Unzipped? (7 page)

“No,” she panted. “Please.”

“I want this to be good for you.”

“It couldn’t possibly be better….”

Hal turned her back to him so that he could have full access to her breasts while inside her. They took two steps and he bent her over his granite kitchen counter. He smoothed his hands over her backside, found her lower lips again and drove solidly, thickly between them while she gasped and almost sobbed.

Then he took her breasts in each hand and began to slowly torture and tease her nipples again as he moved his penis in and out, in and out, in and out. Her breath became ragged and she whimpered, cried out, then convulsed around him.

The sight of her climax, her no-holds-barred pleasure, made him come, too. He buried himself to the hilt and let the waves of sensation pull him into ecstasy.

S
HANNON VAGUELY
became aware of reality. The cold granite pressed against her breasts, and her hot client pressed against her backside, his arms encircling her and his big hands covering her own. He kissed the top of her head.

“Woman,” said Hal, “you’re going to kill me.” He backed off her and dropped to the floor, panting.

She turned and pushed the hair out of her face, still breathless herself, still humming with the rush of sensation. Unfortunately that faded fast and left her just naked and vulnerable and embarrassed by her complete response to him. What happened to her cool around this guy? And she was supposed to be teaching it to
him.

Cool, hip, image-conscious people didn’t bite and claw, whimper or moan or scream with delirious pleasure.

God sure must get a good laugh when He looks down and sees human beings having sex.
Shannon found her panties and pulled them on, wincing at that bird’s-eye visual.

Well, at least they’d used his kitchen for something. And she’d gotten those terrible jeans off him.

“Damn, but you’re beautiful.” Hal lay spread-eagle, still half-erect, and stared up at her. “I could get used to this.”

Warning bells went off in her head. She’d heard those words before. Truth to tell, she’d heard them many times. Another man, responding to her sexually but not really in any other way.

She forced a smile, though. And a little laugh. She found her bra.

“Wait,” Hal said. “Is it strictly necessary for you to put your clothes back on?” He waggled his eyebrows and pulled himself upright. “I’ve gone from boner to temporarily boneless…but I’ll recover soon.”

She laughed again, as expected.
Just like a man.
The guy wanted
more
sex. She needed distance.

On the one hand, it was nice to be sexually attractive to him. On the other, she was desperate to be seen and desired for herself, and not her face, legs and breasts.

Hal staggered toward a half bathroom near the kitchen. “I’ll be back.”

“Okay.” She stared after him and then caught sight of herself in the reflection of the microwave. She was standing butt naked in her client’s kitchen after screwing his brains out. Her reflection was squat and distorted, so that she looked like a squished, chubby, blond troll.

As the water went on in the bathroom, and her
emotions continued to swirl and conflict, she made a quick, unconscious decision to get the hell out of there. She jumped into her clothes, opened the door, grabbed her purse. She remembered the lawn-and-leaf bags and dragged them out after her.

She cast a paranoid glance back at the kitchen to see if Hal had emerged yet, and saw those awful jeans of his lying on the floor. This was probably her only chance…. Shannon hesitated. Then she stole them and ran.

H
AL WAS UTTERLY
unprepared for the reactions of his co-workers on Monday morning to the New Him.

He was still mystified by Shannon’s behavior and outraged at the loss of his favorite jeans, but Hal was trying to turn over a new, cool leaf.

So instead of just slouching by with his nose in his coffee, he said hello to the bent, brunette head of Tina, his receptionist, as he bypassed her on the way to his office.

“Hey…” she muttered back, from inside a file drawer. “Uh, you’ve got several messages already. Your mom, a reporter from—” She broke into silence. “
Hal? Is that you?
Oh, my God!”

“What?”

“Your hair! Your…face. We can
see
it. Wow. You look…amazing.”

He shifted from one foot to the other in his ancient, dirty gym shoes, pleased despite himself. “I do?”

“Yeah. Wait, come ’ere, lemme get the piece of tis
sue off your chin. Spoils the effect.” Tina emerged from behind her desk. She wore business attire, but as usual it appeared sprayed on. Her blouse was cut so low it was a millimeter from indecent, and her navy skirt clung to her behind like a surgical glove. She was also in her stocking feet, since she habitually wore painful shoes.

Hal didn’t care if she was barefoot, as long as she answered his phone and kept him organized.

“Oh, that. I cut myself shaving this morning. I’m not used to it.” What he didn’t add was that it was a damned nuisance to have to shave every morning. Much easier to roll out of bed, into the shower and out the door without bothering.

“Where are your glasses?” Tina asked as she stared up at him and pulled off the tissue. Was it his imagination, or had she come closer than necessary?

“Well, uh. This image consultant woman I saw over the weekend—she didn’t seem to like them too much.” Speaking of her, Hal frowned. The naked blond thief! Somebody was probably paying ten bucks for his jeans right now. Unless he could make a run over to Goodwill and snag them back?

“You don’t say.” Tina snapped her gum and blinked her big dark eyes with a little too much innocence. “So you got contacts?”

He nodded. “Yup. These soft ones are really comfortable. You can sleep in them! I never knew. And we ordered a new pair of glasses from some snooty designer in Los Angeles…” He took the corner of tis
sue from Tina’s fingers. “I’ll throw that away, thanks.”

Her gaze had shifted down to his attire, frayed baggy jeans and a grayish T-shirt under an open, white, long-sleeved button-down. “Is this, uh, image lady going to take you shopping?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” He rubbed his hand protectively over the gray T-shirt. Miss Evil hadn’t dumped out his laundry hamper, thank God.

“Good.” Tina nodded. “Listen to her. She obviously knows what she’s doing.”

Hal barely restrained a snort. “What did my mother want? And you mentioned a reporter?”

“Your mom wants you to come to her open-mike poetry reading at some club.”

Hal groaned.

“And the reporter is with
Business Today.
Get this, they wanna do a feature on you and Underwood Tech! Isn’t that fab?”

He nodded.
As long as I can track down this information leak, it’s fab.
“Uh, when?”

“The guy wants to see you next Thursday if you can fit him in. Says he needs about two hours of your time.”

Ugh. Sounded like a lot of small talk. And he’d need to be careful about what to reveal and what was off-limits because of the IPO. What the hell did you wear to meet with a reporter? This was all new territory for him. He’d have to ask Shannon—though he wasn’t sure he was speaking to the woman.

“Oh,” Tina added, “I need you to sign these forms here and here—” she pointed “—and then Ryan needs to get with you on a contract before the ten-thirty meeting, and don’t forget that two o’clock conference call with All-Nation.”

Of course…then there were the server issues to deal with, a couple of test runs on programs, and more. Another day, another dollar. He headed for his office, Tina’s forms in hand.

“Hal?” she called after him.

“Yes?”

“Come ’ere again.”

What now?

“Bend your head down, you’re too tall—”

He knit his brows in question, but did as she asked.

“There!” She’d pulled something out of his newly short hair, a glob of gel. Yuck. Hal flushed, embarrassed, as she wiped it on a paper towel.

“Honey, didn’t the girl at the salon teach you to rub it all over your hands like lotion?
Then
you smooth it onto your head.” Tina chuckled.

“Oh. I’m not too good at this fashion stuff yet.” He thought about Enrique’s purplish face, mottled with rage when he’d left the royal premises. He hadn’t given any instructions with the plastic jar of crud he’d tossed after them.

“Thanks, Tina.”

“No problem. Your next project should be getting some pants that fit. You look completely buttless in those.”

Buttless? Great. Hal sidestepped the question of why, all of a sudden, his receptionist was checking out his rear view. He went to go find Ryan instead.

S
HANNON STARED
at the phone in her office and then at Hal’s work number. She had to call him in order to do her job and take him shopping. There was no other way around it.

“Hey, Shan?” Jane’s voice traveled from the reception area. “Do you have any idea why the leg on this desk is cracked? Almost like someone heavy sat on it. And it’s sort of pushed to the side.”

Yikes.
“Oh, you’re kidding!” Shan exclaimed, injecting her voice with just the right amount of surprise. “No, I don’t have the slightest idea.”

“I swear that this looks like a…
butt-print.
Ugh! It
is
a butt-print! What has the cleaning staff been up to in here? It’s bad enough that the desk was dusty, but
this?
”

Shannon thought fast. “Well, that explains why my radio was tuned to a country-and-western station.”

Jane was outraged. “I’m calling the janitorial service right now to complain!”

Shannon felt lower than a worm. Because of her, some innocent person was going to get in trouble—possibly even fired. “Jane, hon, why don’t you let me call—I’ve lost an earring, too, and I’ll ask them whether anyone found it.”

Her partner cocked an eyebrow. “You have four hundred pairs of earrings. Why would you miss one?”

“They’re my favorite,” Shan lied. “You know, the ones with the peridots and amethysts?”

Jane seemed to halfway buy it. “Fine. I’ll get you the number. But I want to know what the manager says.” She walked into Shan’s office brandishing a Rolodex card and hovered, waiting for her to make the call.

Great.
Shannon inhaled a breath and punched in Hal’s direct line instead. If she faked a number then Jane would hear the electronic operator’s voice.

He answered in two rings. “Hal Underwood.”

“Mr. Munson,” she said cordially. “This is Shannon Shane, with Finesse. How are you?”

“I want my pants back,” growled Hal. “And who the hell is Mr. Munson? Did you steal his pants, too?”

“Well, I’m fine, thanks. But I do have a small matter to discuss with you, if you have a moment.”

“Nice of you to say goodbye.”

“Yes. Well, it seems that one of your staff sat on our Queen Anne reception desk while cleaning over the weekend, Mr. Munson. Can you explain that?”

“Yeah, a blond nymphomaniac attacked me in my truck, yanked me into her place of business and jumped me on the reception desk.”

“I am
not
a— No, I’m afraid it couldn’t have been anyone else.”

“After knowing me six hours.”

Hey! She’d done her best to explain that. “Well, we do have some physical evidence, Mr. Munson. But we’d rather not have to take that to court. We’d
rather just settle this in a civilized way. And next time you can send us a different cleaning team, okay?”

“Physical evidence?” asked Hal, who sounded like he was taking a sip of his coffee.

“Yes. It’s a…well, Mr. Munson, I don’t quite know how to phrase this. It’s a, uh, a butt-print.”

Hal clearly spit something on the other end of the line.

“Mr. Munson? Are you okay?”

“Is it your butt-print or mine? It has to be yours… That’s very funny, you know. What’s the matter, is your partner standing right there while you pretend to call the cleaning service?”

“Thank you, Mr. Munson. We would appreciate that. Yes, cash is fine. You have a good week, too.” Shannon hung up and looked calmly at Jane. “All taken care of. I’ll go pick up the money from him.”

“Great.” Jane turned and left her office. Then she called over her shoulder. “Oh, but Shannon. You forgot to ask about your earring. And Mr. Munson didn’t seem to ask the price of the desk. Plus, even if he had, I doubt it was his cleaning staff that left the five long, curly, blond hairs caught under the lamp.”

Shannon winced.

“So you get to disinfect every inch of that desk, Shane, and then polish it with lemon oil. You also get to call a furniture repair place and have the leg fixed or replaced.”

Jane stuck her head back into Shannon’s office, her expression cheerfully malicious. “And honey, we
own a business called Finesse. Remember? I don’t think making butt-prints in Reception falls under that heading.”

Shannon shot the finger at her.

“That doesn’t qualify, either. Now are you going to tell me about this mystery man?”

Shannon shook her head.

“Didn’t think so.” Jane gave a resigned shrug of the shoulders and finally left her in peace.

Shannon stared at her phone again, smacked herself in the forehead and hit Redial.

“O
PERATION
S
HOPPING
begins at 4:00 p.m. sharp,” Shannon said when Hal answered.

“You again!”

“Sorry about the Mr. Munson thing. Yes, Jane was standing over me.”

“Can I have a copy of the butt-print as a memento of you?”

“No. And why would you need a memento of me?”

“You know. A keepsake. So I can look back fondly on the day that the goddess took pity on the nerd and did him out of mercy.”

Speechless, Shannon just stared at the phone.

“Hello?”

She recovered. “Just what the hell is that supposed to mean? Are you still living in some high school fantasy?”

“Aw, I was kidding.”

“I don’t think so. And you are not a nerd. You just need a little polish, which is why I’m taking you shopping this afternoon.”

Hal groaned. “Is there any way that I can just pay you extra to go without me? I could try on the stuff later…”

“Nice try at sliming out of this, but it won’t work. We don’t have time to waste on me making endless returns. Oh, and by the way, we have a personal training session at the gym at eight o’clock.”

“I have things to do. I have a company to run. I can’t just leave at four and not come back!”

“How long until that IPO? How long until your first media interview?”

“Okay, okay.”

“I’ll pick you up in the moldy beemer at your office.”

“You didn’t have the carpet professionally cleaned and dried?” Hal’s tone was scandalized.

“Nope.”

T
ODAY SHE WAS WEARING
silver leather pants, red spike-heeled boots and a body-hugging red sweater. Her handbag looked like a work of art out of a museum.

Hal stared at it as he climbed gingerly into Shannon’s car. He wondered how much it had cost and decided he probably didn’t want to know. He had a bad, bad feeling about the kinds of shops a woman like her frequented. How much poorer would he be at the end of the day?

They drove for an hour and a half until they got to Hal’s worst nightmare: a gigantic shopping mall in the suburbs of New York. The Westchester sported both a Neiman Marcus and a Saks and he’d also
spied a big Bloomingdale’s around the corner. His male heart sank into the treads of his running shoes.

Apparently they were going into Neiman’s first, since she parked close to it. Hal stared balefully at the entrance before girding his loins and getting out of the car, which stank of mildew.

He shoved his hands into his pockets while Shannon locked the beemer and threw the keys into her work-of-art bag. In her designer sunglasses and the beautiful leather pants, she looked like a Bond girl about to go somewhere on 007’s arm. She took his, instead.

“Hal, where did you get those clothes? I know exactly what I left in your closet and those weren’t there.”

His chest swelled with manly pride. “You never checked my laundry hamper.”

She put a hand to her temple. “You’re wearing dirty stuff?”

“No. I washed them.”

“Well, that’s something, then. We can donate them on the way out of here.”

“I like these pants. I like this T-shirt. They’re comfortable. You’re not giving them away. And I want my other jeans back, you thief! That was really low.”

“Sometimes I have to resort to desperate measures to get my job done.” She looked at him over the top of her glasses. “And I’m happy to say that the other jeans are long gone.”

“Could you at least show the tiniest bit of remorse? Could you fake it?”

“No. You looked like an abandoned scarecrow in those. And those shoes…” Words seemed to fail her. She tugged him into the department store and propelled him into the men’s shoe department.

“Hello,” she said sweetly to a wizened little salesman. “This gentleman needs footwear. Badly. And if you have a metal trash can and a lighter, that would be excellent. I have hairspray in my purse.”

“Hairspray, madam?”

“Flammable,” she explained. “I’ll drench those horrors he has on his feet.”

“Madam, the Neiman Marcus fire code does not permit—”

“No?” she asked in sorrowful tones. “Well, then I’ll just have to toss them in the Dumpster. Not nearly as much fun, though.”

“Great,” Hal muttered into her ear. “So you’re a pyromaniac as well as a nymphomaniac.”

“Hal, honey, when will you understand that I’m just a maniac, period? Now sit down.” She pushed him into a chair, where he crossed his arms and glared at them.

“I need a loafer in cordovan and one in saddle leather,” she said to the salesman.

Hal shot out of his chair. “No penny loafers!”

She nodded but otherwise ignored him. “And a casual lace-up, one black, one brown. Then we’ll need dress shoes in black, brown and cordovan. For extremely casual, we’ll need a hiking boot and a nice Italian sandal—”

“No way,” said Hal.

“Disregard the gentleman, please,” she said, adjusting her sunglasses over her long blond hair. “He doesn’t understand what he needs.” She added under her breath, “And under no circumstances are you to tell him the price of anything.”

“Very good, madam. May I offer you two some refreshment?”

“Yeah,” said Hal gloomily. “Strong liquor.”

“Sir, I deeply regret to inform you that Neiman Marcus is unable to provide you with spirits. Perhaps a glass of wine?”

“Do you have beer?” Hal asked.

“Sir, I deeply regret—”

“To inform me that you have no beer, either. Fine, let’s get on with this miserable process.”

The little man raised his chin. “Sir, here at Neiman Marcus we strive to provide our customers with the highest level of service. We also attempt to ensure that our clientele
enjoys
their visits to our retail establishment. Under no circumstances do we wish you to feel that your selection process is a miserable experience.”

“Then just bring me some shoes,” Hal begged.

“Very good, sir.” The salesman scuttled off.

“Hal, that was rude. Becoming a cool guy means that you have an easy, relaxed demeanor. You never sweat anything, especially not such a small thing as buying shoes.”

He snorted. “Yeah, but I don’t think we’re just
buying shoes. We’re starting to waste my entire life savings on stupidities.”

She sighed. “Well, get used to it. Because we’ve got a lot more ‘stupidities’ to buy.”

H
AL STOOD
like a coatrack with arms as yet another wizened little man sucked on the pins between his teeth and drew chalk lines on the suit that Hal wore. His new shoes pinched his little toes, which were beginning to go numb. Shannon, relentless in pursuit of his new wardrobe, dove among the clothing displays like a gorgeous bird of prey. Each time she surfaced with yet another jacket or sweater, he blanched. How could women possibly like to shop?

It was torture. Sheer, unmitigated, gruesome torture. And worse, all of this stuff was going to have to be dry-cleaned!

Shannon winged by with a couple of cashmere sweaters that probably cost more than the national debt, and he brought the subject to her attention. “Do you realize how much it’s going to cost me to take care of these stupid clothes? Do you know how bad dry-cleaning is for the environment? The fluid also causes cancer!” He quoted several statistics at her until the salesman/tailor stuck him in the ankle with a pin. “Ow!”

“Begging your pardon, sir. We here at Neiman Marcus do strive not to stab the customers, but occasionally we err. We are only human. Would you care for a bandage, sir? Or a complimentary tetanus shot?”

“What?” said Hal. “No!”

“You mean, ‘No thanks, man,’” said Shannon.

“Oh, I do, do I?” Hal said in ominous tones.

“Yes. And it’s definitely not cool to go around spouting statistics about dry-cleaning fluid. So drop that.”

“You may be stunning to look at, but you are starting to piss me off.”

“No, no, no.” Shannon shook her finger. “You’re cool, remember? You don’t sweat it.”

Hal counted to three and stared at her breasts for a distraction. They were so plump and happy nestled in that red sweater…just the right amount of swoop.

She turned and went back to the racks of clothing, displaying her silver-leather-clad delectable bottom. He stared at that, too. He forgot about how annoying she was and cooked up quite the little fantasy. It involved her naked on a baby-oiled waterbed…

“Sir? Begging your pardon, sir, but I’m having difficulties marking your alterations. We at Neiman Marcus are dedicated to the highest quality of customer service. Given the, er, circumstances, may I provide you with an explicit magazine and a private bathroom?”

Hal looked down and blinked. He sported an enormous, gabardine-clothed erection. He was beginning to hate Shannon Shane…a lot.

“Uh, no, thank you. That won’t be necessary.”

“Very big, sir. Uh,
good.
Very good, sir.” The little guy turned purple and fled.

Hal stood in front of the three-way mirror and wondered just what a “cool” guy did in
this
situation.

S
IX PAIRS OF SHOES
, three suits, two blazers. Six T-shirts made of silk woven by designer worms. Four pairs of casual slacks, two pairs of walking shorts and three pairs of jeans that Hal felt were too snug. “How am I supposed to get a wallet, cell phone and my dick in here all at the same time?” he asked. His concerns were addressed by an eye roll.

He didn’t even want to know what he’d spent on the cashmere sweaters, the upscale ties, the multiple pairs of socks, the silver-handled umbrella, the leather satchel or the elaborate shoe-care kit. Oh, and the belts, silk boxers and
shoe trees.

“You’re not working under the illusion that I’ll actually use those, are you?”

“Close your eyes and sign here, Hal. There’s a good boy.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re patronizing and obnoxious?”

“I just love compliments. Now take the pen.”

“Do I have any money left?”

“Money?” Shannon threw back her head and laughed. “Hal, honey. This is credit. But we’re opening a series of store charges so that you can save ten to fifteen percent. That’s a lot of money saved right there.”

Hal dug his hands into his pockets. “How come I have to spend so much in order to save?”

“It’s just the law of retail,” Shannon told him, pulling his hands out of his pockets. “Don’t do that. You look like an overgrown teenager.”

“Aw, for chrissakes—”

“Shoulders back! Stomach in! Cock one hip. Good,” said his drill sergeant. “Now, casually drape one arm along the counter. Excellent.”

He curled his lip at her.

“Stop that. Turn to Lana,” she instructed.

Lana was their current salesperson, engaged in packaging all of his new silk boxers. He looked at her, and she looked up at him, raising an eyebrow at Shannon.

“Now smile,” said his tormentor. “Smile at Lana like she’s the only woman in the world.”

“Cheese,” said Hal. “This is beyond cheesy…” But somewhere along the way, he did aim a genuine smile in her direction.

Lana blinked and a dreamy expression came over her face. She smiled back. Then she said, “Wow.”

Wow? Did she mean this stuff actually worked? Hal kept his shoulders straight and then folded his arms on the counter and leaned in just a tad. He decided to experiment.

“Lana, I’m in training here. I haven’t graduated yet from Suave School. But I have to say that you have the most beautiful eyes.”

The woman, probably in her midforties, blushed and dimpled. “Oh, thank you. Aren’t you sweet.” She stuck some kind of gold sticker on the tissue paper she’d wrapped around the boxers. “You know, I think I can give you another special discount on these…let me see if I can find the code.” She rummaged around. “Yes! Here it is.”

And just like that, Hal learned the power of charm and image.

Shannon dug him in the ribs with her elbow as they walked out. “See? A smile, a little easy confidence and good grooming. They will get you everywhere. You gonna listen to me now?”

Hal all but staggered under the combined weight of the shopping bags. “Are we done yet?”

“One more stop at a sporting goods store. We need to get you outfitted for the gym.”

He groaned. “You are relentless. Why does it matter what I wear when I sweat?”

“Are you kidding me?” Shannon stared at him. “This could be the most important part for your social life, Hal.”

“Huh?”

She gazed at him with something akin to pity. “You’re going to be picking up
chicks
in the gym.”

“Chicks,” repeated Hal.

“Yes,” she told him. “So you’ve got to show all the right bulges in all the right places.”

I got a bulge for you right here, baby.
But he didn’t say it aloud. He was pretty sure that sentiment crossed the line from “cool” to “disgustingly piggy.”

So he just continued to drag their kill through the echoing, gleaming mall until they arrived at a he-man’s paradise called Jock, Stock and Barrel. Leering in the window stood a shiny mannequin with Ricky Martin’s face and Arnold Schwarzenegger’s body. It had biceps like Popeye and wore micro
scopic, lime-green nylon shorts with a canary-yellow muscle T-shirt.

“No,”
said Hal, transfixed with horror. “I’m not setting foot in there.” A man had to draw the line somewhere, didn’t he?