Sex Appeal

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER 1 (#ulink_028197ba-f89c-5a89-afe9-958503ba166f)

YOU’VE BEEN A BAD BOY. Go to my room.

Those particular words, boldly printed on a soft, white cotton sweatshirt and drawn tight across a rounded female chest, caught Brent Bramwell’s eye. He’d been perusing the new strip of eclectic shops, seeing that everything was in order now that most of the spaces had been leased, when he’d caught the flash of movement in a display window.

Curiosity got the better of him, and despite the icy chill of the early November wind, he slowed his gait. All he could see of the body in the sweatshirt was the middle. Involved in hanging new blinds, the woman stood on a stool or step ladder, her face hidden from view by the sagging blinds. The windowsill concealed her legs from her thighs down.

But what he saw in between—now that was enticing. Curvy hips, slim thighs, luscious breasts.

He approached slowly, ignoring the lash of frozen snow pelting his cheeks and tossing his hair. He read the words on the sweatshirt again and wondered what type of female would advertise such a suggestion. Close to the window now, only a few feet away, he stopped to stare as she stretched upward. The sweatshirt rose to give him a view of the smooth, pale skin of her midriff. He even glimpsed her navel, a shallow dent in a very cute belly.

He caught his breath and in that instant she stepped down, looking directly at him. Her huge light-brown eyes, heavily lashed and faintly curious, sparkled with humor.

He fell. Hard.

Literally. His feet slid out from under him on the icy walk and Brent found himself flat on his back staring at the gray, blustery sky, the wind temporarily knocked from his lungs.

He was still struggling to breathe when he heard the shop door open. The woman rushed outside, the cold air ruffling her dark curly hair, then she, too, did a slip-slide act as she attempted to maneuver on the ice. Doing a better job than Brent, she caught her balance and knelt beside him. As she reached for his head and cradled it between her warm palms, he stared at her—stared into the prettiest brown eyes he’d ever seen. They were deep and compelling.

Her voice anxious, her cheeks flushed, she asked, “Are you okay?”

Brent searched for something to say, but came up blank. He simply nodded, not sure he could speak. Embarrassment warred with discomfort. The sidewalk was hard, scattered with bits of salt and ice, and so cold his teeth began to chatter.

She frowned. “Let me help you up. Can you walk?”

He started to respond with a disgruntled “yes,” then thought better of it. She was cute, not shy in the least, and he was interested. “I think so,” he answered, then waited to see what she would do.

Without hesitation she slipped one arm beneath his shoulders and attempted to help lift him. Brent was a big man. Another man would have had a hard time supporting him, but she tried, he’d give her that. He felt her slim arms go around his waist, felt her shoulder wedge into his armpit as she pulled his arm over her shoulders. Her softly curved hips pressed into his thigh. Once they both stood, he towered over her.

Together, slipping around a bit, they started forward. He gave her only a little of his weight, just enough to keep her glued to his side. She led him into her shop. “I’m really sorry about that. They’ve been throwing salt down all afternoon, but with these temperatures, the ground just keeps freezing.” She peeked up at him, mesmerizing him with those big brown eyes. “I hope you didn’t hurt anything.”

She was, without a doubt, adorable. Her dark, curly hair was cut in a tousled style and looked as fine as silk. Her cheeks were now very pink from the cold, but otherwise she was pale, her skin flawless. Brent leisurely looked her over as she led him to a seat behind the checkout counter.

She had on very snug, faded jeans and white leather sneakers. The sweatshirt was softened by age, adapting to her body, to her breasts. Now that he was sitting down he could examine her more thoroughly. He didn’t miss the fact that her nipples were puckered from the cold.

“I’m fine,” he told her as she peered at him anxiously. “I believe I only bruised my pride.”

Her wide grin took his breath again. “Oh, I don’t know. I imagine you may have a few other bruises as well if you take the time to look closely.”

Surprised by her brazenness, Brent said, “It’s possible, I suppose.” Then he asked, “Who are you?”

Thrusting out her small hand, she said, “Shadow Callahan. Proprietor.”

Brent took her hand and continued to hold it, noticing how small and delicate it was. And warm, despite the cold. “Shadow? That’s an unusual name.”

“Yes, well, most everyone tells me I’m an unusual person.”

“How so?”

Shadow glanced down at their clasped hands. Her grin widened. “Isn’t this a rather long handshake? According to an article I recently read, when a man retains his grasp on your hand for more than three seconds it’s an unqualified come-on.” Her eyes twinkled at him. “Are you per chance coming on to me?”

Brent was totally taken aback. He released her hand, but he did so slowly, refusing to let her see his surprise. He said deliberately, “I believe I was contemplating exactly how ‘bad’ I would have to be to get sent to your room.”

She disconcerted him again when she laughed. “I didn’t expect to see anyone today. The shop is closed for the rest of the evening. Usually I only wear this around close friends.”

“Close male friends?”

She shrugged, drawing his eyes to her breasts once again. “A friend is a friend, regardless of their sex.”

“Ah. Not true. Men only befriend attractive women when they have ulterior motives in mind.”

She crossed her arms and leaned back on the wall, completely at ease. “You speak from experience?”

He openly studied her. “Of course.”

“You know,” she drawled, still smiling, “you look like the devious type. Let me guess at your name. Hector? Lucius? You look like a Lucius, with a foul and evil mind.”

“If that’s so,” Brent answered slowly, somewhat irritated by her bold manner, “why did you bring me inside? Wouldn’t you consider it dangerous to let a large, devious man in when you’re all alone?”

She gestured at the uncovered windows and the flow of human traffic on the walk just outside. “I think if anything too outrageous or risqué occurred, someone would surely notice.”

He rubbed his chin. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed, Hector. I really didn’t have the time right now to be ravished, anyway.”

“Will you continue to call me Hector if I don’t introduce myself?”

“Of course. At least, for about two more minutes. Then I’ll really have to insist you allow me to get back to my chores.”

Brent stood and formally offered his hand. She took it. “You’ll be disappointed to know I’m an angelic Brent. Not a Hector. Brent Bramwell to be exact.”

With a slight smile, she looked him over from head to toe. “It fits. And you’re wrong. I’m not the least disappointed to meet you, Brent. On the contrary, you’re just what I’ve been looking for.”

She appeared amused as Brent again held her hand too long. “I must have fallen harder than I thought. What did you say?”

“You heard me right,” she assured him as she pulled her hand free. “Just look at you. Tall and handsome. Your coat is a little concealing, but I believe you’re even well built. And not too old. About mid-thirties?”

“Thirty-four,” he answered automatically, then asked, “What exactly am I being interviewed for?”

* * *

SHADOW LAUGHED, drawing up another stool for herself and gesturing for Brent to sit.

He really was very attractive. She’d noted that right off. His green eyes were intent and direct, his tawny brows heavy, now lowered in an annoyed frown. He had lean features, his nose straight and narrow, his cheekbones high, his jaw firm. And his mouth… He had a very sexy mouth, sculpted, his bottom lip slightly full, a small dimple in his left cheek. She sighed.

Best of all, at least to her way of thinking, he had a dry, droll kind of wit that amused her. There were very few things she liked more than laughing. She was finally at a point in her life where she could indulge to her heart’s content in the sheer happiness of being alive. Her constant and unwithering optimism was one reason people always thought she was different, perhaps even a touch strange. And even that she found amusing.