Nightgowns and teddies. Our garter belts are very popular as well.” She held up a lacy black number. “Picture her in this, with some silk stockings and stiletto heels.”
A faint flush of red showed on his tanned cheeks. “That’s not why I came in here.”
Jill grinned and laid the garter belt aside. Who was it who said still waters run deep? She bet Mr. Starched Shorts here would be a real tiger if he let himself go a little. “Maybe you’d prefer something more sensual.” She took his hand and led him toward a display of massage oils—a good place to start for novices. As they passed the front window, sunlight caught the rhinestones on her bra top, scattering reflections.
“What is that you’re wearing?” her customer demanded.
She paused and held up her hands, giving a little belly-dancer shimmy. “This is part of our fantasy costume collection. Would you like to see others?”
The man’s gaze swept over her, more intimate than a caress. She fought the urge to cross her arms over her breasts, shielding herself from his intense gaze. He definitely needed to learn to lighten up. “People actually wear those things somewhere besides Halloween parties?”
The amusement in his voice relaxed her. “Of course. Couples enjoy acting out their romantic fantasies. For instance, the man might dress as a cowboy, complete with leather chaps. Or our construction worker tool belt is very popular.” Her grin widened. Her customer would look very nice in that particular costume. “Or a woman might dress as a French maid, or a nurse.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice to a sexy purr. “What’s your fantasy, sir? I’m sure we’ve got something to help you fulfill it.”
His eyes locked to hers, warning her she’d asked the wrong question. Or the right one. The raw emotion she glimpsed before the polished facade moved into place once more hinted at a man with unplumbed depths. A man who kept his feelings in chains, waiting for the woman with the right key to free them….
She looked away, her cheeks warm, like a child who’d seen something she wasn’t supposed to see.
He stepped back. “I’m not interested in fantasy at the moment, I—”
“We also have some wonderful instructional books on sensual massage.” Telling herself she was silly to let a stranger make her lose her cool, she took his hand again and tugged him toward an old-fashioned wardrobe filled with brightly colored bottles and jars. “And we have these flavored massage oils. They’re very popular with both men and women.” She unscrewed the cap on a tester bottle of cinnamon massage oil. She felt him watching her, and shivers of awareness danced across her bare skin.
“Did you know they’ve actually done surveys showing that one of the most arousing scents for men is the smell of baking cinnamon rolls?” She dabbed a bit of the oil on the inside of her wrist and held it out to him. “Doesn’t that smell wonderful?”
His fingers around her wrist were strong and warm. Long, sensitive fingers, the kind that could bring a lot of pleasure to a woman, if he knew how to use them. And something told her this man knew how to use all his assets. He brought her wrist to his nose and inhaled deeply, eyes closing for a second. His lips were so close to her skin she could feel the heat of his breath and her knees began to turn to jelly. She wanted to pull away from his grasp, but couldn’t find the strength. What was going on here?
He opened his eyes and his gaze locked with hers once more, intense and searching. Serious, as if her flirting act hadn’t fazed him one bit. He looked right past her frivolous costume and teasing manner, to a part of herself she never let anyone see.
She jerked away from him, startled. Now where had that come from? What was he doing looking at her that way—and why? “Um…maybe you’d better tell me why you came in here and I’ll see if someone can help you,” she said, avoiding his gaze. And the someone wouldn’t be her. She replaced the bottle of oil and rubbed her bare shoulders, trying to banish chill bumps. She was used to being the one in control and she didn’t like it that a stranger could take over a situation so quickly.
“I’m looking for the manager,” he said, his voice portraying no hint that anything out of the ordinary had passed between them.
“Sure. That’s Sid. He’s in back unloading new stock.” She straightened, forcing confidence back into her voice. “Tell me your name and I’ll go get him.”
“It’s Landry. Mitchell Landry. I’m the new owner of this place.”
2
MITCH’S JAW TIGHTENED as a rosy glow warmed the salesclerk’s cheeks. She had the most exquisite skin…much of which was displayed to advantage in that harem girl getup. And those eyes—violet-blue and wide as a child’s as she stared at him now. He almost smiled. It had been a while since he’d struck awe in a woman.
“I…I’ll get Sid,” she stammered, and hurried away with a rustle of silk and satin. He watched her go, intrigued. He hadn’t expected such a combination of class and sass in a place like this.
But then again, when he’d learned Uncle Grif had left him a sex toy shop, he’d halfway expected to discover a dimly lit building on the “wrong” side of town, where people in black leather skulked among racks of dirty movies.
Instead he’d found this perfectly respectable-looking building in the heart of Boulder’s business district. Well, respectable as long as you didn’t notice that the antique armoire held an assortment of whips, handcuffs and other bondage gear, or that the walnut secretary showcased a collection of vibrators in crayon colors.
And what was with the costumes? He studied a mannequin who wore a lacy apron that barely covered her breasts, a black lace garter belt, black thong underwear, fishnet hose and spike heels. He wondered what Lana would think if he suggested she wear something like that.
He shook his head. Who was he kidding? Lana Montgomery didn’t even like to leave the lights on when they were in bed. She definitely wouldn’t approve of her boyfriend owning a shop like Just 4 Play. Her father and the other members of the bank board weren’t exactly thrilled when they heard about it, though he’d managed to placate them with his talk of plans for the future of the building.
“Mr. Landry?”
Mitch turned and stared at the man moving toward him. This person had a four-inch tall pink Mohawk rising above his shaved head like a rooster’s comb. The hair and the two-inch heels on his motorcycle boots made him tower a good eight inches over Mitch’s own six feet. The man was dressed in black leather pants and vest, with an alarming array of silver rings and diamond studs glittering from both ears, his nose, eyebrow and lips. Mitch wasn’t surprised when he opened his mouth to reveal a silver barbell piercing his tongue. “Hi, I’m Sid Crawford, the manager of Just 4 Play. Man, it’s good to finally meet you.”
Sid had a firm handshake and a smile that transformed his rough features from menacing to charming. Mitch almost laughed. Apparently nothing was as it seemed at Just 4 Play. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Crawford.”
“Call me Sid. We aren’t into formal around here.”
Mitch glanced at the snake tattoo winding its way up Sid’s left bicep. “No, I can see this isn’t a very formal kind of place.”
“So I guess you’ve had a chance to look around.” Sid rubbed his hands together. “What else would you like to know?”
“I’ll
