Valentine Fantasy

“Wait!” She stood and circled the desk, unwilling to let her chance to prove herself as a serious reporter slip away. “Give me a few days to check it out and get back to you. If I think there’s a story, we’ll talk again.”

He smiled, but it was more of a feral grin. “Oh, there’s a story, one hell of a story, and I’m giving it to you, Ms. Sullivan.”

She didn’t want to question why he’d approached her when there were dozens of other reporters on the Herald with more experience. Who was she to look a gift horse in the mouth, as her mother would say?

She took the business card he offered and promised to call him in a few days. Propping her backside against the desk, she bit her lip and watched him walk away. Her mind spun with ideas, but nothing concrete took root. She needed something, some glimmer of proof that Avery was telling her the truth, before she spent hours investigating this agency.

With a sigh, she pushed off the desk and returned to her chair to examine her notes. She read through them twice until a slow grin tugged her lips. Drumming her short nails on the desk, her smile turned into a grin and she laughed. She had it! The perfect cover. A foolproof plan. What better way to discover the truth about Fantasy for Hire than to hire the agency herself?

She made a quick call to Ardell’s Body Works and begged the receptionist to work her into the schedule. After a few pleas, Hilary relented if Cait promised to be there within the hour. She needed a trim anyway, she thought, but with luck, Pierre could at least tame her hair into a semblance of sophistication and style. Maybe she’d even get her nails done. Rich women got their nails done all the time. She needed to look pampered and bored, and if anyone in the city could achieve that look for her, it’d be the wizards at Ardell’s.

Snagging her purse and raincoat, she left the cubicle and hurried across the busy newsroom to the sign-in board. She plucked the red peg from “in” and popped it into the “out” slot under her name, then left the office, ready to set the wheels in motion for her own private fantasy for hire.

1

JORDAN MCBRIDE HAD BEEN sure the impetuousness of youth was far behind him, until he stepped in to handle his younger brother’s booming business. Of all the stupid, idiotic things he’d done in his life, agreeing to temporarily run Fantasy for Hire until his brother, Austin, returned from his honeymoon and finalized the sale of the agency topped the list.

With a self-deprecating sigh of disgust, he examined the schedule spread over the scarred mahogany desk. Somehow he’d managed to double-book two of Austin’s employees for Valentine’s weekend. Although the lovers’ holiday was still a week away, his attempt to reschedule had failed. Both customers he’d spoken to had been adamant; if Fantasy for Hire couldn’t deliver the appropriate fantasy at the scheduled time, they’d be forced to look elsewhere.

“Great,” Jordan muttered before taking a sip from the steaming mug of coffee. He’d been at the helm for less than forty-eight hours and already Austin’s customers were threatening to jump ship. If things kept up at this rate, by the time Austin and his bride returned, Fantasy for Hire would be a distant memory.

The phone, which had been ringing nonstop all morning, jangled again. He set his coffee on the blotter, picked up the phone and took an order for a fantasy fireman to perform for the thirtieth birthday of a secretary during office hours. He bet the stuffy partners of the financial-district firm were going to be less than thrilled to have a woman’s fantasy come to life in their midst.

The front doorbell rang and he waved the visitor into the house without taking his attention from the order form. At least the financial-district fireman wasn’t needed for another three weeks, well after the Valentine’s Day rush. He still couldn’t believe how many couples married on the holiday for lovers. All fourteen of Austin’s employees were booked solid for bachelorette parties, and he still hadn’t found a solution to the double booking. One thing he knew for certain, he definitely would not be filling the void. Handling the office portion of his brother’s agency was one thing, but playing the role of male exotic dancer was out of the question. A man had to draw the line somewhere, and taking off his clothes for money was a pretty solid line as far as he was concerned.

He finished the call, assured the customer the fantasy fireman would arrive as scheduled, then leaned back in the worn leather chair. He dropped the pen on the desk and turned his attention to the woman who looked nothing like the UPS delivery man he’d expected to find. She stood with her back to him, admiring the Charles Fracé wildlife print he’d given to Austin for Christmas.

He admired her.

Legs. Sweet heaven, they were long, not to mention perfectly shaped. The kind of legs that made a man take notice. Black high-heeled pumps and sexy black nylons with seams running up the back didn’t hurt either. He followed the line with his eyes until it disappeared beneath the hem of her short black skirt, wondering if lacy elastic tops held them secure, or if she wore one of those sexy little garter belts with satin and bows. Black satin. With little bows the color of ripe, summer strawberries.

He cleared his throat, more to tighten the rein on his runaway imagination than to gain her attention. She turned around anyway, and gave him a smile capable of melting the polar ice caps.

“Hi,” she said in a soft, husky voice that set his imagination into overdrive again. Eyes the color of emeralds peered at him from beneath dusky lashes. A halo of russet curls framed a girl-next-door face complete with creamy complexion and a delicate dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She looked the type more comfortable in blue jeans and sneakers ready for a hike over a mountain trail, but he appreciated those sexy, black-seamed nylons just the same.

He stood and circled the desk. “Can I help you?”

Her smile wavered slightly and her gaze darted to the door. She took a deep breath, drawing his attention to the rise and fall of very full breasts beneath a teal silk blouse. “I have a fantasy.”

Yeah, so did he!

“Then you’ve come to the right place,” he said, forcing his mind on business instead of black satin and strawberries.

He indicated the metal folding chair, then waited until she was seated before returning to his own behind Austin’s old desk. What had once been the family dining room of his youth had been transformed into a makeshift office that served as the backbone of Fantasy for Hire, the agency his brother had begun a few years ago to help pay off school debts. A pair of old file cabinets that looked as if they’d been purchased at an army-surplus store replaced the antique china hutch that had belonged to his grandmother McBride. The oak dining table had been exchanged for a scarred mahogany desk, and the Tiffany lamp that had once hung from the ceiling had been replaced by a functional ceiling fan with overhead lighting. The no-frills office wasn’t exactly the type of place appropriate for receiving visitors or conducting business in person, but the agency wasn’t exactly the type to invite clientele into its office either.

“Wait a minute. Our address isn’t listed in the phone book. How’d you find us?” Nor was the address listed on the business cards the dancers passed out at the various parties and functions they attended. Considering the type of entertainment the agency provided, only their phone number was advertised in the book.

She offered him a sheepish grin while pushing a wayward curl behind her ear with a long tapered nail. “I have a friend with the phone company, and she checked out your agency for me.”

He didn’t like the idea that just anyone could obtain the address of an unlisted private residence. “What specifically can Fantasy for Hire do for you, Ms….”

“Sullivan. Cait Sullivan,” she said in a husky feminine voice that made him think of whispered words shared between lovers beneath a starry night sky.

He wrote her name on a form, then filled in the blanks with the Pacific Heights address she provided, along with her phone number. So much for her being the girl next door. Pacific Heights kept the daughters of San Francisco’s elite closeted from mingling with the rest of everyday society. Only a pedigree to rival royalty could breach the gated walls. No doubt Ms. Cookies-and-Cream, with her black-seamed stockings, was just bored and looking for a little excitement.

“Our prices are competitive. I don’t think you’ll find a better bargain in San Francisco to fulfill your needs. Why don’t you tell me your fantasy.”

She blushed prettily, just a slight coloring that turned her creamy cheeks a soft peach. Lord, she was adorable, and for the flash of an instant, he wished she wasn’t a potential client for his brother’s business or a part of San Francisco society. But a casual fling held little appeal, and he didn’t have the time to pursue his attraction to her in any serious way since he had a career to rebuild.

She set her purse on the floor beside her, then changed her mind and hauled the bag back into her lap. “I need a Valentine for my parents’ anniversary party next weekend,” she said, twisting the strap around her hand.

Jordan hated to disappoint her, but there was no way he could help her with a Valentine stripper. “This weekend? That’s impossible.”

“I can afford your—” she cleared her throat “—agency.”

“That’s not the problem,” he said. “I have no one available.” He stood, ready to show her to the door, but something in her voice stopped him.

“I really need your help,” she said, her eyes matching the plea of her words. “It’s my parents’ fortieth anniversary and my sisters, older brother and I are having this huge party for them. I need a date for the party.”

She was mistaken. The agency wasn’t an escort service that provided fantasy dates. He wasn’t suspicious of what she had in mind, but Jordan was well aware that escort services were often a front for prostitution. Austin’s motto was fantasy equals seduction of the mind. Sure, he provided exotic dancing, but Austin had firm rules—no stripping below the waist and no touching. Most importantly, the guys who worked for his little brother’s agency knew their number-one priority was to create a fantasy capable of making a woman catch her breath.

“I wish I could help you, but it’s out of the question,” he said.

She lowered her gaze, but not before he noted the disappointment in her eyes. Why did he feel as though he’d just kicked a puppy? He didn’t even know this woman.

He circled the desk and propped his backside against the edge. Curious, he studied her for a moment. “Why would you need a date?” he asked. Better yet, why would someone as adorable as her feel she had to pay for one? This was not a woman who should need to pay anyone to take her anywhere. She was stunning. Considering she’d had the ingenuity to track down the agency’s address told him she was no wallflower. She was definitely the type to know what she wanted and had the determination and intelligence to accomplish her goals.

She bit her lip and looked up at him. After a moment, a slight grin tugged her lips. “I don’t want any entanglements, and my parents would be thrilled if they believed I was dating again, especially since it is Valentine’s Day.” She looked him up and down. Then she smiled, one of those full, bright smiles she’d flashed him when she first walked into the house. “What about you?”

He frowned. “Me?”

She shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

“I…but we…” don’t do dates, he thought. But Austin had. Not only had his brother gone on several dates with Teddy Spencer, he’d fallen head over heels in love with her. Two days ago, they’d eloped.

Maybe Fantasy for Hire did provide the type of service Cait Sullivan wanted and he just wasn’t aware of it. He wished he’d paid more attention to his brother’s business venture, but he’d been too busy building his own career as an architect to take more than a cursory interest and then issue a string of warnings. He’d always been protective of Austin, and when their parents died unexpectedly when he was eighteen and Austin only sixteen, he’d been left to raise his brother. Though he’d lived in Los Angeles for the past eight years, looking out for Austin was a habit he’d never relinquished, much to his younger brother’s irritation.

“Money is no object,” she blurted out. To express her point, she fished through her bag and pulled out a small stack of hundred-dollar bills.

He stared at the wad of cash, held securely by her long, red, tapered nails. Austin might be in the process of selling the business, but how could Jordan in good conscience turn down such a hefty commission, even though Cait obviously misunderstood the purpose of the agency? Fantasy for Hire wasn’t an escort service, but neither could he walk away from that kind of cash. Money was money and he and Austin had too many lean years behind them for him to ignore what she was practically throwing in his lap.

She wasn’t asking him to take off his clothes. He didn’t have any plans for next Saturday night anyway, unless it involved an action video and a bowl of popcorn. He’d only been back in San Francisco for a few months and his social calendar was remarkably clear. What harm could there be in standing in as a Valentine for a beautiful woman who piqued his interest?

He sighed. Damn, Austin. His brother was going to get an earful when he returned. “All right,” he said, his voice filled with resignation. “You’ve got yourself a Valentine.”

Her smile never wavered, and her eyes brightened considerably as she handed him the cash. “I…uh…I want the full treatment.”

He quickly counted the cash, then set the bills on the desk next to the order form. Two thousand dollars! “Full treatment?” he posed tentatively, almost afraid to ask. For two grand, anything was possible.