Silk on the Skin: A Loveswept Classic Romance

One
 

He definitely wasn’t your normal, average guy.

As she closed out a sale on the cash register, Cass Lindley covertly watched the tall, lithe man pretending to examine the circular postcard rack by the counter. The expensive sunglasses pushed back to the top of his dark head and the custom-cut, raw-silk linen jacket signaled wealth. She had been all too aware of him ever since he had walked into her specialty shop, WinterLand. This man was different from the jaded high rollers who thought it might be fun to vacation in the sleepy New Jersey shore resort of Long Beach Island. Long Beach didn’t have the glitz and glamour of Atlantic City or the quiet prestige of Ventnor.

The man’s tawny eyes drew her attention; they seemed to see everything analytically, assessing strengths and weaknesses. Although his lean body was not overly muscled like a body builder’s, she was conscious of a raw power emanating from
him. For some strange reason, she couldn’t get the vision of a predator clothed in sleek sophistication out of her head, and she wondered if he knew how much he would stand out in a crowd.

From behind the rack, he was now looking around the shop, frowning slightly. WinterLand sold only Christmas items; at the seashore in the days of full-blown summer, her displays made people stop and take a second look. It also made them buy, Cass thought in dry amusement.

“How much?”

Thinking her mind had been read, Cass glanced up sharply to discover a woman holding a small pillow decorated with a patchwork Christmas motif. The customer approached the register, while repeating, “How much is this, miss?”

Reminding herself that she had a little hustling to do, Cass smiled. “That’s handcrafted by Mary Snead, who’s noted for her Appalachian designs. It’s only fifty-five dollars.”

The woman frowned. “It’s cute. But fifty-five dollars for a tiny Santa Claus pillow is a little high, isn’t it?”

Cass leaned across the counter and said in a conspiratorial tone, “Saks sells the same pillow for nearly double our price.”

The woman beamed. “I’ll take it.”

As soon as the woman left, the only other person in the shop stepped in front of the register. Cass gazed at the man; she could see more clearly the furrows that bracketed his eyes and mouth, and she judged him to be in his middle thirties, making him at least six or seven years past her own age, twenty-eight. His face was all angles; his
chin jutted out sharply, his cheekbones prominent, and his nose long and thin. But it was those tawny eyes that pulled his features together in a striking combination. The assessing gaze was hidden now as he looked at her in amusement, but the raw power up close was suddenly overwhelming. Cass felt an odd sensation frizzle along her nerve endings, and she was all too conscious of being alone with him. She wished Jean or Mary or any of the other store employees was on with her today.

“Does Saks sell these at double the price?” he asked, holding up four postcards.

Grateful for the counter separating them, Cass took a breath to calm herself, then said, “I’ll make you a great deal: Buy something from the store, and I’ll throw in the postcards for free.”

The man grinned. “Actually, I’m not looking for a bargain, but a person—Cassandra Lindley. Is she here?”

“She’s the one who’s throwing in free postcards to make a sale,” Cass said, grinning back. “I’m Cassandra Lindley, but everyone calls me Cass. What can I do for you?”

The man held out his hand. “I’m Dallas Carter, the new president of Marks & Lindley. Since I’m on vacation in the area, I thought I’d take the opportunity to meet one of M & L’s two major stockholders.”

Cass stared at his hand for a long moment, then reluctantly shook it.

The dynamic Dallas Carter here in her shop on a nice, casual, friendly visit?

She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.

   •   •   •

Her hand was as soft as satin, and he could easily imagine it soothing a man’s tired body … then stroking it to a white heat. Her long ash-blond hair would be like a gauze curtain, hiding and revealing, and her brilliant emerald-green eyes would hold a man in their prison.

Dallas Carter forced his thoughts away from the woman behind the name. He reluctantly surrendered her hand and reminded himself that she was just business. Very important business. And he had no time to waste.

“I’ve asked Ned Marks several times about you,” he said.

“That’s nice,” she said while bending down behind the counter.

Her cool reply surprised him, and he acknowledged Cassandra Lindley wasn’t quite the underage flower child he’d been led to expect. Despite the fact that she owned 30 percent of the company’s stock, she had never set foot in M & L’s boardroom. To the best of his knowledge, she hadn’t set foot inside the company’s front door in years. Ned Marks, who was chairman of the board at M & L, had inherited her voting proxy along with his position when his father had retired three years before. The proxy, combined with his own shares, had given Ned a stranglehold majority over the other shareholders.

“I’d like to take you out to dinner, so we can get better acquainted,” he continued, leaning over the counter to try to see her face. Instead he found himself admiring the long line of her back and
the way the strands of her hair spread across her purple knit top. “Tonight?”

“I’m busy,” she said.

“Tomorrow?”

“Sorry.”

“The next night?”

“The store is open late that night.”

“Lunch?”

“Never eat it.”

“Perfect. You can talk while I eat.”

She rose to her feet, and he straightened away from the counter. At first glance she had seemed pretty enough, but now he realized just how striking she was. Her oval face was delicately featured and lightly tanned. Her eyes were huge, and gave the illusion of being round with wonder. But in their depths was a forthright, no-nonsense gaze. Her lips were pink and full and extremely kissable. It was obvious she was a beautiful and intelligent woman, and equally obvious that he was inexplicably drawn to the unexpected combination. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he reminded himself that he needed Cass Lindley, but he couldn’t afford the luxury of wanting her—not with the all-important board meeting coming up in a few weeks.

She stared at him for a moment. “You’re going to be a pain in the tush about this, aren’t you, Mr. Carter?”

“Dallas.” He smiled. “I hate the word
no
.”

“Well, Dallas,” she said, smiling sweetly in return. “I can’t imagine the meal conversation’s being about anything other than Marks & Lindley Lingerie. While I do happen to own some M & L
stock, I’ve never been involved in the operations of the company, and I’ve never wanted to be. How many lace and satin slips M & L sells is up to you, not me. Personally, I buy all mine at K-Mart.”

Dallas glanced down at her beautifully rounded breasts and smothered a sigh. It seemed a sin to encase them in anything less than pure French silk.

“Like I said, you talk and I eat. You can even pick the topic.” He waved a hand. “You can tell me about this store, WinterLand. By the way, why specialize in only Christmas items at a summer resort?”

She smiled. “Because it’s something unusual at this time of year, and the novelty of it is what makes it work.”

He glanced around the now-empty store and out the large display window facing the highway. “This isn’t exactly prime beach-front location, is it?”

Resting her elbows on the counter, she cocked her head. “You do that very well, you know.”

“What do I do very well?”

“Make assessments and catalog information. Obviously, you think specializing in Christmas items at a small shore town and, worse, being located miles from the beach is based on poor business judgment.”

“Maybe I was just curious. After all, you’re still in business,” he pointed out, while cursing under his breath at her perceptiveness. He’d have to be more careful with her.

“That I’m still in business should tell you something about the ironies of location and merchandising.
It also proves my point about dining with you.”

He frowned. “We weren’t talking about M & L. We were talking about WinterLand.”

She straightened, and said, “It was still business. You don’t strike me as a man who knows how to talk about anything but business. Any business.”

“I’ll make a deal with you,” he said. “Absolutely no business talk of any kind, if you’ll have lunch, dinner, breakfast—” He grinned. “Skip breakfast. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m easy. Where was I? Oh, yes. No business discussions at all about anything, if you will eat food at some ritualistic time with me.”

A pink flush colored her cheeks. “Fine. Better brush up on your popes. We’ll be talking about canon law.”

Dallas slid behind the wheel of his BMW and grinned to himself. His first meeting with Cass Lindley had gone very well—despite a few unexpected turns. If the rest of his plan went smoothly, Cass Lindley would be in for the surprise of her life.

Late that afternoon, Cass parked her Jeep under the overhang of her beach house. Pilings supported the modern redwood-and-glass structure that rose high above the ground to minimize storm tide damage. The pilings and the cement foundation made for a natural carport.