9781631050275TheirPerfectMatchMarshNC (11 page)

Not only did he plan to resign as a client of Lovelines, thereby freeing him up to pursue a different kind of connection with Molly herself, but he also planned to confront her with what he’d discovered so far, which admittedly wasn’t much, and see what she had to say about the matter. No matter what Alaric said and thought, he couldn’t bring himself to believe for a moment that Molly had any part in credit card and identity theft. Hell, he wasn’t even convinced that Lovelines itself played any part in the scam. For all he knew, someone had fished Alaric’s credit card receipt out of a dumpster or hacked into his email account. Stranger things happened every day.

In search of a convenient parking spot, Zane drove up to the Lovelines office building just in time to see Molly getting into her own car. Though he cursed at having just missed her, he decided to follow her so they could talk when she reached her destination. What he had to say couldn’t be done over a cell phone.

Instinctively keeping his rather distinctive car at a safe distance, he trailed her down a few city blocks and through a few thankfully busy intersections that prevented her from noticing him. To his astonishment, she eventually pulled up at a colorfully restored Victorian house with a strikingly unusual sign hanging outside the door. A pair of three-dimensional stockinged legs jutted brazenly beside a logo reading “Antoinette’s.”

Zane could only gape as Molly exited her car and walked inside. Was the place some kind of sex shop…or worse? What was she doing there?

Intrigued, he jumped out of his car and boldly followed her up the steps. She turned her head and spotted him just as he stepped inside the house behind her.

* * * *

The minute she stepped into Antoinette’s, Molly realized she’d made a mistake of gargantuan proportions.

The day had started off with great promise. Two new clients had signed on at Lovelines—one middle-aged man, kindly and nondescript, and a woman in her late twenties who had recently moved to the area and was having trouble meeting men. Molly briefly wondered if she might be a match for Zane, but of course that was up to the computer, not her. Secretly, she hoped not. All Zane’s dates so far had been busts, according to the women involved, and she had no great hopes for his meeting with Karen Tighe. Molly preferred not to dwell on the relief she felt every time a negative report came back to her. After all, there was no predicting chemistry.

Things had taken a turn southward, though, when Todd had gathered everyone in the conference room after lunch and announced his engagement to the divine Miss Lambert. A lavish party was in the works for that weekend, to which they were all invited. Molly had returned to her desk with a jaw that ached from faking a smile, only to find a coupon for a new lady’s boutique in the newly-arrived mail. Antoinette’s seemed to be an upscale boutique specializing in women’s wear, similar to the premium clothing department in any of the finer department stores, but with a slightly sexier twist. Needing a little emotional pickup, and wanting to wear something to Todd’s party that would make a statement, she’d driven to the address after work and carried the discount card to the door.

To her chagrin, she stepped inside and found that Antoinette’s overdone Victorian décor, complete with thick maroon drapes and tassel-draped lamps, suggested an entirely different sort of business. She was about to flee when two things happened simultaneously. First, the ornate velvet curtains at the back of the room swished apart. Next, and far worse, Zane Bishop himself walked in right behind her. What on earth was he doing here?

From behind the curtains, a stunning dark-haired woman stepped forward in full Victorian costume—but Molly doubted it was anything her great-grandmother would have recognized. Instead of a bustle skirt and neck-high collar, this ensemble consisted of a low-cut, lace-bordered affair in emerald silk. Even the woman’s granny boots featured daringly spiked heels. Black fishnet stockings over impossibly shapely legs bridged the gap.

“Welcome to the Boudoir.” The woman gave Molly a welcoming smile, but when she saw Zane behind her, it stretched to Cheshire Cat proportions. “I’m Antoinette, and it will be my pleasure to help you with your selections today.”

Molly groaned inwardly, especially when she noticed Zane staring back at her with a stunned expression. Still, she wasn’t surprised. Beside women like Antoinette, sensible types like Molly didn’t have a prayer of holding a man’s attention.

“That’s very kind of you,” Zane said in a slightly choked voice. “I think I’d better let the two of you discuss the details, though.”

“Not at all,” Antoinette insisted. “Since the lingerie is for both of you, I firmly believe it should be purchased together. All the men who come in here find it uncomfortable at first, but I consider it part of my job to help them enjoy the process. In fact, we have a special showroom for couples shopping together. Why don’t you follow me?”

“Great,” Zane said, beaming. “I feel more at home already.” He winked at Molly. “After you, dear.”

“What are you doing here?” she whispered through clenched teeth.

“Sorry,” he whispered back. “I had to see you.”

“You couldn’t make an appointment like everyone else?”

“Shhh. Antoinette’s watching us.”

The small room she escorted them to had been done up to look like a Victorian bedroom in miniature—complete with a curtained canopy bed, faux-Oriental dressing screen, and ornate, overstuffed chairs. The doors of the armoire stood ajar to reveal two rows of tagged chemises and nightwear that could charitably be called skimpy. A heavy chest of drawers likewise revealed delicate undergarments of various sorts, all discreetly folded so the price tags lay face-down. Molly guessed there was a very good reason for that.

“Why don’t I show you a few things to get started?” Antoinette suggested.

She ushered Molly and Zane into two chairs beside the bed, then reached into the dresser and removed a neatly folded stack of garments. With the speed of a Vegas blackjack dealer, she fanned a selection of nylon thigh-highs across the mattress. Molly gaped. Not only did Antoinette stock every conceivable shade of nude, she also supplied hose in black, silver, red, and a nearly transparent white lacy material. The material was so sheer that it glistened like the delicate strands of spider’s web.

Zane whistled through his teeth.

“You can touch them,” Antoinette encouraged him, gesturing toward the bed. “Half the fun of lingerie is the way it feels against your skin. Of course, they’ll feel much better when your lady is actually wearing them.”

Zane brushed his palm over the black pair, while Antoinette helpfully brought over a matching garter belt.

“Yes, the Black Narcissus. A popular choice. Classic, yet a tad less naughty than the Sinful Scarlet. And the color’s just neutral enough that you can wear these outside the bedroom, too.” She turned to Molly, who promptly felt a blush crawl from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. “If you’d like to step behind the screen, you can slip these on. You’d probably like to model them for him before you make your decision.”

Aware that her face was probably redder than the naughtiest stockings on the bed, Molly scooted backward in her chair. “Er…to be honest with you, none of these are really my style,” she stammered.

Antoinette flashed her an almost pitying smile. “The Boudoir is committed to providing its customers with only the finest materials and workmanship available in lingerie today. We pride ourselves in selling you not just a garment, but a sensual experience you’ll remember long afterward.”

“I’d say you’ve definitely achieved that,” Zane put in. “I’m pretty sure I won’t forget this afternoon anytime soon.”

“I wasn’t only referring to the time you spend in here.” Antoinette kidded, and Molly was certain she tossed in a wink just before she bent to return the black stockings to the bed. Zane kept his attention glued to the colorful array of products. Apparently, he was so captivated by their flamboyant saleswoman that he couldn’t be bothered even to look up at Molly. Antoinette, of course, was playing his interest to the hilt. “Maybe you’d like Pewter Pleasure,” she purred, stroking the silver stocking against the inside of his wrist. “It’s a little offbeat, but it makes a nice change from the usual black, brown, or red.”

“It’s nice,” he agreed, while Molly clenched her teeth in humiliation. Then he drew his hand back, rested it on his knee, and tilted his head so that he looked past Antoinette—and instead stared straight at her. A mischievous grin curled his lips. “Of course,” he said, “the final decision is Molly’s.”

His warm, liquid gaze melted into hers. A sudden insight almost jolted Molly from her seat. The arousal etched so clearly in his face—and on the rest of his body, now that she took the time to notice—wasn’t meant for Antoinette at all. He had been imagining those delicate wisps of silk sexily draped over her, and no one else. For all she knew, he'd even fantasized about pulling them slowly off her…then bending to kiss every exposed inch of flesh…sort of the same thing she was envisioning now.

Though she had the distinct sensation of the blood fleeing her cheeks, the heat trapped under her skin seemed to seethe, swell, and explode. When he stood and walked toward her, the throb of her heartbeat seemed to fill the room.

“My presence here seems to be hindering the selection process,” he said in an amused voice. “I’ll wait in the next room while Molly chooses.” On his way out, he paused behind Molly’s chair and slid his hands over her shoulders. The momentary pressure of his fingers sent a burst of fire all the way down her breasts. “And remember, darling, this is on me. Don’t be afraid to get the best.”

“Not to worry,” Antoinette purred after he’d slipped back through the heavy curtains. “A lot of men react that way their first time here. Some of them just need more guidance than others. Your second visit should be far more relaxed and enjoyable.”

Molly wondered just how often Antoinette’s other clients shopped here. Weekly? Monthly? Whenever their love lives needed a little boost? She was beginning to see how beneficial—and profitable—a special service like Antoinette’s could be. “It’s all right,” she conceded. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure there’ll be a second time.”

Antoinette frowned. “Now that attitude won’t help at all. Would you mind a suggestion?”

“I guess not.” Balefully she considered the stockings spread out on the bed. Much as she couldn’t see herself vamping it up in scarlet fishnets, choosing a dull brown pair would only reinforce Antoinette’s—and no doubt Zane’s—opinion of her as a pathetic, repressed prude. Maybe that wasn’t so far from the truth.

“Take home the black stockings. A guy can’t fake a reaction like that.” Crossing to the armoire, Antoinette reached inside and pulled out a pale red garment on a tiny hanger. “Just like he won’t be able to fake his reaction to this.”

Molly gaped at what had to be the wispiest scrap of nightwear known to humankind. The bodice—if there was even enough of it to justify that designation—seemed to have been fashioned from mosquito netting, while the shoulder straps resembled fish line. A filmy pair of matching panties completed the ensemble, with leg holes cut so high that Molly wondered why the designer had even bothered. A strategically placed strip of duct tape might have covered more.

She swallowed hard when Antoinette held it up against her, explaining how nicely it would go with the black hose and how beautifully it complemented her golden-brown skin. Molly was surprised to hear herself say, “I don’t know.” She’d meant to say, “I don’t think so.” What was the matter with her? No way was she about to bop around her bedroom in an outrageous get-up like that. The idea of wearing the stockings and garter belt with it was beyond mortifying.

So why didn’t she put the freeze on Antoinette’s butter-smooth sales patter?

Maybe because her mind kept replaying the expression on Zane’s face when he’d looked up from the bed at her.

“Trust me,” Antoinette was saying. “I’ve developed a real feel for people’s tastes—especially men’s. If you want to drive him mad with passion, this little number’s the ticket. Though if you ask me,” she added with a sly wink, “I doubt you’d have to go too far out of your way.”

Molly expelled a shaky breath and gave in. Maybe if she bought something, she reasoned, she could get the heck out of here. “Can we wrap it up in here? I don’t want Zane to see it…uh, I mean, yet.”

“Of course. I understand completely,” Antoinette gathered up the black stockings, the matching garter belt, and the miniscule nightdress and carried them over to the bureau. All three pieces fit easily in a single piece of pink tissue paper, which she slid into a plain white garment box. Molly supposed she could always suspend the box from two shoestrings if she wanted something more concealing. “You’ve made an excellent choice.”

Though Molly doubted it, at some level she hoped Antoinette was right.

* * * *

Zane paced the shop, eyeing the antique-looking curtain that separated him from both women. He’d completely lost it this time—his mind, his perspective…and very nearly his self-control. Had he stayed in that room a moment longer, surrounded by sex-wear expressly designed to drive a guy stark raving mad, he would have jumped up, hauled Molly Grayson into his arms, and planted a blistering kiss on her nervous little squiggle of a mouth.

Luckily, he’d had the presence of mind not to get them both thrown out of the shop. Molly wouldn’t have appreciated that. Worse, she couldn’t choose anything for him to admire later…hopefully in a more private setting.

It wasn’t just the garter belts that did him in. Though vulnerability had never ranked high on his list of desirable qualities in a lover, that shy self-consciousness of hers turned him on beyond belief. For reasons he couldn’t totally fathom, Molly seemed genuinely unaware that she was a vibrant, beautiful woman who was more than capable of exciting a man. Watching her squirm at the idea of modeling the stockings, then go rigid with nervousness when she sensed his lust, felt as intimate as seeing her with her clothes off.