Beyond Daring. Kathleen O'Reilly
His sexy brown eyes were full of foreboding, yet flavored with the tastiest bit of lust. “I thought we had a new set of ground rules.”
“You said no nudity.” With garments in hand, she strolled to the dressing rooms. “This isn’t nudity. Coming?”
He followed her, but when it came to breaching the sanctity of the changing room, he stopped at the door, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll wait.”
She sighed. “Whatever.”
Inside, she stripped off her clothes and pulled on the white lace teddy. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“I know why you’re doing this.”
Sheldon paused. “Doing what?”
“This whole vamp-the-world thing.”
She giggled. Vamp was such a cute, old-fashioned word, and Jeff was so—not. Unless she missed her guess, and she never did, that suit was Armani. No, the man didn’t have an old-fashioned bone in his body as hard, muscular and top-shelf as that body was. “Why am I vamping the world?”
“Your father told me about the engagement.”
Now that stopped her cold. For only a second. Then she pasted the smile back on her face and began to tie the little white straps that kept the top in place. Sheldon looked in the mirror, pleased with the way her breasts nearly spilled over the cups. The white was innocent and classy, but the whole ensemble screamed “Take me, I’m yours.”
“What about it?” she asked in a bored voice.
“You don’t want this to happen.”
Sheldon opened the door and watched his face turn a pleasant shade of bone-white that went well with his dark hair. “Grow up, Jeff,” she told him, then performed a sexy little turn. “What do you think?” she asked, cocking a hand on her hip, making sure he could appreciate the curve of her rear.
“It’s nice,” he said, swallowing. He dragged his gaze up and focused on the wall. “You’re okay with the marriage thing, then?”
She took a step closer, letting lace-covered nipples brush against his chest, as much for her as for him. “I live in a separate place from most of the rest of the world. I can’t marry just anybody. There’re family considerations, corporate considerations and genetic considerations.”
“You’re making that up,” he accused, his eyes straying to her cleavage.
Sheldon faced the mirror and pulled at one strap, letting it hang off her shoulder. “The genetic considerations aren’t true, but the rest is. It’s a trade-off, Jeff. I get what I want, and Daddy gets what he wants. What could be better?”
This time his gaze locked onto her face, trapping her there. “What do you want, Sheldon?”
She looked away, deciding she didn’t like the innocent white look on her. No, she needed something with spice. Black. Or her signature red. That would complement her blond hair, not wash it out. “That’s for me to know and you to speculate on for the rest of your days.”
“So you’re going to go through with this?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Do I need to repeat myself?”
“Well, you do seem to favor a lot of guys for a woman who’s about to get married.”
“It’s not like it’s going to happen next week.”
“And you’re sowing your wild oats?”
She tilted her head. “Absolutely.”
“And that’s your final answer?”
“Yeah, Reege.”
She thought he would argue more. Secretly, she wanted him to argue more, but instead he sighed, giving up on her. “Okay, then we’ve got lots of work to do, but if we focus, we’re cool. I’ve come up with a five-point plan strategically designed to fix your image.”
She slammed the door in his face and stripped off the teddy. “I don’t need to fix my image.”
“You do if you’re going to go through with this,” he answered matter-of-factly.
She flung open the door, because she hated the cool, matter-of-fact tone he used. This was her life he wanted to fix, as if she were some chipped statue, or a knockoff purse with a broken zipper.
“You said no nudity,” he reminded her.
She slammed the door shut. “No, you said that.”
“But you promised.”
“Fine,” she said, picking out the demi-bra and garter belt. “Tell me about this brilliant plan of yours,” she said, sliding on a pair of red panties, gritting her teeth the whole time.
“Okay. There’re five basic areas that we can target—personal life, artistic endeavors, sports, giving back to the community and what I call the “little man.”
Giving back to the community? The “little man”?
Sheldon pulled on the hose, nearly running them, and then snapped the demi-bra in place. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“It’s my job.”
“Of course,” she said, and examined herself in the mirror.
Artistic endeavors? What a crock. She’d show him artistic endeavors. She pulled the bra cup down half an inch, exposing one nicely artistic nipple. Then she opened the door. “Should I get this one?”
He didn’t move.
She waved a hand in front of his face. “Jeff?”
He gave his head one hard shake. “You are so paying for this, Sheldon.”
“For what?”
He pulled at the bra cup, covering her up, but she didn’t miss the way his thumb lingered.
“Nothing,” he answered. “All we need to do is focus.”
Focus. He thought they needed to focus. She knew they needed to have sex. Mad, passionate, glorious sex so that she could exorcise Jeff Brooks from her system before he “fixed” her.
Sheldon went back into the dressing room and pulled on her sundress and sandals, a pleased smile on her face as she remembered the feel of his hands on her. Outside the door, she could hear his pacing. All that restrained tension.
Someday. Someday soon, Jeff Brooks.
Yeah, Sheldon knew exactly what she wanted.
3
THE SUMMERVILLE ENCLAVE WAS situated overlooking the ocean in the Hamptons. Sheldon had spent every single weekend of her summers there, and the smell of the sea air never failed to stir her senses. The sun was setting over her shoulder, casting a glimmering reflection on the water.
There was something about the solitude of the water that called to her. It was a time when she could turn off all the extraneous aspects of the Summerville legacy—of which there were many—and simply be.
As she sat on the boat dock, watching the gray waters of the Atlantic, she took another deep breath. A seagull perched on a wooden post, waiting for bread crumbs. He’d be waiting for a long time because Sheldon wasn’t the bread crumb type.
Being a Summerville had its privileges, that was for sure. She could jet off to Aspen or the Alps, take off for the Caribbean whenever she got the urge and could spend three times the GNP of Cuba on clothes.
It’d be really, really petty to complain, so she didn’t. She rose and took a few steps closer to the water, the catamarans lazily riding the swells, the gentle lapping of the waves soothing her nerves, clearing her head of all negativity.