequacy, she’d studied every sex manual and erotic book she could lay her hands on. From the Kama Sutra to The Story of O. Her newly acquired but totally academic knowledge of sex, combined with her degree in art history from N.Y.U., had stimulated her efforts.

And for a while it had been great fun, living vicariously through her work. She loved mentally exploring the tempting fantasies she’d never gotten to experience in the flesh.

To date, she’d only had one lover. Harry Jackson, an old college friend she’d trusted but had never been particularly aroused by. She’d decided to lose her virginity at twenty calmly and rationally, unclouded by complicated passion.

She’d experienced enough chaos and drama in her upbringing and she’d been determined to keep her feet on the ground when it came to romantic encounters. She refused to end up like her flighty mother, bouncing from one lover to another always on the lookout for the heady high of a new relationship but never staying with any one of them long enough to learn the deeper pleasure of a meaningful commitment.

She and Harry had made a pact to deflower each other and poor Harry had been as inept as she. Their fumbling attempts at lovemaking were a clear-cut case of the virginal leading the virginal with neither one of them experiencing fireworks. But then again, neither one of them had gotten hurt, either, and that had been the entire point.

Now, she sort of regretted missing out on the crazy tumult of first lust—it might have kept her imagination fueled. But she was a consummate professional and very adept at hiding her lack of personal knowledge. Her limited sexual experience was a closely guarded secret. After all, who would buy erotic gift baskets from a woman with a nonexistent sex life?

Snap out of it, she scolded herself and furrowed her brow, probing the depths of her mind for even a whisper of a sensual fantasy, but she drew a complete blank.

She was officially tapped out. Empty. Drained.

Imagine a handsome, sexy guy.

Closing her eyes, she waited for a flash of insight.

Nothing.

Oh come on, visualize some sex-god movie star.

Zero.

Eden could not dredge up a single person who popped her cork.

Panic ripped through her then and she rhythmically worried red cellophane wrapping paper between her fingers. Her fussbudget mind snatched up the fear and sprinted with it, spinning a hundred what-if situations.

What if she never felt sexy again? What if she couldn’t break this block? What if business dwindled? What if she had to let Ashley go? What if she lost the store her grandmother Hildy had owned for forty years before Eden had inherited it?

Worst-case scenario? She would end up a bag lady on the street, pushing a grocery cart of discarded rubbish she’d gleaned from trash Dumpsters and mumbling crazily to herself.

Her eyes flew open. What was she going to do?

“Don’t start imagining some huge tragedy over this,” Ashley said. “Let’s just replace everything that’s red with black and call it Midnight Memories.”

“But the customer wanted red.”

“Then just change a few things. Instead of the pashmina, use a satin teddy. Replace the handcuffs with ropes. Instead of massage oil, go for body paints or edible panties.”

“That’s not part of the artistic vision.”

“Well, the artistic vision you came up with was a rerun. Either ditch the lofty standards or be happy with a duplicate.”

“You’re right. Let’s do it your way.”

They worked silently for a few minutes, exchanging and rearranging items and then Ashley ventured, “Are you sure you don’t want to talk?”

Ashley was a sweetheart, but Eden couldn’t see unburdening herself to the free-spirited nineteen-year-old even though the young woman probably knew way more about sex than Eden did and she was six years younger. Ashley’s advice was bound to be something wild and crazy. Like have a red-hot fling with a handsome stranger.

Well, she’d tried that, hadn’t she? Her one miserable attempt at reconnecting with her femininity had ended in terrible failure when Josh Cameron—a guy she’d known only a couple of weeks before going to bed with him—had been so repulsed by her burns he’d fled her apartment without having sex with her.

That kind of reaction didn’t do a hell of a lot for a girl’s self-esteem.

Eden clenched a red satin bow in her hand and sank her top front teeth into her bottom lip to eradicate the memory of her single pathetic attempt at having intercourse after she’d been burned. In the wake of Josh’s reaction she’d been too scared of rejection to try again.

“Do you wanna know why I think you’re so frazzled?” Ashley asked.

Please save me from the wisdom of teenagers.

“Not really.”

“You need to get some juicy booty.”

“Ashley!”

“Don’t go all prude on me. If I’m not mistaken that’s a man-shaped vibrator you’re holding. Seriously, I think that’s why your baskets have been a bit blah lately. You need a little divine inspiration.”

“Thanks for your opinion. I’ll take it under consideration.”

“I know this hot-looking spray-paint artist who specializes in nudes. I think you two would really hit it off.”

“I can find my own dates, thank you.”

“Hmm. I’ve been working here almost ten months and as far as I know you haven’t hooked up with a guy even once. You spend all your time building fantasies and no time living them. Under those conditions anyone would burn out.”

“I appreciate your concern, but my love life is my private business. Could we talk about something else, please?”

Ashley shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

At that moment the wind chimes over the door whispered a resonant woodsy sound and a shapely older woman dressed in the latest designer fall fashions stepped over the threshold.

The woman was Jayne Lockerbee. Her favorite customer. Eden smiled.

Jayne was one red-hot granny who believed sex should be discussed freely and enjoyed often. She loved shocking her conservative friends and relatives by gifting them with Eden’s baskets.

“Yo, J. Lo!” Ashley greeted Jayne in the hip, breezy style Eden so often envied.

“Hey, Ash, what’s happenin’?” Mrs. Lockerbee grinned.

“Not much. How’s Mr. Lo?”

“Sexy as ever.” The woman winked. “In fact, that’s why I’m here. I need a very special gift basket for our thirtieth wedding anniversary.”

“No kidding? That’s so awesome. Married thirty years and you’re still having wild sex,” Ashley blurted.

“Better than ever. There’s nothing sexier than experience.” Mrs. Lockerbee turned her attention to Eden. “Now about that basket. I was thinking maybe a little Tarzan and Jane action. What can you create for me along those lines?”

“I’ll help her, if you wanna finish that.” Ashley nodded.

Normally Eden handled all gift consultations, but Ashley knew Jayne well and she was trying to help out in the face of Eden’s creative crash and burn.

“Sure. That’ll be fine.”

“Really?” Ashley’s eyes lit up at the honor Eden had bestowed upon her.

“Really. You don’t mind if Ashley waits on you this time, do you, Jayne?”

“Of course not. Maybe Ashley will even share some of her sexual escapades with me.” Jayne winked. “I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to be young.”

Have I? Eden thought. The notion was an unsettling one. Old before her time. Washed-up before she’d ever really started living.

“We just got in these great new leopard-print loincloths,” Ashley said to Jayne.

“Hmm, sounds promising.”

“Here, let me show you.” Ashley escorted Jayne to the rear of the store.

Shaking the doubt from her head, Eden returned to the task at hand. What would it be like to have Jayne’s life? Married thirty years and still enjoying terrific sex. Would she ever have that?

With those scars? Not likely.

Eden sighed. Some people were lucky in love. Apparently, she was not. On that score, she was her mother’s daughter.

But it doesn’t mean you can’t be lucky in lust, nudged a naughty voice at the back of her mind. Come on, Eden, you know you want to have sex.

And expanding her sexual horizons would be good for both business and her creativity. It was the missing piece of the puzzle and in her heart she knew it.

Her cautious nature had held her back for too long. Lack of experience was what had her feeling like a fraud, and feeling like a fraud was responsible for her artistic block.

And just because Josh was a jerk didn’t mean all men would run away at the sight of her scars. She just had to take her time and find a kind, sensitive lover who intimately knew his way around a woman’s body. Simply entertaining thoughts of that mystery lover had her tingling with longing.

Okay, all right. She needed to get laid. But even if she was willing to take a huge risk, strip off her clothes in front of a stranger and reveal her secret vulnerability, she had absolutely no prospects in mind—Ashley’s hottie spray-paint artist aside.

She tied the big red bow around the basket and then stepped over to place it in the orders-waiting-to-be-picked-up glass display case. She set the basket down, and then slowly raised her head and peered out the front window that was open just a crack.

The air hung heavy with the rich scent of impending rain. Humidity-laden wind gusted, sending a swirl of fallen leaves gathering along the curb.

It was the sort of enigmatic, electrically charged afternoon that lingered between dwindling summer and impending autumn that stirred a woman’s blood and made her believe in the endless possibilities of titillating encounters with dark fantasy men.

That’s when she saw him. Standing rooted to the sidewalk, looking as if he owned the entire street while everyone else scurried around him.

Inexplicably, she sucked in her breath and a shiver of anticipation scampered down her spine.

God, he was gorgeous. Skyscraper tall and daredevil muscular, his lush dark hair curled to his collar giving him a wild, roguish appearance in spite of his tailored pinstriped business suit. His face was lean and chiseled, his mouth full and tempting. His eyes were the smoky-gray of a grass fire and fringed with black lashes dense as paintbrushes.

He was the sort of man who made even a reticent woman itch to get naked. Ambushed by this totally unexpected and intense attraction, Eden’s knees weakened as a dozen forbidden pImages** tumbled through her brain.

What was happening here? Just minutes ago she’d been unable to dredge up a single sexual fantasy and now she couldn’t stop them.

She pictured herself rolling around on a heart-shaped bed in a woodsy cabin in the Catskills with the guy. She imagined their sweaty bodies pressed together as they made love on the floor of a grass hut in Bora Bora. She envisioned them grinding against each other on a bearskin rug before a roaring fireplace in Iceland.

He was a plundering pirate and she was his captive. She was a streetwalker plying her trade and he was her randy john. He was a virile gunslinger and she was the timid schoolmarm come to teach in his untamed town.

She tasted the briny flavor of his skin as she bit his bare shoulder. She inhaled the smell of coconut, bananas and lusty man. She heard his deep-throated groan as he called out her name in the ecstasy of climax.

Omigod, omigod, omigod.

Stunned and excited, Eden raised a hand to her throat. The magic was back.

And then he leveled his gaze, stared straight through the window at her and started into the store.

2

ALEC RAMSEY DOUBLE-CHECKED the Soho address on the slip of paper in his pocket. Yep, Wickedly Wonderful, this was the place his oldest sister Sarah had recommended.

He raised his head and started to move toward the door, but then his eyes landed on the woman in the storefront window and he froze.

Spellbound, he simply stared. She was leaning over, placing something in the window and oh, so slightly exposing just a hint of cleavage. The sight was enough to cause instant sweat to bead on the back of his neck despite the recent drop in temperature.

A burst of wind snatched a red banner from the awning of a nearby building. It sailed down, fluttering in the breeze, until it caught on an updraft just above the storefront window at exactly the same time the woman glanced up.

For a whisper of a second it was a pure Kodak moment. The foxy, heart-faced woman framed by a crimson banner. The effect was mesmerizingly magical. And even after the banner twisted and spiraled away into the wind, Alec couldn’t take his eyes off her.

His heart literally skipped a beat and the unexpected arrhythmia startled him. Usually, the only time his pulse skittered was when he bungee-jumped or hang-glided or skydived.

The sun slipped out from behind a cloud where it had been hiding and glinted off her mass of chestnut curls swept back so fetchingly in a loose ponytail. She wore a long-sleeved turquoise peasant blouse. Not exactly high fashion, but it was definitely romantic. His fingers itched to stroke both the tactile material and what lay intriguingly beyond.

He knew the correct terminology for her garment because he had four sisters who had spent their lives telling him about clothes. He owed them a debt of gratitude. The knowledge came in handy with his active dating life. Women were impressed when a heterosexual male could converse intelligently about fashion.

Their gazes met. And locked.

She possessed the most arrestingly blue eyes he’d ever seen.

Alec swallowed. Hard.

She glanced away quickly but then a moment later she was back, eyeing him with slow, deliberate intent until he felt as if he were a job applicant on an interview.

He couldn’t get into the shop quickly enough.

Wind chimes murmured a musical note as he pushed through the door. The rousing scent of cinnamon candles filled the small room and everywhere he looked he saw something seductive.

Peacock feathers and skimpy panties and black leather masks. Whips and chains and swatches of sensual fabrics. Erotic videos and vibrators and chocolate body paint.

“May I help you?”

He jerked his head around and came face-to-face with his dream woman. Her name tag read Eden. Ah, a woman who crafted erotic gifts named Eden. How apropos.

She smiled, her small but full mouth lifting dazzlingly at the corners. He was aware of a high, humming sexual energy flowing between them.

Her impact was not the strike of a classic beauty but rather like the welcoming influence of a warm, rich hug. An invisible hug that wrapped around him like an aura—distinct and unmistakably her.

She possessed a certain luster that whispered to something deep inside him. Something primal and patently masculine. Something sweetly taboo.

His heart skipped another beat. Amazed at his aberrant reaction, Alec had to clear his throat before he could speak.

“I need…” Damn, how could he think with her studying him like that?

“Yes?” she gently urged, and raised a quizzical eyebrow.

I need. I need. I need.

What did he need? Frowning, Alec ripped his gaze from her lips and met those long-lashed, sky-blue eyes again.

“Um…”

Brilliant, Ramsey, absolutely brilliant. When was the last time a woman had left him tongue-tied? He searched his memory and couldn’t think of a single occurrence.

“Did you want to order a gift?” She lifted a hand to push a tendril of hair from her face, the bracelets at her elegant wrist jangled quietly.

“Yes. Yes. That’s it.”

“And what is the occasion?”

“My business partner, who also happens to be my best friend, is getting married the first Saturday in November.”

“You’ll be wanting a honeymoon basket.”

“Yeah.” He nodded.

That’s right, dazzle her with your sparkling conversational skills, you suave devil you.

Irritated with himself, he racked his brain for something else to say. “My sister Sarah Armstrong got married in April and someone gave her one of your baskets as a gift. She said it made the honeymoon.”

“Yes. The Ramsey-Armstrong wedding. I believe her basket was called Palm Tree Passion. Were you wanting to order something similar for your friend?”

“Wow,” Alec said, impressed. “That’s some kind of memory.”

“It’s a Montgomery family trait,” she replied. “Although it often comes in handy when running a business, vividly remembering everything that happened to you can sometimes be a minus.”

A brief wistfulness moved across her face and Alec experienced a rush of empathy. There were quite a few things in his life he was glad remained fuzzy. Like his father’s fatal heart attack, and the time he busted up his leg during a motorcycle race.

Mentally he shook his head, still unable to believe he’d not only survived but had in fact thrived. He’d come so far. From the scrappy kid who got involved in one daredevil stunt after another as a way of dealing with his father’s death to the well-respected editor in chief of a very successful men’s magazine. He had gone from borderline poverty to being rich beyond his wildest dreams, and he owed his success to his uncle Mac and the ability to face his fears head-on and defy them.

“My baskets are each original creations,” Eden said, breaking into his memory. “Tailor-made for the recipient. Can you tell me a little more about your friend?”

“Randy?” Alec grinned. “He’s a hotdogger and a half. A balls-to-the-wall no-fear sort of guy.” His grin disappeared. “But he’s been different ever since he met Jill.”

“Different?”

“You know. He’s love-struck. Has this dopey smile on his face all the time. Doesn’t want to do the things he used to do.”

“His priorities have shifted.”

“Yeah,” he said nostalgically, already missing their bachelor high jinks. He was happy for Randy, but he knew things would never be the same between them again.

“And what’s his fiancée like?”

Alec was incredibly aware of exactly how close they were standing. Eden was near enough to touch. He could feel the very air vibrating between them.

“Jill’s nice. Quiet. Not the type I pictured him with.”

“And what type is that?”

“Well, Randy is so bold I guess I always imagined him with someone a bit more…” He hesitated.

How to put this so it didn’t sound as if he didn’t like Jill. He did like her. She was very sweet. Demure, a little shy and very brainy. It’s just that he couldn’t figure out why this particular woman? How had Randy known that, above all the other women in the world, Jill was the one? His buddy had dated women who were certainly more beautiful, more adventuresome, more sophisticated. Why her? Why now? How was she different from the rest?

“Yes?” Eden prompted.

“Flashy. I pictured him with a colorful, flamboyant woman.”

“From what you tell me, Randy seems pretty flamboyant all on his own.”

“He is.”

“So maybe opposites attract?”

Their gazes met and that same arc of electricity that had called to him on the street surged again with startling clarity. Opposites attract, eh? What about this sudden chemistry between them? They were anything but opposites. A woman who spent her days concocting erotic fantasies had to be just as sexually adventurous as he.

“Maybe. They’re doing this second virginity thing. Personally, I don’t get it, but Randy claims they’re not having sex until after the wedding to prove their love for each other.” He shrugged.

“Randy’s newfound celibacy and choice of mates isn’t what’s really bothering you, is it? It’s the simple fact he’s getting married.”

“Bothering me?” Alec stepped back. “Who says I’m bothered about Randy getting married.”

“You’re losing your stag partner.”

“What?” He blinked at her.

“When Randy got engaged to Jill, you no longer had someone to go chasing babes with. No strip-club buddy. No one with whom to take potshots at married life. Plus, as his business partner you’re fretting that his marriage will affect his career choices.”

Alec stared, open mouthed. He was taken aback by her insight. How could she know that ever since Randy met Jill he’d felt not only left out but also worried about the future of their business?

It was one thing for two carefree bachelors to publish a magazine called Single Guy. It was quite another for one of those bachelors to be shackled in matrimony. Alec feared Randy would forget how to connect with their happily single readership and the magazine would lose its competitive edge.

And secretly, in the dark recesses of his mind, in a place he refused to acknowledge existed, Alec was jealous. Not of married life. Oh, no. He realized that particular institution wasn’t for him, but of the special closeness Jill and Randy shared. Seeing them together sometimes made him wonder if indulging in daredevil sports, hopping from trendy nightclub to trendy nightclub, attending lavish parties, and wining and dining local celebrities was all there was to life.

He hated being forced to examine his lifestyle choices.

What he needed in order to shake off this woefully inappropriate “third wheel” feeling was a good old-fashioned fling with a woman who knew lots of naughty bedroom tricks. Indulging in the thrill of the chase never failed to lift his spirits.

And from the looks of this erotic shop and the seethe of sexual chemistry oozing between them, he suspected Eden was exactly the kind of woman he was looking for. And he was already having wickedly wonderful thoughts about how to please her in bed.

She was asking him more questions about Jill and Randy. What kind of fabrics they liked, their favorite movies, their mood music.

But Alec wasn’t listening. All he could think about was kissing those luscious lips of hers.

“I had no idea this process was so involved,” he said, but he was thinking, How can I get you into my arms?

“Oh, yes.” She nodded. “When you buy an Eden Montgomery original you’re getting much more than sex toys in a basket. You’re purchasing a gift of art from the heart as well as a treat for the senses.”

Man, did he want to experience her treats firsthand. She was exactly what the doctor ordered. A shot of pure sexual adventure to chase away his “my-best-friend-is-getting-married” blues.

“Sarah did say she’d never seen anything quite like your baskets.”

“I must warn you, gift consultation can take as long as an hour.”

“No kidding.”

“I’m a stickler for details, but you can rest assured your friends will appreciate your gift. I guarantee my work.”

A brilliant idea occurred to him. Alec checked his watch. “If the consultation takes an hour then I can’t do this today. I’ve got an appointment in Midtown in forty-five minutes. Plus I don’t have all the data you need. How about this—I talk to Randy, find out more about Jill’s likes and dislikes.” He reached into a pocket for his business card and passed it over to her. “You drop by my office around one tomorrow afternoon, I’ll buy you lunch for your trouble and we can do the consultation then. How does that sound?”

Eden accepted his card and stared down at it. She hesitated a moment and his heart did that idiotic beat-skipping thing again.

She’s going to say no, he thought, and his spirits plummeted.

What in the hell was the matter with him? He hadn’t been this nervous since his high school prom. Blame his uncharacteristic anxiety on a long dry spell.

Speaking of second virginity, he’d been celibate for the past eight months. Not because he hadn’t had plenty of opportunities, but simply because no one had excited him to the point of making an effort.

Until now.

She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue then raised her eyes to meet his again.

Thump-thump-thump went his ticker.

“Okay,” she said. “Why not?”

SHE HAD A DATE.

For the first time in almost a year she had a date. A date with—Eden stared at the card still clutched in her hand—Alec Ramsey.

The little rectangle of stiff paper burned a hole in her palm, but already the powerful rush of creative sexual energy she had experienced in his presence was starting to dissipate. Had she imagined it all?

Come on, it’s not a date, niggled her nay-saying voice. It’s a business luncheon.

Before she had time to argue with herself about the “date” versus “not date” status of her appointment with Alec, Ashley and Mrs. Lockerbee pounced.

“Omigod,” Ashley clutched her hand to her heart. “Was that guy gorgeous or what?”

“Not only gorgeous,” Mrs. Lockerbee said. “But rich and famous, too.”

“Famous?” Eden furrowed her brow.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t recognize him?” Mrs. Lockerbee clicked her tongue.

“That’s because you were too busy drooling,” Ashley commented. “Not that I blame you one tiny bit. And the cool thing was, he seemed just as taken with you.”

“He didn’t.”

“Oh, but he did.” Ashley nodded knowingly.

“His card just gives his name, business address and phone number. Don’t leave me hanging in suspense, Jayne. Who is Alec Ramsey?”

Jayne telegraphed her a wicked smile. “Why, darling, that perfect specimen of manhood is none other than the publisher of Single Guy magazine and the most eligible bachelor in Manhattan.”

“You know him personally?”

“Last year we served on the board of the Kids Count charity together. He’s very big into helping underprivileged youths and he really means what he says. He’s not just some rich guy throwing money around to boost his public image.”

“I would never have guessed it.” He looked so sophisticated and polished Eden had a hard time imagining him hanging with street kids.

“Alec lost his own father when he was in his teens, a heart attack I think, and it had a lasting impact on him. He doesn’t take anything for granted. That’s why he works so hard. I think his earnestness just adds to his sex appeal.”

“I’m meeting him for lunch tomorrow.”

“Get outta here!” Ashley gave her a playful shove. “You go, woman.”

“Only to discuss a gift consultation. It’s just business.”

“The way you’re smiling indicates it’s much more than just business.” Jayne wagged a knowing finger.

“Okay,” Eden confessed, her grin spreading and giddiness flitting through her. “It could be more than business. We’ll see.”

“This totally rocks,” Ashley enthused. “Now maybe you’ll have hot sex and get your groove back.”

“Hey, hey, don’t go jumping to conclusions. I’m simply meeting him for lunch.”

Now that Ashley had expressed out loud the thoughts revolving in her head, Eden’s prudent side kicked in and a panicky fear gripped her. She wasn’t like her freewheeling, irresponsible mother. She could not have a wild affair with a stranger even if he had jumped-started her libido and her imagination with a single rakish grin. The fact that she was even considering such a thing tempted her to break the date.

Play it safe. Call him up and tell him you can’t meet him. You can do the gift consultation over the phone. No need for a face-to-face.

Ah, now there was the rub. She had been listening to her nay-saying, fussbudget voice for too long. Playing it safe hadn’t gotten her anywhere. It was way past time she took a risk, moved from her comfort zone and stepped out of the box.

“Lunch could turn into a little afternoon delight,” Ashley ribbed her.

“But I don’t know anything about this guy.”

“I do,” Jayne said, raising a hand. “He’s rumored to be an excellent lover.”

“You guys!” Eden rolled her eyes. “You’re putting the cart way before the horse.”

“And you’re just scared to take a chance.” Ashley made clucking noises and flapped her arms like a chicken. “Admit it.”

“Okay, guilty as charged. I’m scared spitless.”

“What are you afraid of?” Jayne asked.

“Oh, no,” Ashley teased, dramatically clutching her head in her hands and moaning. “Now you’ve gone and done it.”

“Done what?” Jayne glanced from Ashley to Eden.

“You’ve given an ‘in’ to her worst-case scenario voice.”

“Her what?”

Eden glared at Ashley. “Thanks a lot.”

“Go ahead,” Ashley said. “Show Jayne how neurotic you can get.”

“It’s not neurotic to project future complications based on current information.” Eden pursed out her bottom lip. “It’s merely prudent.”

“Let’s do it then,” Ashley challenged her.

“All right,” she said, deciding to play the game her impertinent assistant had invented in defense against Eden’s worrywart tendency. She had to confess, the game often worked to quell her fears when little else did. She squared off with Ashley toe-to-toe. “What if he has bad breath?”

“Then give him a Tic-Tac.”

“What if he’s a rotten kisser?”

“You explain to him exactly how you prefer to be kissed.”

“What if he has an itty-bitty penis?”

“It’s the motion of the ocean that counts, all that matters is that he rocks your boat.”

Jayne giggled. “You two are so funny.”

“Okay,” Eden said, growing serious as she risked expressing the real fears pyramiding inside her. “What if he thinks I’m a lousy lay?”

“Ooh,” Jayne said. “I can help you with that one. If there’s ever anything you want to know about driving a man wild in bed, I’m your go-to gal. Call me anytime.”

Ashley spread her palms. “There you are. Problems solved.”

Eden gulped. “All right, smarty-pants. Here’s the biggie. Worst-case scenario. What if he’s repulsed by my burn scars, can’t get it up when he sees me naked and then he rejects me?”

Undaunted, Ashley jutted out her chin and challenged, “Best-case scenario. He thinks you’re beautiful no matter your scars and your crazy worst-case-scenario voice. He’s a great kisser with minty breath and he’s got a gigantic penis. You have splendid sex and get your creativity back. Business booms, you fall madly in love, get married, buy a house in Connecticut, have three kids, two cats and a Pomeranian named Kibble and thirty years from now you’re still playing Tarzan and Jane with each other just like Mr. and Mrs. Lockerbee.”

Eden sucked in her breath. Did she dare to dream that dream? Was she brave enough to take a step toward claiming her sexuality?

Do it. Take a chance. What have you got to lose?

What indeed?

She’d been holding herself in reserve for too long. By not taking risks, she’d closed herself off to her creative wellspring. She needed more intimacy, not only with her work, but with her body as well.

She glanced at the basket in the window, the one completely lacking in pizzazz. That unexciting basket made her decision for her. If she wanted to get her inspiration back she had to take charge and move forcefully toward her goals.

She was going to lunch with Alec Ramsey. How else would she ever discover if those sparks between them would come to nothing or might lead to something wickedly wonderful?

3

THE NEXT MORNING excitement over his upcoming date with Eden had Alec prowling the hallways of the Single Guy offices located on the fourteenth floor of Trump Towers. His exuberant edginess, as it so often did, spilled over onto his employees.

He was walking fast and talking faster, okaying cover art for the upcoming edition, sending a writer back to the drawing board on a feature article that hadn’t turned out as expected, double-checking appointments with his executive assistant, Holden.

Everyone took his or her cue from his go-go-go attitude. They were keyed up and working at a frantic pace. Everyone, that is, except taciturn Holden, who always remained calm no matter what was happening around him. The young man’s unruffled aplomb was the very reason Alec had hired him. He needed an assistant who balanced his own impulsive nature. Holden kept him grounded when Alec might have otherwise gotten off track following his quicksilver mind wherever it chose to flow.

“Reschedule my one-o’clock workout with Randy,” Alec told Holden. “Something’s come up.”

Holden, who at twenty-two was more efficient than many executive assistants twice his age, swiftly made a notation in his Palm Pilot. “Oh, and by the way, your uncle is in your office.”

“Mac?” Alec broke into a smile. “He’s back from Fiji?”

Holden nodded. “Helping himself to your Scotch, I might add.”

“He can help himself to anything he wants,” Alec’s grin widened. “I am what I am today because of Uncle Mac.”

“I’ll restock.”

Alec pushed into his office to find his tanned, lean-muscled uncle sitting cocked back in the plush leather chair that had once belonged to him. Mac looked a little tired, however, that is until he flashed Alec a row of straight white teeth and raised his tumbler of Scotch in a salute.

“You old dog!” Alec exclaimed, slipping around the desk to embrace Mac in a bear hug as he rose to his feet. “You’re back early.”

“There’s only so much of those warm tropical breezes and sultry island girls a man can take.”

“Yeah, right.”

Mac set his glass down and feigned a boxing move. Alec feigned in return. They embraced again, slapping each other on the back. His father’s younger brother had never been married and never aspired to be. He was the consummate playboy and Alec’s mentor, teaching him everything he knew both about the publishing industry and how to seduce women. For forty-nine years Mac had lived the very life he extolled in the pages of Single Guy before turning over the helm to Alec and Randy the previous year.

“So,” Mac prompted. “Any interesting conquests while I was gone?”

“Nope, no one.” Alec shook his head. Without understanding why, he really didn’t want to tell Mac about Eden. Besides, there wasn’t much to tell.

Yet.

Mac wagged his head. “Boy, you’ll never live up to my reputation if you keep spending so much time on the sidelines.”

“You’re a legend, Uncle Mac, there’s no living up to you.”

His uncle laughed, but the jocularity seemed forced and Alec wondered if something was wrong. “Well, you might not be the hound dog I was, but you’ve got the soft soap down pat.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“By the way.” Mac tapped the October issue of Single Guy lying open on the desk. “While I was waiting on you I checked out your last editorial. All Women Are Goddesses, Let’s Treat Them That Way.” He hooted. “You really believe that?”

“Yes. Don’t you?” Alec did believe women were goddesses. Nothing fascinated him more than the fairer sex. He loved the smell of them, their softness, the way their minds worked. Chalk it up to having four sisters. Fact was, he adored the women. Tall ones, short ones, plump ones, thin ones. He made no discrimination. That’s why he couldn’t commit to just one. There were simply too many wonderful ladies walking the face of the earth.

“All women are goddesses?” Mac arched an eyebrow.

“All women,” Alec said firmly.

“Even the…”

“Don’t go there.” Alec shook his head.

“Your Eagle Scout ethics are showing, but I’m betting that article got you laid ten times over.”

“Actually no. That’s part of the new sexual etiquette. No taking advantage of provocative situations.”

“Hell, then what’s the point? You might as well get married along with your buddy Randy.”

Alec studied his uncle. Something was going on. “You know I’m not interested in getting married.”

“Just remember that. The last thing you want is to end up straitjacketed in suburbia, working two jobs to support five kids, only to die of a heart attack way before your time.”

“That wouldn’t happen to me.”

“Because I made it my mission in life to save you from my brother’s fate. Thank God, I succeeded. Can you imagine yourself living in Connecticut and trotting home on the train to your sweet little wife who’ll only give you nooky twice a month with the lights off if you’re lucky, three rug-rats with attention deficit disorder, two neurotic cats and a dog who won’t quit peeing on the carpet?”

“No, I can’t imagine it.” Alec shifted his weight uncomfortably.

They’d had this conversation many times before and, while he was glad to see Mac, he really didn’t want to get his uncle started on his favorite soapbox issue.

What he wanted was to get on the phone and make reservations for his lunch with Eden. He could have gotten Holden to make the arrangements, but for some odd reason Alec wanted to handle it himself. He glanced at his wristwatch.

“I won’t keep you,” Mac said, picking up on his signal. “I just dropped by to invite you to dinner with Sophie and me.”

“Which one is she again?”

“You remember Sophie. I’ve dated her on and off for fifteen years. Leggy redhead, Southern accent, killer rack.”

“Now, now,” Alec chided. He’d never realized before how immature his uncle sometimes sounded. “No objectifying women.”

Mac shook his head. “Good thing I retired when I did. I can’t keep up with all these new rules. Oh, by the way, Sophie’s got a date all lined up for you.”

Alec winced. “Listen, Mac, I don’t know about this blind date.”

“Shh. You’re the publisher of Single Guy. You’ve got a reputation to uphold and, seeing as how your partner has decided to up and get married, the mantle of sustained bachelorhood rests firmly on your shoulders. Gotta show the world you’re all about the fun. Besides, Sophie says her friend used to be a circus acrobat.” Mac winked. “Bet you never dated one of those.”

“You got me there.”

“I’ll send a car around at six. We’re going to see The Producers after dinner at Kim Sum’s. I’ll spring for the check.”

Alec didn’t want to go on a blind date, but he hadn’t seen Mac for over a month. It was the least he could do for his uncle. “Sure. Okay. See you tonight.”

The minute the door closed behind Mac, Alec plopped into his chair and reached for the telephone. Circus acrobat be damned. He had a sexy, erotic gift-basket designer on the hook and he wasn’t about to let her get away.

Alec made reservations at an intimate restaurant on Forty-fourth Street that was way overpriced for lunch, but what the hell? What was the point of having money if you couldn’t use it to spoil a special lady? He was definitely looking to impress her.

Eden represented the kind of naughty, no-strings-attached relationship he’d been searching for since Randy had announced his engagement. Showing her a great time would remind him exactly how good it was to be single, footloose and fancy-free.

He rubbed his palms together, requested the restaurant’s most expensive bottle of champagne, asked them to ice it and then called his florist to order a small bouquet of flowers. He planned on laying his cards on the table, giving Eden the full court press. He wanted her to know exactly what was on his mind—that he was very attracted to her, but he wasn’t the marrying kind.

Alec didn’t want to waste either of their time with silly mind games, nor did he want her to get hurt. If his initial impression of her had been wrong and she wasn’t all about fun and adventure, then he needed to know that now.

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.”

Lordy. The page was filled with every erotic gadget known to man. And Alec had thought he was stiff before, as he imagined a dozen different ways of trying out those gadgets on Eden.

“I was thinking a chastity belt.” She tapped a picture of the sex toy version of a chastity belt complete with a red heart-shaped lock and matching skeleton key.

“If Jill wears that, Randy will be steamed up in nothing flat.”

“That’s the idea.”

“He’s a man who can’t resist a challenge.”

“Just like his best friend, huh?”

There she was again, reading him like an open book. It was an unsettling talent. He took a sip of water to cool himself off.

“And as for the playboy,” she said. “We’ll need a very sophisticated play toy.” When she pointed to one, Alec just about choked on his water.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Uh-huh” was all he could manage, and he waved a hand for her to continue.

“I could even write out a script for their playacting if you think that’s something they would enjoy,” Eden said. “Some customers appreciate having scripts to get their creative juices flowing.”

Babe, you’ve already got my juices flowing.

“Could you give me an example?” He knew he was naughty for making her describe the script in detail, but he couldn’t help himself. One glance into those scintillating blue eyes and he ached to be a very bad boy indeed.

Would she take the bait? Alec focused on her small, full mouth as she slowly slipped out the tip of her sweet, pink tongue and ran it over her lips.

“Okay,” she said. “This erotic scenario takes place on the playboy’s territory. Somewhere urbane. His penthouse apartment perhaps.”

Alec thought of his own penthouse apartment and gulped.

“Or maybe a hotel in Paris with a view of the Champs Elysee.”

“Uh-huh.”

“The lighting is just right. The music is smooth and sexy.” Her face took on a dreamy expression as if she herself were in that Paris hotel room. “The virgin is oh, so scared but she wants this so badly. Her knees tremble, her pulse pounds, her body heats up as he hands her a glass of champagne and speaks to her in the language of love.”

Eden murmured something very naughty in French and his animal instincts roared through his body. It was all Alec could do to keep from pulling her into his lap and kissing her right then and there.

Seemingly unaware of the physical turmoil she’d generated in him, Eden moved a palm in imitation of a panning camera. “The windows are open. The breeze blows her sheer nightgown against her bare legs. The playboy comes closer, a rakish gleam in his eyes. The inexperienced innocent wants him to teach her everything he knows.”

Eden stopped.

“Go on.”

She glanced nervously over her shoulder. “We’re in a public place.”

“And out of earshot of anyone.”

She softened her voice so he could barely hear her. “In painstaking detail the playboy tells her exactly what he’s going to do to her before it happens. How he’s going to undress her. How he’s going to run his hot hands over her silken body. How he’s going to suck her nipples until they are hard pebbles in his mouth.”

The hairs on the back of his neck raised and so did something far south of his neck. He was going to have to stop her from continuing or embarrass himself.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.