Good Girls Don't (16 page)

So she’d be half-honest.

“My most recent invention didn’t pass the muster on the test subjects,” she said as the rampant pulsing in her ears gradually slowed to a steady thud.

“How many tests?”

“This is the second go-around, with eighty subjects total, so far.” Finally, her pulse was closer to normal. Thank God. But the fact that Landon Brooks was now closer than normal probably wouldn’t help it stay that way.

One corner of his mouth tipped down. “Sorry. But you’ll make it work.”

She couldn’t fight the small smile at hearing his confidence in her abilities. Yeah, she’d make it work. Unfortunately, she’d probably only get it to work for couples, and that hadn’t been her goal. “You’re right. I will.”

He reached out, touched a finger to her chin and tilted her face toward his. “And I haven’t factored at all into your frustration level? Because if not, I’m losing my touch.”

Amy inhaled his scent. God, he smelled good. Her heart rate pumped up the volume again.

And then she had it.

“You were testing one on me!” she said, pulling away from his heated touch. “Weren’t you? Which one was it? And how sneaky!”

He looked at her as though she’d lost her mind. “What are you talking about, Campbell?”

She gathered her wits, which wasn’t easy with the all-encompassing male crowding her space, with his starched white shirt, formfitting black pants, end-of-the-day-tousled blond waves framing a to-die-for face. “You were wearing one of your scents last night, emitting all those charged pheromones, and I simply couldn’t resist. That’s the reason I dreamed about you all night, isn’t it?
That’s
the reason I couldn’t stop thinking about you today. It isn’t you; it’s the smell! Go on, admit it.”

She had him, and she felt a surge of triumph in that knowledge.

Until he smiled.

Oh. No. What did I just say?
That she’d dreamed of him last night? That she’d thought of him all day? And from the look on his luscious face, he had no doubts what kind of thoughts she’d been having.

No matter. They didn’t count. She’d have them for any ol’ Joe wearing that pheromone tosser. So he need not look so damn cocky.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said, pointing a finger at him.

“What?” Landon asked, holding up his hands in defense. “I haven’t said a word.”

“No, but you’re looking like you won some sort of Mr. Macho contest or something. The fact that I’ve been thinking about you, a little bit, doesn’t mean anything, since it was scent-induced. So you get that idea right out of your head, Brooks.”

“If I recall, you said you’d dreamed about me all night and thought about me all day,” he said, not looking upset at all by the way he was making her skin flush. “I’d say that’s more than a little bit, wouldn’t you?”

She shrugged, straightened the papers on the right side of her desk and ignored the hunky cowboy on the left. “Doesn’t matter. Like I said, it was scent-induced. So I’m a normal female, just like all of the test subjects who swoon over your products. Yeah, the smells make them want to have a few orgasms, big deal. It’s the fragrance doing the trick, not the man.”

“So did you?”

“Did I what?” she asked, moving the graphs to the top of the stack. Not that she needed them there, but she sure as heck needed to keep her eyes averted from Landon Brooks.

“Have a few orgasms?” he completed.

She jerked her gaze toward the door and was thankful to see it closed. Sort of. True, she didn’t want her coworkers walking by and hearing
this
conversation. But she also didn’t want to be trapped in her office with Landon Brooks while having
this
conversation.

“I don’t see anything work-related in this discussion,” she said, turning her attention back to the gray-eyed, way-too-confident male.

“It could be,” he said.

“How’s that?”

“If I were charting whether the scents were effective enough to bring a woman to masturbate, then it’d definitely be a work-related topic.”

“Are you charting that?” she asked.

Say no. Say no.

“Not at the present time,” he admitted.

Hallelujah.

“Then there’s no reason for me to answer your question.”

His smile broadened, if possible. “Well, in truth, your answer wouldn’t help.”

She blinked. “Why not?”

He leaned down, close. Way too close. Then he placed a long finger on her temple and slowly eased it along her jaw to her chin. As he’d done moments before, he tilted her gaze to his. “Because, Amy, last night . . .” Landon paused and moved even closer.

“Yeah?” she managed.

“I wasn’t wearing
any
of the Adventurous Accessories products.”

Another heavy, and disbelieving, blink.
Oh. No.
“You weren’t?”

He shook his head. “No, and today, I’m not either.” His words fanned her lips.

She swallowed. “You . . . aren’t?”

“No. So adding the facts that you dreamed of me last night”—he edged even closer, God help her—“and thought of me all day,” he said, then leaned in and nipped her mouth, while her panties went completely wet. “Wouldn’t help my findings.”

He brought his hand behind her neck, slid it beneath the cascade of hair and pulled her forward. Then he ran his tongue across her lower lip. “Tell me something, Amy.”

“What?” she whispered.

“In your dreams, did we kiss?”

She nodded.

“Show me.”

Have mercy. She’d fought him, fought this exact type of situation, for as long as she could remember. Surrendering to the pull of a man. Surrendering to the pull of her libido. To something other than a battery-operated toy.

“Only if you want to,” he added, his words tempting her, bringing her so close to something that she’d been certain she never wanted. And he wasn’t forcing her into it, which made it harder to admit . . . that she wanted it.

Right here. Right now.

He was so close already, all she had to do was lean forward a little, and she was there. Touching his lips. Touching Landon Brooks. Her mouth met his with a hunger for more. A hunger to mate, to linger, to devour. And she did.

She ran her hands over his face while she slipped her tongue between his lips and explored the mesmerizing, intoxicating taste of Landon Brooks. And, Amy admitted, a taste wasn’t nearly enough.

Standing from her chair, she pressed her body to his and clawed her fingernails down his back as she pressed her core against the bulge in his pants. He felt so hard, so massive, so . . . right.

She wanted him. Now.

“Landon,” she whispered as another loud knock penetrated the heated gasps, moans and pants within her office.

Amy’s eyes flew to the door. How could she have forgotten where she was? “Ohmigod.”

He laughed, then smoothed her hair from her face. “You look fine, Ms. Campbell. Slip on your shoes and you’ll be as professional as always. Only you and I know about the tiger hiding beneath your business clothes.” He gave her another soft kiss, then backed away from her desk. “But this weekend, if you’ll let me, I’d love to help you set that tiger free.” He moved to the door, placed his hand on the knob. “Without the aid of scents,” he added, and Amy’s world tilted off-kilter.

“Right,” she whispered, smoothing the front of her top.

Her pants were wrinkled beyond measure, but she wouldn’t worry about that now. It was the end of the day, after all. And she’d just experienced a heat more potent than any reprimands she might receive if her boss was on the other side of that door. Which he probably was. Most Adventurous Accessories employees hit the exit running—promptly at five o’clock—primarily because they knew that was when Vernon Miller liked to have his heart-to-heart meetings. These encounters generally lasted above and beyond an hour.

Landon opened the door, and a hint of Vernon’s trademark houndstooth hat peeked from the other side. He was a good four inches shorter than Landon and practically hidden by the cowboy in the doorway, but it was definitely her boss in the Texan’s shadow.

“Well, hello, Brooks,” Vernon said upon entering. “I didn’t interrupt a meeting, did I? Because I can talk to you about these figures later, if I need to, Campbell,” he said, holding a copy of Wallace’s findings.

“We were discussing Ms. Campbell’s newest product,” Landon said, “and I was trying to see if there was anything I could do to help her improve upon it.”

“Excellent,” Vernon said. “You know how much it pleases me when my departments work together.”

“Yes,” Landon said, stealing a glance back at Amy and winking. “I do.”

C
HAPTER
13

L
ettie swiftly moved the charcoal over the page in an effort to correctly capture the image.

“Are you trying to tell him something?” Amy asked, peering over her shoulder to view the latest sketch.

Amy would know by the intensity of the markings on the paper that Lettie had something on her mind. For as long as she could remember, Lettie had handled frustration by closing off the rest of the world and concentrating on her dream.

Sure, the dream had varied as years progressed, but it had always centered around her designs. When those creative juices started flowing from her head to her hand to the page, she felt release. Not an orgasmic kind of thing, but a powerful freeing of anxiety, nonetheless.

As a little girl, she’d tapped in on this personal method of healing when her mother had purchased used Hasbro fashion plates from the Sheldon five-and-dime. Some of the thin plastic panels were missing, but there were enough to convert Lettie’s spark of imagination to a flame. With the help of that toy, she’d mixed and matched tops and pants, blouses and skirts, combining the plates to produce amazing wardrobe sketches. Creating her own masterpieces, totally befitting a runway model, in a six-year-old’s opinion.

Wanda Campbell hadn’t had a tremendous amount of motherly instincts, but every now and then, she’d come through with flying colors. That trip to the five-and-dime was undoubtedly one of those times.

“Tell who something?” She didn’t look up, her attention too in tune with her idea to allow her vision to wander. The gown was white satin with tiny spaghetti straps at the shoulders and a beaded bodice befitting a bride, as did the train flowing from the plunging back. The cut was sleek and sexy, yet the beaded detail and intriguing train undeniably sweet.

Innocent. Virginal. Pure.

Exactly what she was going for.

“It’s incredible,” Amy said as Lettie finished the last stroke of charcoal on the page.

Examining the finished product, Lettie placed the pad on the kitchen table. “Yeah, it is.” And it had taken the edge off her anxiety, if only for a while. Until Bill Brannon knocked on their door, she suspected.

“I asked you a question, by the way,” Amy reminded.

Lettie’s brow furrowed. “What question?”

“Are you trying to tell him something?”

Lettie placed a square of wax paper over the design, then closed the pad. “I’m not showing it to him. Besides, this isn’t a wedding gown.”

“If you say so.”

Lettie didn’t get to respond before a knock sounded at the door and her pulse skittered. “Is the dress too much?” she whispered.

“It’s perfect. You should wear green more often; it brings out your eyes. So, do you want me to get the door, or do you want to?” Amy had begged her to have Bill pick her up at the apartment, since she was dying to see the two of them together; this time, Lettie had conceded. Heck, if Amy accidentally let something slip about Lettie’s actual place of employment, it really wouldn’t matter. She was going to tell him the truth, anyway. Soon. As soon as Erika came home.

“I will,” Lettie said, her heart racing as she crossed the room.

Opening the door, she was bombarded by a flash of color. Bright, vivid pink.

“Oh my,” she gasped.

Extending a crystal vase with a dozen—make that two dozen—pink roses, Bill smiled. And every ounce of Lettie’s apprehension dissipated.

“You look amazing,” he said.

“Thanks.” She held the vase and stood there a moment, tattooing this image—the way he looked, the words he said—on her mind forever. Here was something she could hold on to and revisit every now and then.

Amy coughed from her perch at the kitchen table.

Lettie blinked, grinned, then turned toward her sister. “Bill, you remember Amy, don’t you?”

He entered the apartment, and Lettie noted the sharp black suit, making him look every bit the dashing businessman and setting off his dark features, jet-black hair, dark brows, intense eyes.

Lord, how she wanted this man.

“Of course, I remember you, Amy. Though I must say, in my mind you were still twelve.”

“Gee, thanks.” Amy stood, ignored his outstretched hand and hugged him. With the impromptu action, her ponytail whacked him smartly in the face.

Bill flinched, then laughed. “I didn’t mean that negatively. I can’t believe how you’ve grown up.”

Lettie placed the vase on the table and admired the exquisite arrangement. “Bill, these really are gorgeous.”

“I’ll say,” Amy agreed, leaning over to inhale one of the blooms. “We always loved roses, didn’t we, Lettie? Remember snitching some out of Mr. Feazell’s garden?”

“How could I forget? He said he was going to have us arrested.” Lettie fingered one of the blooms.

Bill chuckled. “Arrested? Old Man Feazell? You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” Amy said, shrugging. “He was sure enough mad, but we were young and didn’t know any better.”

“Guess he figured if we had the fear of incarceration in us, we’d stay out of his rose garden,” Lettie said. She could still see the weathered man in his overalls shaking his fist at them in warning.

“Worked, didn’t it?” Amy said, inhaling another bloom. “We never went back.” She straightened from the table. “Oh, and speaking of not coming back, I won’t be coming back here tonight, Lettie. Did I tell you that already?”

“No, you didn’t,” Lettie said, cocking a suspicious brow at her conniving sister.

“Brenda asked me to hit Cowboys with her again tonight. We’ll be out pretty late, and since the place is close to her apartment and our office, I figured it’d be easier for me to stay there.”