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Authors: Leigh Michaels

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BOOK: The Billionaire Date
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“Oh, you're invited, too.”
“Invited where?” Kit asked warily. “If it's some sort of formal occasion, I'm hardly prepared for it. Maybe I'd rather wait in the car.”
The Porsche rolled to a smooth halt for a red light and Jarrett turned his head to study her. The leather seat cradled Kit comfortably, but it was so low-slung that it was impossible to keep her hemline in place. Her trench coat had fallen open and her narrow-cut skirt had ridden well up, and Kit had to fight the urge to tug it down to her knees. The last thing she wanted to do was let Jarrett guess that every instant his gaze rested on her raised her skin temperature by a full degree.
And just when, she asked herself, had that become a problem?
Get a grip, girl,
she told herself firmly.
“I really hate being a back-seat driver,” she said finally, “but the light's turned green.”
The Porsche slid through the intersection and up a ramp onto the freeway. “Actually,” Jarrett murmured, “I was thinking you might feel a bit overdressed.”
Kit waited a moment, but he didn't volunteer anything else, and she refused to gratify him by begging for information. How bad could it be, anyway? If, in her oatmeal-colored skirt and sweater, she was overdressed, then Jarrett was going to stick out like the Pope at a beach barbecue.
Still, Kit was startled when the Porsche turned in to the parking lot of one of the largest suburban shopping malls. “You need to buy some socks, I suppose? Or pick up your dry-cleaning?”
“Oh, no. It's a cocktail party.”
“At the mall?”
Jarrett helped her out of the car and took her arm to guide her toward the entrance. “The Milady Lingerie store is showing some new fashions for its best customers, and I told the manager I'd pop in for a few minutes. You wouldn't want to miss that kind of excitement, would you?”
Kit pretended puzzlement. “I don't suppose that's a multiple choice question?”
The store was located on a prominent corner in the main section of the mall. Its single side window, discreetly draped with heavy beige-on-beige brocade, featured a mannequin wearing the scarlet satin teddy made famous by the current month's magazine ads.
“Nice,” Kit conceded. “Rent the most visible location and then design the store so people have to come inside to get more than a peek. Plus the repetition when people see the same design in the window as in the ads must make the entire campaign even more effective. Is that the manager's idea or a chain-wide custom?”
Jarrett's eyebrows lifted. “Haven't you ever seen a Milady Lingerie store before?”
“Not a one. There are segments of the market you have yet to win over.”
“Then you're in for a treat.”
“I can't wait,” Kit said dryly.
A discreet distance from the entrance, Kit spotted a half dozen women marching up and down carrying signs.
Sexist
, one of them said.
Unfair to women
, proclaimed another.
Milady Lingerie exploits females
, said a third.
She grinned. “Aren't you touched? A real live protest march—and all in your honor, no doubt.”
Jarrett glanced at the women and shrugged. “So?”
“Aren't you going to try to get them thrown out?”
“Why? It's a free country. They have a right to their say.”
Kit said thoughtfully, “It's also terrific—and free—publicity.”
A smile tugged at Jarrett's mouth. “That, too.”
“I see a camera coming right now, in fact. I don't suppose you hired them?”
“The camera crew or the demonstrators? Sorry to disappoint you, but I didn't think of either one.” He pulled open the heavy walnut door and gave a little bow. “Welcome to my world.”
His world, Kit realized the moment she stepped across the threshold, wasn't quite what she'd expected.
She'd never given a thought to what the interior of a Milady Lingerie store would look like. If pressed, she'd probably have pictured red velvet and black feathers, rows of suggestive costumes and the heavy scent of perfume—the kind of atmosphere she'd expect to find behind the scenes at a bordello.
Instead, the atmosphere was closer to a drawing room than a boudoir. Gilded chairs, upholstered in the same heavy brocade as the draperies, were scattered in small groupings across carpet so lush and thick that Kit swore she was walking on a cloud. An Impressionist-style watercolor formed a focal point above a fireplace where a gas log blazed. The room was a sea of beige and cream and the palest of pink—shades that would flatter every woman, no matter what her hair color or the tone of her skin.
There were no racks of lingerie. There weren't even mannequins inside the store. Instead, a half-dozen models mingled with the customers, displaying with their every movement the luxurious sheen of satin robes, the soft rustle of silk slips, the glamour and glitz of lacy teddies.
Kit muttered, “No wonder you said I'd feel overdressed.”
“The personal fitters are in the private rooms,” Jarrett said. “If you see anything you'd like to try on—”
“Thanks anyway. Not tonight.”
He grinned. “If you mean you'd rather wait till I can fit you myself—”
Kit glared at him.
“Jarrett!”
It was hard to believe that a single word in so soft a drawl could rake across Kit's nerves like a carpenter's rasp, but the voice was painfully familiar. Suddenly she was back in the reception hall after that fiasco of a fashion show, listening to Heather's mother calmly shifting the blame for the failure onto Kit's shoulders. Kit turned toward the woman, determined this time to face trouble head-on.
“My goodness,” Colette said. “I thought sure the reports were mistaken.”
“And it's nice to see you again, too,” Kit said sweetly.
The woman looked Kit up and down and turned to Jarrett. “I hate to interfere in your business, Jarrett, but surely, if you wanted to do a fund-raiser, you could have hired any public relations firm in the city. Why would you settle for
her?
And a bachelor auction! Of all the silly, stupid ideas to come up with, that is absolutely—”
Kit interrupted. “You're coming, of course?”
“Are you joking?”
“That's too bad. I think you'd especially enjoy the swimsuit event.”
Jarrett smothered a chuckle.
Kit let her eyes widen as she looked at him. “Oh, hadn't I told you about that? I'm serious, Jarrett. Swimsuit competitions are such a hit with the men who watch beauty pageants that I thought it'd be a nice touch for the auction, as well. And I think we'll have a tuxedo parade, too, before the main event begins, so all the bidders can judge for themselves what's available. After all, since beauty pageants feature a promenade of evening gowns, it's only fair if—”
Heather appeared beside her mother. Kit could hardly believe her eyes. The girl was wearing a duplicate of the scarlet satin teddy on display in the window. Despite her full figure, she looked particularly young and awkward in the too-sexy outfit. “Isn't this wonderful, Mother? Hello, Jarrett! I love your new line. I've tried on everything tonight, but this is still my favorite.” She spun around dramatically.
“I'm delighted to know you're still young enough to enjoy dress-up games,” Jarrett said calmly. “I'll make sure they save one at the warehouse, so someday when you grow up and can wear it for real, it'll be waiting for you.”
Heather stuck out her lower lip. “That's very rude of you, Jarrett.” She brightened suddenly. “Did you see the marchers outside making fools of themselves?”
“Heather,” Colette said fondly. “Of course he saw them.”
Heather ignored her mother. “Aren't they ludicrous? And a bit pathetic, too, especially the one with the sign saying, We Are Not Sex Objects.” She laughed. “I'll say they're not! There isn't one of them who could wear this teddy properly.”
“Neither can you.” Jarrett's voice was cool. “So be a good child and quit trying to play Lingerie Lady, all right?”
Heather put her nose in the air, but she marched off toward the back of the store.
A model in a brief black costume swept up to Kit and handed her a makeup bag of the same beige brocade as the furnishings. “Here's a small gift just for coming tonight. Inside there are a number of samples and prizes, but there's also a gift certificate toward any Milady Lingerie merchandise, valid anytime in the next thirty days. It might be for ten dollars, it might be a hundred, but every lady is a winner.”
“Thanks,” Kit began, “but—”
“And if you use that certificate tonight, we'll add a bonus,” the model went on. “So if there's anything you've been dreaming of, anything at all to please yourself or the man in your life...”
Colette said, under her breath, “Now that's what I call a waste of a perfectly good gift certificate.”
The model glanced uncertainly at her, then at Kit, and when her gaze came to rest on Jarrett her smooth patter faltered for the first time. “On the other hand, I guess you
don't
need a gift certificate, do you? You're probably drowning in lace and satin.”
Kit tried to fight the warm blush that flooded her cheeks. She couldn't help sneaking a look at Jarrett. He was looking particularly angelic and agreeable, and she wanted to elbow him in the solar plexus—hard.
The model smiled uncertainly at Kit and fluttered on to greet a woman who'd just arrived. “Hello, here's a small gift from Milady Lingerie for coming tonight....”
Colette sniffed. “That girl is far too naive to be let loose on the world.”
Kit managed a smile. “Not at all like your little Heather,” she agreed. “If you'll excuse me—”
Jarrett put out a hand. “Where are you going?”
“Out into the mall to see if the demonstrators have an extra sign I can carry.”
He smiled at Colette. “I think that means it's time to take her to dinner,” he confided, and followed Kit out of the store.
The air of the open mall felt comfortably cool against Kit's face. She hadn't realized how warm the store had been. No doubt, she thought, they'd raised the thermostat so the models wouldn't turn blue. That way the customers wouldn't notice till after they'd made a purchase how inadequate silk and lace were for warding off goose bumps.
“The things women will do to impress men,” she mused. “They'll freeze, they'll squeeze into costumes as restricting as an Iron Maiden—” She broke off to watch the protesters, who had lost a couple of sign bearers and were standing instead of marching. A security guard was keeping an eye on them from a discreet distance, and the camera crew had already left.
“Too bad,” Kit said. “If they'd done something really outrageous, the camera would still be there. Maybe I should give them my card, since they could obviously use the guidance of a good PR firm.”
“That would be unethical,” Jarrett pointed out. “You can't work for both sides.”
“But you're not paying me, remember? So the rule doesn't apply. Besides, you'd get a publicity bounce from anything I did for them.”
“Well, think it over for a day or two first, all right?” Jarrett took her arm. “Would you prefer French, Italian or all-American cuisine?”
“It doesn't much matter. I could eat a horse.”
“That I might have to search for.”
Kit wasn't paying attention. She was looking over her shoulder at the dispirited marchers. “If they'd gone after the issue of comfort instead of sexism, every woman in the mall would have at least considered joining in,” she mused. “Underwires are the devil's invention.”
“What?”
“It's true, and if you'd ever tried one next to your skin, you'd know.”
Jarrett smiled. “Now that's an idea I hadn't ever thought of.”
“Obviously. Men design lingerie for men, not for women.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“For looks. I mean, of course, for men to look at. They're certainly not thinking of the comfort of women.”
“I'll make a note of that. No underwires in your white lace affair.”
“I thought you said it was going to be black. Anyway, it doesn't matter.”
“Does that mean you'll wear either?”
“Don't bet on it.”
“Speaking of bets, I've changed my mind about ours. About sleeping together, I mean.”
“That wasn't a bet.”
“Precisely.”
“That was nothing more than a grandstand statement you made in order to—” Kit broke off and then asked warily, “What do you mean by
precisely
, Jarrett?”
BOOK: The Billionaire Date
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