Real Women Don't Wear Size 2 (31 page)
“That’s because they’re on commission, and I’m betting that work is beefing up their checks.”
“Damn straight,” Jeff said with pride. “Half the females in Birmingham came to the store today to enter. And I’m expecting the other half tomorrow.”
“To enter?” Ethan watched an elderly man, his dark skin blending into the shadow beneath a restaurant awning, unfold an aluminum chair on the opposite side of the street.
“Our contest. I ran a full-page ad in Sunday’s paper.”
“A full page?” The store typically ran half-page ads when they were advertising a new line, but a full page? And when the majority of Ethan’s department heads were on a corporate outing in Tampa?
“Robin’s fiancé helped me get it in,” Jeff explained. “And by the way, it more than paid for itself today with the women who came to the store because of the contest.”
“What contest?” Ethan repeated.
“The one we’re running this week. It began today and runs through Friday. Customers are invited to put together a complete ensemble, everything a woman would wear to look exceptional. We’re creating the look of the Exceptional Eubanks Woman.”
Ethan sat in one of the black wrought-iron chairs that graced his balcony. The hard metal pressed into his back and instantly reminded him of making love to Clarise. Her fingernails had raked his skin, and he could feel the pressure of the chair against that tender flesh.
“When a woman thinks she’s created the best possible outfit, she logs each piece on a contest entry form. We’re asking for specific blouses, skirts, pants, shoes, accessories, everything. They’re loving it,” Jeff said excitedly, while Ethan tried to focus on the information rather than the memory of Clarise’s nails upon his back.
“How do you decide who wins? And what do they win?”
“That’s the best part. I’ve lined up Ella Dujardin, the fashion editor for
Sophisticated Southern,
to judge. The winner gets every item of clothing from her ensemble
and
her photo featured in the magazine. Ella thought it was an excellent idea for a local feature story and asked to spotlight the store within the article.” He cleared his throat. “Guess you’ll need to thank me for getting you the added exposure.”
Ethan laughed. “Thanks, but I know you’re just doing it to get the Florida deal.”
“True, but it’s helping you in the process,” Jeff reminded.
“Won’t argue with you there. So, how’s Dad’s side of this competition faring?”
“He can’t compete,” Jeff said flatly. Then, because he couldn’t help it, he laughed. “Hell, he’s doing pretty good, but I’m going to win.”
“Well, we’ll find out soon enough,” Ethan said. “I guess I’m supposed to stay away from the store until the contest ends?”
“Right. Don’t come back before Saturday. That’s all I need, Dad telling me you came home and saved the day, and thereby my attempt is null and void. Nothing is going to ruin my chance at the new deal.”
“How do you know he wouldn’t give it to you either way, win or lose? You want the position, and you’ve done a great job in Atlanta. Why wouldn’t you do equally well in Florida over several stores? Seems to me Dad would have given you exactly what you wanted if you’d only asked.”
“Hell, I think he would too. But it’s more fun to win it.”
“And to beat Preston Eubanks,” Ethan said.
“Yeah, there’s that,” Jeff said, his competitiveness second only to their father’s. “But since I don’t need you home before Saturday, you could extend your Gasparilla trip if you want.”
“I think we’ll keep it the way it is,” Ethan said, turning in the chair to peer through the window at Clarise. She was evidently still talking to her grandmother, with one hand holding the cell phone to an ear and the other gesturing wildly through each word. Currently, she slapped it against her waist and shifted her hip to that side in a move that he’d classify part Marilyn Monroe, part Bridget Jones. Damn she was cute.
“We?” Jeff asked. “I don’t suppose you’re talking about Red, are you?”
“Definitely not,” Ethan said, reminded once again that he still hadn’t had
that
conversation with Clarise. How was he supposed to tell her?
“Listen, I don’t know what happened with the two of you, but hell, I didn’t even officially meet the woman, and I wanted her.”
“Want-
ed?
” Ethan asked. Jeff had brought up “Red” on several occasions over the past year, and Ethan hadn’t surrendered the woman’s identity. No doubt, the feistiness had appealed to his brother, but if Jeff only knew, that was one fiery package that burned. Literally. Damn, she still had the potential to cause trouble—by torching his chance with Clarise.
“Fine,” Jeff relented. “Yeah, I’d like to be with a woman who is so damn turbulent. There was more passion, more fury in her that day than I’ve ever seen in anyone—male or female. It’s bizarre. The woman was stark-raving mad and ready to go for your throat.”
“And that impresses you?” Ethan asked incredulously.
“Immensely.”
“God help you, brother.”
“Which, I suppose, means you still aren’t going to divulge her real name?”
“No,” Ethan said, realizing that if things were going to work out with the sexy woman chatting with Granny Gert, he would have to inform Jeff of “Red’s” identity. Have mercy.
“Then tell me, if you aren’t with Red again, who makes the ‘we’ you mentioned?”
“Clarise.”
Ethan waited for Jeff’s response. None came.
“Clarise Robinson,” Ethan added, prompting his brother.
“Yeah, I know,” Jeff said. “I’m just surprised.”
If Jeff said anything derogatory about her, brother or not, he was going to hurt. “What?” Ethan dared.
“I’m surprised it took you so long,” Jeff admitted. “I mean, Dad could see it; Mom could see it; I saw it. The only one in the dark . . . was you.”
Ethan blinked. What the hell? “Saw what?”
“That she’s perfect for you. Sexy and smart and intelligent. We never could figure out why the two of you stopped at friendship, especially after all three of us saw you drooling over her at the Christmas party. Really, Ethan, you were pathetic. I need to teach you a thing or two about being cool around women. First you botch things with Red . . .”
“That’s not the way it was.”
“Whatever you say,” Jeff countered. “And then you take too damn long to see what is right in front of you. But hey, I’m glad you saw the light. I swear, I’d have asked Clarise out myself if I hadn’t thought you’d have killed me.”
Jeff would have asked her out? “Over my dead body,” Ethan said, not mincing words.
Jeff laughed. “Good. You’ve finally got as much spirit for a female as they’ve always had for you. Not bad. And if you don’t mind, try not to do the same thing to Clarise that you did to Red last Gasparilla. That obviously didn’t go over well.”
“I’d never hurt Clarise,” Ethan said emphatically.
“Good to know,” Jeff said, then added, “Listen, I’ve got to get the store ready for tomorrow’s opening. Things are going great here; don’t worry about this place.”
“Good to know,” Ethan mimicked. Then he disconnected and sat staring across the street while he replayed his own words in his mind.
“I’d never hurt Clarise.”
The man beneath the awning pulled a large box out of the shadows. It creaked as it opened, and he withdrew an object from inside. A streetlamp caught the glimmer of a guitar, which he tenderly placed within his hands. Then he pulled at the strings and played a melancholy, sad refrain that washed above the idle chatter and sporadic noises from the street below and moved directly to Ethan’s heart.
“God, don’t let me hurt her.”
By the time he headed back inside, Clarise was in the bathroom probably preparing to go to bed. Tomorrow would be megabusy, since she’d claimed she wanted to attend as many of the last day’s parades as possible. It would be draining, for sure, and Ethan suspected she would want a night of real sleep before the marathon day, which was fine. Making love to her on the beach had been phenomenal and could sate his outrageous sexual appetite for Clarise Robinson if it had to, at least until tomorrow. He needed to let her relax, because he believed that was what she wanted, to take it easy and perhaps spend a night simply cuddling before their biggest Gasparilla day. However, that belief did a 180 when the bathroom door opened and Clarise, in a red satin bustier, thong panties and thigh-high stockings complete with garter belt—
garter belt!
—emerged. And, on further examination, Ethan’s throat went from slightly parched to bone dry. God help him, red high heels.
“I hope you’re not sleepy,” she purred, sauntering across the room and placing her palm against his chest.
His heart pounded so hard it hurt, and he suspected it beat a frantic path against that sweet little palm. Sleepy? Was she serious? How could a guy be sleepy while looking at perfection in red high heels? “Not at all.”
“Good. Because tonight, you’re taking orders.”
“Orders?” He sounded completely at ease with the idea, but inside he was screaming,
“Hell, yeah!”
“Orders,” Siren Clarise repeated, and pushed him toward the bed. “Now take them off.”
He grinned. “What if I want you to?”
“Who’s in charge here?” Her mouth quivered a bit with the question, and Ethan suspected she wasn’t quite as comfortable in her authority role as she’d have liked, so he decided to make it as easy as possible on her. Obviously, this was yet another method of overcoming her previous insecurities, and he’d be damned if he didn’t help her accomplish her goal.
“You’re in charge,” he said, swiftly pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor.
Her eyes focused on his chest, then eased downward, seeming to zero in on the narrow line of hair that etched its way between his navel and the top of his jeans. “And the pants,” she added, her voice a throaty rasp. She’d forgotten to direct him to remove his shoes, but he did so anyway. If he’d wanted to tease her, he’d have pointed out the error, but he didn’t want to tease. He wanted to please.
Shoes, then socks, then pants. He didn’t remove his red boxer briefs, however, as he assumed she probably wanted to issue a separate order for that task. Or do it personally. Either way suited him just fine. His erection strained against the soft fabric, and he was so damn hard, so ready, that it stood firm and high above the waistband. Evidently Clarise noticed. Her eyes fixed on the hardness, and she ran her top teeth over her lower lip. The gesture was sexy as all get out.
“Anything else?” he asked, feeling she might need to be reminded of the game she was playing.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Everything. You were supposed to take everything off.”
“These too?” he asked, running a finger inside his shorts then snapping the waistband against his flesh.
She jumped at the whiplike sound, but quickly recovered. “Those too.”
Ethan removed the briefs and stood before her completely naked and completely aroused. The red bustier she’d donned for the occasion had way too little fabric to contain her magnificent breasts. As a result, they were all but spilling out of the top and making his dick salute.
“The bed,” she directed, stepping closer.
“On my back or stomach?” he asked, following her line of questioning from their first night together.
“Back.”
He did as ordered, then watched as she crossed the room and reached in the dresser drawer to withdraw a small, pink jar.
Well, well, well.
“What’s that?” he asked, refusing to disguise his piqued curiosity.
She returned to the bed, and Ethan saw there were actually two items in her hand. The jar and something else. Something extremely fluffy. And pink.
“You aren’t the only one who had a sugar sex fantasy,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and removing the lid from the jar.
“I’m not?”
“No.” She leaned across to place the lid on the table and let her plumped up breasts hover mere inches from his mouth in the process. Ethan licked his lips. “I brought cotton candy dust, just in case.”
“Just in case—what?” he asked, as she dipped the pink feather into the jar.
“In case the man who helped me fulfill my fantasies was good enough for it.” She brushed the powder-coated feather up one side of his penis, while Ethan gritted his teeth to maintain his composure.
“Good enough?” he managed, while she teased his cock with the soft feather and sugary powder.
Clarise coated him completely, his cock and his balls, before placing the feather and jar on the nightstand, then she leaned her face close to view her handiwork. Damn close, but not nearly close enough.
“Good enough for what?” Ethan asked again, his eyes locked on her mouth, so near his dick.
“Good enough to eat.”
I
t’d been incredible to see how far a single jar of cotton candy dust would go. Anxious to cuddle with Ethan again, Clarise scooted across the bed in search of the glorious male she’d licked from head to toe last night, but instead of meeting firm, muscled flesh, her hand merely swept the soft textures of the quilt until encountering a sheet of paper. Clarise eased her eyes open and squinted past the morning light spilling into the room, then she focused on the clock beside the bed, displaying 6:32.
“Didn’t sleep late today, did you?” she mumbled, turning her attention back to the note in her hand.
I wanted to get you something special for breakfast. I’ll be back soon. Ethan
P.S. I’m taking the sticky sheets down to the maids’ station on my way out.
Clarise giggled. The sheets had been unbelievably sticky after her cotton candy feast. As a matter of fact, everything had been sticky, particularly Ethan, but he’d loved it. The sugar sex he’d provided with the sprinkle can of powdered sugar hadn’t been nearly as messy in the end as her performance with that magical jar of candy dust and the feather. Plus, the sex they’d had following beignets occurred in the afternoon, so they’d merely left the condo and returned to clean sheets, courtesy of maid service. Last night, on the other hand, the sheets were totally covered in the delicious treat by the time she finished devouring Ethan. So much so that they’d had to remove the sheets and sleep on one of the quilts provided in their room. She’d had nearly as much fun helping Ethan wash off in the shower as she’d had licking the sweet substance from his impressive frame. It’d taken a lot of rubbing to get the residue to release from his body. And, of course, that rubbing and touching and sliding of flesh against flesh put them in another anxious frenzy that ended with hot and heated sex in the shower. Not a bad thing at all, her idea to purchase that jar. She’d never look at a cone of her favorite treat again without thinking of Ethan’s jutting erection, candy-coated and ready for her mouth.