“Don’t get me wrong. I like the look. It suits you.”
“Not quite an apology.”
He arched a lush brow. “Do I owe you one?”
“No, I suppose you don’t. You were just making an observation after all.” She leaned her elbows on the desk, folded her hands and leaned her chin on her clenched fingers as she looked at him. Two could play the intuitive game. “What type are you?”
“Eclectic, whatever feels good at the moment.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Just like she thought. A free spirit. He probably would have been right at home at Woodstock.
“Is this part of the interview process?”
“Everything you say to me here is basically part of the interview process. I get to know what you like, your general style, it helps me when I finally have to go and pick things out for you. That is, if you’re not with me at the time I make the purchases.”
“You mean I have that option?”
“If you have the time, of course you do. Most of my clients don’t use the option. Time constraints are one of the main reasons people hire me in the first place. Your time is valuable, so why not let me do what I do best while you’re using your time to do what you do best?”
“I like that philosophy.”
Most men did. Most of her clients of the male, no-time-or-desire-for-frivolous-nonsense persuasion where shopping was concerned, did. Must have been something in the Y
chromosome, some anti-shopping gene.
Tabitha looked at her monitor and hit the Enter key twice to make room for additional information. “Now, you mentioned eclectic…” Tabitha paused to glimpse his outfit. Not quite as out there as some of the Woodstock fashions she had seen, but definitely unconventional for the business world in which she moved. The white T-shirt tucked into a pair of blue wash-and-wear Levi’s hinted at firm well-muscled abs that tapered down to a slim waist, would have been more suitable attire for a
Grease
revival. Same went for the black distressed leather blazer that clung to his broad shoulders and had Tabitha’s fingers itching to divest him and see if his physique was as hard as it looked.
He had the anarchistic artist look down to a science, and she wasn’t sure yet whether or not it was a façade, or a well-honed image he’d perfected just for their meeting today, because Eric seemed like the type to go out of his way to shock.
Eric finally took the seat across from Tabitha’s desk, resting his right ankle on his left knee and giving her a good view of a comfortable, well-worn black desert boot.
“So, let’s get back to your sty—”
“I don’t like suits and ties. I did the whole corporate dress for success deal years ago, and I’m not interested in reimmersing myself. What you see here is as dressy as I usually get.”
True, the customer was always right, but Tabitha took offense at his tone, as if he was too good for a suit and she wasn’t; as if he were attacking her tastes without even knowing what she might have planned for him.
“There are a lot of things we can do with slacks and a suit jacket that don’t involve a tie.”
“There are a lot of things I could do with a tie that don’t involve clothes at all.”
If she’d had liquid in her mouth, she might have spewed it across the desk in his face. As it was she had to tamp down a strong urge to laugh, and instead frowned to show her displeasure.
Her look didn’t go a long way to putting him in his place, however.
He simply grinned at her, a smug boy who had just put his second grade teacher on the spot with his risqué comment in front of the class.
“Other than the suit and tie aversion—”
“I’m fairly easy.”
She just bet. “That helps a bit.” Although she didn’t consider the subject closed by any stretch of the imagination.
He’d insulted her and Tabitha did not take well to insults. Rather than dwell on it though, she typed in “easy and casual” on his profile, then peered at him. “Would it be safe to say blue or black are your favorite colors?”
“Today they are. Tomorrow it might be something that’s at my fingertips when I reach into my closet.”
Tabitha shifted in her chair, crossed her legs to stem the sudden flow of wetness in her panties. She’d never found wise-asses a turn-on, but there was something intrinsically sexy and inviting about his grin, something raw and challenging in the depths of those indigo eyes.
She highlighted and underlined “easy and casual,” already envisioning him in a charcoal single breasted suit and vest to highlight those beautiful dark eyes, and a black T-shirt underneath. There, no tie! “Any colors or materials you don’t like?”
He shrugged, but rather than give off uncertainty, the motion emitted his indifference.
Tabitha stopped herself from flinging her mouse over the pad, and stared at him across the desk as he merely arched a thick brow. “This is not the best way to build rapport, Eric. I need cooperation from you to make this work. This relationship has to be a two-way street, give and ta—”
“Okay, okay.” He chuckled, put up his hands as if in surrender. “You’re absolutely right.
I have to apologize for dragging you into this.”
That was more than she expected, but less than she deserved, and Tabitha waited for the other shoe to drop. She was sure he had something up his sleeve, especially when she realized what he had said. “Dragging me into what?”
“Vega vendettas and power struggles.”
“I’m not following.”
“I have to be honest, my sister damn near twisted my arm to sell me on the idea of a makeover and personal shopper.”
“You don’t have to feel obliga—”
“But
, now that I’m here I’m getting used to the idea of having a fashion consultant.”
“Let’s get something straight, I can’t work miracles.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
“And I won’t do anything to your wardrobe you don’t want me to do.”
“I leave myself and my wardrobe at your total discretion, Tabitha.”
She stopped herself from sputtering at his silky warm murmur, the sound of her name on his lips, still waiting for that big size twelve desert boot to drop.
At the thought, he did lower his right foot to the polished parquet floor, rolled his chair closer before leaning his elbows on her desk.
Tabitha purposely held her ground, though she was tempted to roll her chair back an inch or two, his clean musky scent riding the wind to her nostrils and making her light-headed.
It should have been illegal for a man to smell as good as he looked.
“Well, ah, that’s good to hear.”
“And I promise to cooperate and be a good boy for the rest of our meeting.”
She didn’t think he could or would keep that particular promise, not even if he tried, not a
“good” bone in that big well-built body.
“Scout’s honor.” He raised his hand and grinned at her silence.
“Were you?”
“Was I what?”
“A Boy Scout.”
“Even better. I was an Eagle.”
She wasn’t that up on what the qualifications for an Eagle Scout were, but she was sure they were pretty extensive and doubted that Eric’s footloose and fancy-free mien had held him in good stead with the fraternity.
“I could show you my merit badges,” he said at her doubtful look.
“I bet you could.”
What did they give merit badges out for
? She was certain he’d excelled in totally different areas of achievement and socialization than had the rest of his troop. And despite his aversion to suits and ties, she could imagine him in the little green shorts uniform, politely helping an old lady across the street and shamelessly flirting with her all the way.
Tabitha bet he had nice legs too, to go with the rest of that hard body she’d been secretly ogling since he’d arrived.
“What about you?”
“Me?” She raised a brow.
“I can see you in a little Brownie’s uniform selling cookies door to door.”
The double entendre didn’t escape her—she knew he’d meant it not to—his smile slow and seductive as he sat back in his seat waiting for her response.
“I was entirely too busy with more important activities to indulge in that particular whimsy.” Too busy surviving, she thought.
Tabitha had never had to sell cookies door to door, but she’d had to barter, borrow and steal for a meal more times than she liked to count.
She especially remembered a period when her mother had neglected to come home for several days after Tabitha’s father had left them. Everyday for a week she had come home to an empty house, and an even emptier refrigerator before going out to the neighbors to play
“Whimpy from Popeye” with promises that her mother would gladly pay them Tuesday for a meal today.
No, hawking hundreds of boxes of overpriced cookies for top-selling honors and a cheesy overrated prize had not been high on her list of eight-year-old priorities.
“So, back to least favorite colors and materials?”
“I’m not too fond of orange and pink, unless they’re on a woman. As for materials, I like anything that’s washable.”
She wanted to ask him if that jacket he was wearing was washable since it looked like it had been through the ringer. Distressed leather had been a trend back in the 90’s, which looked to be about when he had bought the jacket. Of course, leather and blazers were pretty timeless…
“Before you ask, yes, it is.”
“I’m sorry? Yes, what is?”
“The jacket’s washable.”
Her jaw dropped but she quickly coughed into a fist to cover her shock. “What are you, a mind reader?” she asked and watched as he fidgeted in his seat, for the first time since he’d come into her office looking uneasy, as if she had hit a nerve.
ADULT EXCERPT
BENEATH THE SURFACE
The Matchmaker, Book 1
By Gracie C. McKeever
Copyright © 2006
He closed the space between them, reached for her, cupping a breast.
She gasped, not realizing he’d undone the top several buttons of her blouse and unlatched her bra until she glanced down and saw his hand against her naked copper tone flesh. “You’re fast,” she blurted.
“You have no idea.” He pressed her against the wall, lightly pinching and rolling an already hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
Tabitha moaned and Eric covered her mouth in a scorching kiss that sent her stomach spiraling in a pool of molten liquid draining straight out of her vagina.
“Is everything all right in there, sir?”
Eric dragged his mouth away from hers long enough to say, “Everything’s fine!” He stared down at her, licking his lips like a hungry predator. “More than fine,” he murmured, making slow sensual circles with a forefinger around her right nipple.
Tabitha moved away and slapped at his hand. “You’re absolutely incorrigible.”
“Guilty as charged.”
She stopped herself from smiling. She didn’t want to encourage him, not that he needed much encouragement to be the total scoundrel that he was.
God, when he looked at her like that—indigo eyes smoky and heavy-lidded, plainly proclaiming exactly what he wanted to do to her—Tabitha wanted to give in, give him anything he wanted, do anything to please him.
She had to get away from him before she fell any deeper under his spell.
Tabitha moved to the opposite side of the cramped room—not nearly far enough—warily watching him, didn’t realize she was panting until she saw her breasts heaving from the corner of her eyes. She reached up to latch her bra and button her blouse with shaky hands under Eric’s glittering watchful gaze, couldn’t drag her eyes away from his. “You messed up my clothes.”
“I was actually trying to get them off.”
“You don’t stop, and you’ll mess up those clothes.” She pointed her chin at his outfit.
“If I’m going to buy them anyway, will it make a difference?”
“Yes, it will. They’ll know what we were doing in here.”
He took a couple of steps towards her and before she knew it, he had her pinned against the wall again. “They already do,” Eric whispered.
“Eric…” Her next words died on a groan as he lifted her skirt and palmed her sex.
He caressed her through the crotch of her pantyhose for several long torturous moments before he slid his hands up to the waistband and pulled down her panties and hose in one rough swift motion.
“Eric, please do—”
He got to his knees, buried his head beneath her skirt and in an instant, Tabitha felt his mouth on her.
Unconsciously, she gyrated her hips, grinding her pelvis against his mouth, felt him open and explore her with his fingers before his tongue penetrated her.
Tabitha gasped and would have tipped over had he not held her steady, gripping and spreading her ass cheeks as he pushed his tongue into her pussy as deep as it would go, burrowing and circling like some piece of earth moving equipment—how freaking appropriate!
She felt his fingers again, thumb and forefinger rhythmically stimulating her clit, zinging hot flashes of sensation straight to kitty town.
God…she was…going to…explode!
Tabitha bit her bottom lip hard to keep from crying out, tasted blood in her mouth as an orgasm crashed down on her sudden as an epileptic seizure. She stiffened, then convulsed as Eric got to his feet and held her close.
She lay her head against his chest—just resting, just catching her breath, she told herself—listened to his speeding heartbeat echoing the pattern of hers, slowly opened her eyes and stepped out of his arms to see him smiling down at her.
“C’mere, I’ll kiss the hurt and make it better,” he said and leaned close, smelling of her juices, tasting of her essence, caressing her lips with his, sliding his tongue into her mouth.
REVIEWS for
Beneath the Surface
"Ms McKeever has created a tight family group around psychic telepath Angela, whose words of wisdom and guidance help all around her. There's a strong sense of realism and locale in this book that really drew me in, and the attraction between EJ and Tabitha just grabs you. Even their banter is sexy, so you know that when they finally go to bed it's not just sex, it's something else, something amazing. The supporting cast is just as great, from bitchy Jade to lovable Frankie, the fast-talking sisters and the rest of Eric's family. With plenty of romantic twists and entanglements, this will keep you reading to the very last page. You're sure to love it
—
and there's more to come in this fantastic series. Keep a look out for the next book!
5 Magic Wands.
"
—Autiotalo,
Enchanted Ramblings