[4 Seasons 01] Seducing Summer (3 page)

“Want to find me a Bible?”

“Look at my face. Do I look like I’m
laughing?”

His lips finally curved up. “I’m glad you
care for her so much. Please don’t worry. I’ll make sure she stays safe, in every
way.”

“Okay.” She gave a heavy sigh. “We might as
well get started, then. Open your notebook.”

Gene did so, trying not to look up at the
Sword of Damocles he was sure was hanging over his head.

Come on, dude
, he scolded himself. He only had to do this until the NZ Special
Tactics Group had tracked down the man sending the death threats, which would
hopefully be only days, a week at most, and should definitely be well before
Becky came back from her maternity leave in May. Gene liked sex as much as the
next guy, and it was true that he hadn’t had any for a while, but in spite of Neve’s
predictions, he’d never been a man to give in to his desires. He was sure he
could remain aloof, even if it took three months to catch the bastard.

Ninety days of being practically glued to the
curvy blonde’s side. He stifled a groan, gave himself a mental image of
stapling her blouse shut, and concentrated on his notepad.

“Coffee,” Gene said, placing the cup on her
table. “Small amount of milk, quarter of a teaspoon of sugar. Stirred
anticlockwise.”

It was mid-afternoon. He’d already brought
her lunch to her desk and had also managed then to give her a look that implied
her tastes were particular, just because she liked her salad from a certain
place with a particular dressing. She normally bought it herself—she had no
idea why Neve had sent him out for it.

“I don’t know how you manage to make me
sound fussy,” she complained. “It’s not a word I’d ever call myself.”

“Becky left detailed instructions on par with
planning D-Day.” He stood in front of her desk, hands behind his back as usual.

She reached for the cup. “I suppose we all
have our quirks. And at ease, soldier.”

“I like standing like this. It’s not cool
for a man to put his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers.” His eyes held
enough steel to warn her that she wasn’t going to be able to boss him around.

“Fair enough.” She leaned back in her chair
and sipped her coffee. She still hadn’t made up her mind about him yet. He’d
been right in that a good PA’s job was to anticipate her—or his—boss’s needs
before she knew them herself, and Becky had been very good at doing that,
without the additional judgmental looks and rolls of the eyes. He was hardly
perfect PA material. And yet he fascinated her.

“Do I get a biscuit?” she asked. “Becky
normally puts a chocolate Hobnob on the side of the saucer. Was that not on the
list?”

He raised an eyebrow as if to say,
Seriously?
She sipped her coffee. He pursed his lips, turned, and walked out, then came
back a minute later with a Hobnob on a plate, which he placed in front of her.

“Thank you.” She took a bite of the biscuit
and chewed it. “Mmm,” she said with great enthusiasm.

That made him laugh, which pleased her in
turn. Knowing she could encourage his smile out gave her more pleasure than it
probably should have.

She’d expected him to return to his desk,
but he began to walk slowly around her office, looking at the pictures on the
walls. All but one were shots of women in Four Seasons lingerie, tasteful
photos with clever lighting that made all the models—most of whom had generous
body shapes—look sensual and sexy.

“Do you like?” She rose and walked over to
him, carrying her coffee and biscuit, wondering if he’d give her some comment
about being mad not to like photos of women in their underwear.

“They’re excellent.” He gestured at the one
in front of him. “Superb lighting.”

“It makes them look quite beautiful,
doesn’t it?”

“All women are beautiful regardless of
lighting.” He tipped his head, studying the model in the photo.

“That’s a nice thing to say.”

He turned his gaze to her. “I would imagine
you have to think that to work in a place like this.”

“It helps, for sure. We believe that
everyone should be proud of their body no matter what shape or size you are. Everyone’s
different, and that should be celebrated. Nobody should have to change
themselves to fit society’s version of the perfect person.”

He studied her for a long time. He didn’t
say anything, and his gaze didn’t move from hers, but she couldn’t shake the
feeling that he was thinking about her naked.

Finally, though, he just said, “You have a
biscuit crumb on your lip.”

Sticking out her tongue, she searched along
her top lip, then along the bottom one, until she found it, and sucked it into
her mouth. “Waste not, want not.”

His gaze had dropped to her lips, but now
it rose back to meet hers. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, though.
Probably what an idiot she was with biscuit all around her mouth.

Without saying anything else, he continued
walking around the room before stopping at the largest photo on the wall. It
was of Callie, Rowan, Neve, and Bridget, taken on the day of Willow’s wedding.
They stood in a line, backed by cherry trees and purple, pink, and white
wisteria. The photographer had taken the shot at the moment a brisk summer
breeze whipped across the green, and all four of them were laughing, fighting
the way their dresses were lifting in the wind.

“The Four Seasons,” Callie said.

“That’s Neve, isn’t it?” He gestured to the
girl in the light blue dress.

“Yes. That’s Rowan—she designs our
lingerie. And you must have seen Bridget downstairs, too—she runs the shop.”

“You met at university, right?”

“Yes.” She gave him an appraising look.
He’d done research on the business? Another point in his favor.

“I like that your lingerie caters for all
sizes,” he said.

“Everyone deserves to feel pretty in what
they wear, and it’s not only thin women who want to look sexy. I can personally
vouch for that.” She smiled.

“Not every man wants a stick insect,” he
said. “Some of us like a woman to have curves.”

Was he saying that
he
liked curvy
women? He didn’t elaborate, and again, she couldn’t read anything else in his
expression. He certainly wasn’t flirting overtly. Which was appropriate, of
course. It would make her life much easier over the next few months if there
was no spark between them.

Would be a bit dull, though.

She shrugged. “Well there are plenty of
curves to go around at Four Seasons. None of us is keen on dieting.”

Laughing, she walked over to the
architect’s desk that stood against the wall. If he was going to be her PA,
he’d need to know the business, so she might as well try to forget he was a guy
and talk to him the way she would have talked to Becky. “Come and look at
these.”

Two huge catalogues sat on the desk.
Finishing off her biscuit, she placed the coffee cup to one side and opened the
first catalogue. The pages were made of board and slotted into clear plastic sleeves
that clipped into the folder so she could add or replace items as necessary.
Each page featured a large picture by the same photographer who’d taken the
shots on the wall.

Gene stood shoulder to shoulder with her, a
few inches taller than her in her heels. As they leaned forward, his aftershave
wound around her like a ribbon—something with sandalwood and a touch of citrus,
making her mouth water.

“This is the Four Seasons swimwear.” Trying
to concentrate, she began to leaf through the photos of models in bikinis and
costumes, taken on the quay by the Te Papa museum. “Rowan’s aim was to design
swimwear that women with more generous body shapes can feel comfortable in
while still feeling sexy. For example, our bikini tops have more material in
the cups so the wearer doesn’t have to worry that she’ll turn to the side and
pop out.”

“Very thoughtful.”

“We think so. We do offer the traditional
tiny bottoms, but we concentrate on the hip- or waist-high bottoms, often
matched with tankini tops, as well as one-pieces. Rowan’s very clever at
designing patterns that draw the eye away from the bits we don’t want to be
seen. Many women don’t mind having a larger bust, but they’re uncomfortable
about showing their midriffs, so our designs are based around disguising that
area by having fancy tucks or folds of the material between the boobs, dark-colored
panels down the sides or across the tummy, and bright colors in strategic
places.”

He lifted a hand, and for a brief moment
she thought he was going to cup her cheek. He just touched her earlobe, though,
and to her surprise, produced a two-dollar coin as if he’d pulled it from the
shell of her ear.

She laughed. “Magic tricks?”

“The theory of misdirection. It’s what the
swimwear does.” He smiled and pocketed the coin.

Her earlobe tingled where he’d brushed it,
sending a ripple through her entire body. He’d obviously shaved that morning, she
thought. An image flashed through her mind of him standing in front of a
bathroom mirror wearing only a towel, tipping his head back as he ran a razor
across his cheek.

Ooh.

Blinking away the haze of lust that
threatened to overwhelm her, she pushed the swimwear to one side and opened the
lingerie catalogue. “Yes, you’re right. Misdirection is the key for swimwear. Underwear
is slightly different, as generally it’s not made for others to see. It serves
two basic purposes—to support the figure and make one’s outer clothes look
good, and to make the woman feel sexy, both for herself and her partner. Quite
often, she’ll buy two separate sets of lingerie—comfortable, well-fitting bras
and panties to wear every day, and prettier lingerie to wear for special
occasions. Rowan wanted to design a range that fulfilled both purposes—that was
both practical and sexy.” She gestured at the model on the page, who wore an
underwired bra with full cups, a wide back, and generous straps, that was
nevertheless pretty with its intricate lace and embroidery.

Callie had shown the catalogues to various
men over the past few years, from the occasional salesman to partners of women
who visited the office. Nearly all of them had cracked jokes to cover their
discomfort, while the gazes of a few had lingered longer than was necessary as
they ogled the models.

Gene turned the pages at the right pace,
though, without making lewd remarks or suggestive comments. “How is the range
priced? Compared to other brands?”

Wow, this guy was pure class. Callie wanted
to hug him, but just managed to restrain herself. “High-end rather than cheap,
but competitive compared to some of the more well-known brands. A price that
says quality without being expensive. We did a lot of surveying of women and
discovered that underwear—especially bras—is something most are willing to
spend money on, if it’s comfortable and makes them feel good. They may buy
cheap T-shirts and two pairs of shoes for the price of one, but they won’t
skimp on their underwear.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said.

She glanced at him, but he was examining
the last page that showed the same model in all the different styles of panties
they produced, and Callie couldn’t tell how wry he’d meant his comment to be.
Was his humor just exceptionally dry, or had he merely been commenting on the
penny-saving abilities of her customers?

Finally, he moved back and closed the book.
“I’m impressed. So why are you touring the country?”

She wandered back to her desk. “I’ll be
approaching high street stores to ask whether they’d consider stocking the Four
Seasons brand.”

“Couldn’t you do that by phone or email?”

“I’m better in person,” she said, sitting
down. “You can’t appreciate my sparkling personality and lively wit until you
talk to me face to face.”

He stood before her desk, hands behind his
back again. “I see.” He kept a straight face, obviously trying hard to be
polite. For whatever strange reason, he wanted the job, and it was clear he’d
be professional behind the desk.

Mischievousness surged through her. “Plus,
I do a fashion show and model all the underwear personally. It works especially
well when the managers are men.”

His eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“No!” She rolled her eyes. “Come on, Gene.
If we’re going to work together, you’re going to have to let that sense of
humor loose. It’s difficult to take life seriously when you spend your days
discussing things like whether the fabric of a bra is going to be too scratchy on
the nipples.”

He looked at his shoes for a long moment.
Callie bit back a laugh. She really shouldn’t tease him.

“If it’s any help,” she said, “I’m amazed
you’ve lasted this long without any sexual innuendo.”

He raised his gaze to hers. “I wouldn’t
dream of it,” he said. But his eyes warmed with amusement.

She sat back in her chair. “Just so you
know, although I don’t like it when people make fun of my job or treat women as
sexual objects, I do have a sense of humor, and you’re allowed to have one
too.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Would you like to work here?”

“It’s a dream come true.” He gave an impish
smile that warmed her right through.
At last.

“In that case, you’re hired, Mr. Bond—and I
hope you’re prepared for endless 007 jokes.”

“I’m sure I’ve heard them all.”

“I’ll do my best to come up with some new
ones. In return, you may ask me a question. Anything you like, and I promise to
answer it truthfully.” Now she’d given him free rein, she waited for him to
enquire about her cup size, or what style of panties she preferred.

He surveyed her for a long moment. Then he
picked up her empty cup. “What’s Callie short for?”

“Oh.” She sucked her bottom lip. Talking
with this man was like being blindfolded and then turned around and around,
leaving her disoriented and reeling. “Um, Calinda. It means summer.”

“So your name’s Summer Summer?”

“I prefer to think of it as Sunny Summer.”

He picked up the saucer containing a few
leftover biscuit crumbs. “It suits you.” He lifted his eyes to meet hers. Once
again, they held enough heat to suggest he was thinking something sexy.