Various States of Undress: Virginia (17 page)

“How?” Dex asked, his handsome face in shock. “How in the hell did you do that?”

“I busted my ass,” she said simply. Ruston cleared his throat and she turned to him. “Oh, sorry. You don't like me talking about asses. Sorry I said the word
ass
. And, um, I have to admit that I learned a lot today about dealing with old—” She paused when Ruston gave her a dubious look. “I mean, catering to the
mature
customer.”

“Such as?” Ruston prompted.

“They find it flattering, instead of insulting, when you compliment their thriftiness.” She grinned. “I poured on the praise and they walked away happy, with bargains in their bags.”

Ruston inclined his head. “You did well.”

Dex sighed and shook his head. “Okay, Virginia. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Put on your dancing shoes, Dex.”

“What? Not tonight. Are you crazy?”

“Sometimes. But you're right—not tonight. Tomorrow. And hey!” She snapped her fingers. “Could you get some flyers made up about the new Lilah's—kind of a teaser? I know a place where we can give them to the doorman. He'll make sure they get handed out.”

Dex rubbed a hand over his face. “Actually, that's a great idea, so sure. Anything else?”

“Yes.” She did want something else. She wanted him—every adorable, rumpled inch of him—cuddled up next to her in her bed, and she would tell him just that if Doris and Ruston weren't hanging onto every word of the conversation. “Um, maybe we should return our smocks and discuss it.”

“Good idea.” Dex shook Ruston's hand and gave Doris a peck on the cheek. “Thanks so much, you two. You were good sports today.” Doris blushed and waved him away, but Ruston preened under the praise. Then he ruined it.

“I'm glad that you and Miss Fulton learned exactly how grueling sales can be,” he said.

“Thanks for the lesson, Rusty,” Virginia said and then inclined her head at Dex. “Ready? I'll make our discussion quick.”

He walked beside her, his arms at his sides, but the minute the stockroom door closed behind them, his fingers were on the front of her smock, ripping the snaps open. “Make it quick?” he murmured against her mouth. “I hope not.” And then his hands cupped her breasts, and his lips covered hers in a slow, hungry kiss.

Instantly, her head began to spin, and she clutched at his shoulders, reveling in the familiar taste of his tongue sliding into her mouth. She pressed herself against him, rolling her hips against his. Footsteps sounded on the marble on the other side of the door, and she groaned in frustration as Dex broke the kiss. “Come home with me,” she said breathlessly.

“Won't it look suspicious?” He kissed her again.

She jumped away from him just as the door opened and Ruston walked in, carrying Dex's smock. “So, yeah. We can discuss that over dinner, Dex.”

Dex cleared his throat. “Looking forward to it.”

“Mister Cameron,” Ruston said, holding out the smock. “Our sales staff usually hangs these up at the end of the day, but I'll take care of this one.” He gestured toward Virginia. “And yours.” She handed it to him. “Wonderful.” He walked toward the closet and then turned. “Oh, and Mister Cameron, if you need dancing shoes, we have a fine selection upstairs.” With just a ghost of a smile, he disappeared inside the closet.

Virginia laughed. “You have no excuse now.”

Chapter Nine

T
HE FOLLOWING NIGHT
, Virginia did what she always did when bypassing the line of grumbling people outside of a club: she gave her best First Daughter smile and waved. Usually, when the restless crowd saw the Secret Service agents and then recognized her, they quit yelling stuff like “Hey, bitch. Get back in line!” Sometimes there were even a few gasps and muttered apologies. Tonight? She didn't hear any of it because her hand was wrapped around Dex's arm and she couldn't take her eyes off of his charming smile.

In the past, she'd been a frequent flyer at this club—Renegade's—because it was a hell of a lot of fun. She'd known that she could count on getting swept up in the heady mix of alcohol, pulse-pounding music, and the thrill of a lot of eyes on her—most of them admiring, some of them jealous. She'd loved the attention, and she'd always been irritated when her agents made her leave before closing. Tonight, she wasn't here for a wild party, though. She was here to dance with Dex. Plus she knew that Ricky, the doorman, would take care of distributing the advertising flyers for Lilah's that she'd brought. She and Dex wouldn't stay long, which, to her amazement, was a relief instead of a disappointment.

Virginia didn't want to get drunk and dance her ass off. She only wanted to be alone with him. They'd worked side-by-side all day, scoping out the sales floors, discussing product placement and advertising. His knowledge about the financial side of a product launch was impressive, even intimidating, and though it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about Thursday's test display, she had trouble forming the right words in her head. Dex was making her tongue-tied. She'd been able to focus most of the time, but his nearness—the heat of his body, the warmth of his smile, the timbre of his sexy voice—had sent her senses into overdrive.

She was dimly aware that there were a lot of people at the club for a Tuesday night, just as she was also dimly aware that the level of her desire was bordering on dangerous, because she and Dex weren't in her snug little apartment. They were in public and she needed to show some restraint.

But holding herself in check was growing increasingly difficult because last night she'd gone to bed alone and frustrated. Despite the heat between them, she and Dex had been dead on their feet and hadn't eaten all day; when she'd seen him trying to hide a jaw-cracking yawn, she'd blurted out that he needed sleep and she did too. The minute she'd said it, she wished it back because he'd sheepishly agreed and, still yawning, had left for his place. It had been comforting to go back to her place, stand at the refrigerator, and eat straight out of a take-out container before collapsing on her bed, but she'd woken up at three in the morning, and, after staring into the darkness for a while, she'd realized something. She was definitely falling for Dex. That sense of longing and wistfulness when he wasn't around didn't come out of nowhere. When she did see him, that thrill inside of her, which started as a blush on her cheeks and ended with a tingling in her toes, was becoming a regular thing. With him or apart from him, she was half desperate for his arms. Last night, he hadn't been there. But he was here now, and she couldn't wait to get inside and feel those arms around her as they danced. She grinned up at him when they reached the door. “You ready?”

“For whatever fresh hell you're leading me into? I guess.” He rolled his eyes a bit but smiled back when she tucked her hand in his.

“Hey, Ricky!” She leaned over to give the bouncer an air kiss. “Long time, no see.”

“I know, girl. You haven't been here in a couple of weeks. What gives?” Ricky, who looked pretty much like the Incredible Hulk, gave her a pat on the shoulder.

“I've been busy working. Speaking of, I have a favor to ask.” She unzipped her bag and pulled out a thick stack of flyers. “I'm involved in a department store prelaunch. A lot of your customers would probably be interested. Do you mind?”

“Naw, I'll make sure they get passed around. Good luck. Have fun.” He ushered her inside, and she remembered too late that she hadn't introduced Dex. She grimaced up at him as they followed one of her agents into the dark club. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“What?” He leaned close.

“Sorry!” she yelled. Dammit was loud in here. And it smelled like sticky booze. Why hadn't she noticed that the other times she'd been here?

“What?” Dex repeated.

She waved her hand in an I'll-tell-you-later gesture. It hit her suddenly that every time she'd been here before, she'd already had a few drinks at other places.
Everywhere
she'd gone, she'd already had a few drinks, actually. She and Stacey generally started with gin and tonics at her apartment while they did their hair, and by the time they piled into the SUV, they were already buzzed. Maybe this place had been a mistake. She glanced up at Dex, who had a brave face on. Then she glanced down at his cashmere V-neck sweater layered on top of a white shirt. Uh-oh. He was going to burn up in here, wasn't he? She hadn't told him to dress comfortably, and, next to her in her backless halter dress, he looked as if he were going to a yacht club. And she looked like the hooker he'd picked up on the way back home. Ouch.

She tugged on the short hem of her dress and pointed to the VIP section, which was on a balcony above the main floor. Dex nodded and caught her hand, leading her toward a staircase blocked by a rope. He waited as she greeted another familiar bouncer and then led her up, pausing at the corner of the crowded bar. “What do you want?” he yelled near her ear. “Something stiff,” she yelled back.

He grinned. “I'm not going to touch that.”

“I will,” she said, giggling. He looked so sexy standing there with that grin on his face that she couldn't resist. She swung her bag around toward her hip to act as a shield and pressed her palm against the front of his pants, watching his face. A flicker of surprise crossed it, and then he shifted away from her hand.

“Plenty of time for that later,” he said and then raised his hand to the bartender.

Virginia was sober but felt buzzed as the insistent, thumping music reverberated in her head. This was going to be an epic night—she could feel it—and it wasn't because of the club. It was because of what would happen after.

After waiting with Dex for the drinks, she found an empty cabaret table near the front of the VIP balcony and sat down. Her agents, Dave and . . . Nick, whom she didn't know very well, tried to blend in as they stood nearby pretending to enjoy themselves, holding highball glasses full of Sprite. Muscles and Silent weren't on shift, and, while she knew she was protected, she missed having her favorite guys around. Muscles and Silent knew her—knew her MO when coming to a club. But tonight wasn't a usual night, was it?

She looked at Dex, who fiddled with his drink. “It's so loud. You want to just go?”

He shook his head. “No way. A bet's a bet. Besides, I need you to teach me how to dance.”

“There's plenty of time for that but no reason for you to learn down in the mosh pit.” She glanced over her shoulder at the super-VIP lounges behind the bar. They were semiprivate, with smoky glass walls, but came with the price tag of two bottles of Dom Pérignon, minimum. She would have no trouble getting access to one of the lounges, though. So she did, and five minutes later she sighed as she settled close to Dex on a leather sofa. Much quieter. Her agents looked relieved too, as they positioned themselves on barstools just outside the doorway. “Better, right?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Dex leaned back and put his hands behind his head.

“So why didn't you ever learn how to dance?” she asked.

“I . . . there was this incident at a Christmas dance when I was in seventh grade.” He shrugged and accepted a glass of champagne from the lounge's waiter, who quickly disappeared.

“Uh-oh. I sense a junior high moment that left permanent scars.”

“Let's just say that there was this girl I'd had a crush on for a year. I asked her to dance and she said no.”

“Ouch.” Virginia made a sad face and put her hand on his knee.

He chuckled. “It gets worse. When she said no, I thought, fine—she's not the only girl here. So I proceeded to ask another. No, again. So I asked another girl. Then I couldn't stop myself from self-massacre. For some reason, I was determined to prove myself, and I asked every single girl in attendance.” He shook his head. “By the time I'd bounced around that gym like a Ping-Pong ball for an hour getting shot down, I was numb. So I went out on the floor and danced by myself while my entire class stared. Then I walked off and promptly puked on a papier-mâché Santa right next to the refreshments table.”

Virginia looked at him in horror. “Okay, that tops any awkward school moment I've ever had.”

“I can't imagine you had many,” he said, chuckling.

“Why is that?”

“Because you're not a bit awkward. People love you,” he answered firmly.

“Ha. You weren't in my seventh grade history class from hell.” She shook her head. “I hated that teacher. He actually gave me a D on a speech even though he said that it was very well written. He said that, given my loquacious and gregarious nature, I should have been able to sail through that with flying colors, and I didn't. It totally wasn't fair, and I had a great excuse for messing up.”

Dex raised an eyebrow. “What was it?”

“I had a massive crush on a boy in the front row, and he was staring at me the whole time I was giving my speech.”

A ghost of a smile played around Dex's mouth. “You got tongue-tied.”

“Yeah, for the first time in my life. And then my teacher tied my tongue the rest of the way. When I went to complain about my grade, he said I wasn't living up to my potential and that I was taking the easy way out—throwing away my abilities in favor of being an airhead.”

“You're not an airhead.”

She shrugged. “I know that, but things that come naturally to me don't help the impression I give off—at all. For instance, the first time I wore a pair of high heels, I fell down the steps of the governor's mansion.”

“Governor's mansion?”

“My dad was governor of Wyoming before he became president.”

Dex rubbed his forehead. “Right. I forgot because you're distracting me.”

“How?” She cocked her head to the side and smiled, enjoying the glint of desire that flashed in his eyes as his gaze traveled over her body.