I found in reserve just in case.”
“No!”
“But—”
“I can’t date anyone else, Mom.” Livvy groped for a reason that sounded plausible. She could hardly tell her mother that she felt disloyal dating other men because she was fixated on a man who viewed marriage as a specialized form of indentured servitude. Somehow it seemed the final irony that after avoiding marriage for years while she got her career firmly launched, she had finally fallen in love with, and wanted to marry, a man who seemed to want no part of the institution. From various comments he’d made, it was clear Conal didn’t intend to let any woman occupy a meaningful role in his life.
Deciding that if she were going to take up lying, she might as well go for the big time, Livvy closed her eyes and announced, “He’s asked me to marry him, and I haven’t decided whether I want to or not.”
“Marry!”
Livvy winced at the ecstatic sound in Marie’s voice. Her mother hadn’t sounded that happy since her sister Fern had given birth to her only grandchild. Her mother was going to be very let down when Livvy arrived for the party by herself and told her that she’d refused her imaginary suitor.
“Listen, Mom, I’ve got to run. I’ve got a million and one things that need to be done.”
“Of course, dear. I can hardly wait to meet your Prince Charming.”
“Prince Charming doesn’t exist. He’s just a man. Bye.” Livvy hurriedly hung up before Marie asked any more questions, such as the name of her mythical suitor.
Livvy took another sip of the tepid coffee, feeling like an ungrateful daughter. But a determined, ungrateful daughter. Not even to please her mother was she willing to spend the weekend trying to fend off the neighbor’s husband’s second cousin’s boy. Who had “just fallen in with bad company.” Livvy shuddered. Besides, with any luck at all Marie would be so busy with all the visiting relatives that she wouldn’t have time to focus too much on Livvy’s failure to produce a fiancé.
The sudden ringing of the phone startled her, and Livvy jumped, spilling coffee down the front of her cream silk blouse. She frowned at the dark, spreading patch in exasperation. That was all the afternoon needed to complete it. A stain on her brand-new blouse.
The phone rang again, and Livvy picked it up. She identified herself and then wished she hadn’t when she recognized the voice of Walt Larson, a client who had hired their advertising agency to design a campaign to promote his building supply company.
“You were wrong, Miss Farrell,” Larson announced gleefully.
Firmly walling her annoyance behind the practical demands of keeping the customer happy, Livvy forced a laugh. “It would hardly be the first time, Mr. Larson. But what exactly are you referring to?”
“I checked, and it isn’t against the law to have a bigbreasted woman in a tiny bikini in a television ad.”
“It’s against the law of good taste!” Livvy’s resolve slipped slightly. “Mr. Larson, you sell building supplies for the do-it-yourselfer. What do scantily clad women have to do with that?”
“Sex sells!” he insisted. “You’re supposed to be the advertising expert. You should know that.”
Livvy gritted her teeth, counted to ten and then said, “That is a gross oversimplification.”
“Now you listen to me, Miss Farrell....” Livvy turned at the sound of a sharp knock on her door. Before she could respond, it was pushed open. Larson’s hectoring voice faded to a minor annoyance in the background, as Conal’s large body filled her vision. Eagerly her eyes skimmed over his face. His dark eyes gleamed with suppressed excitement, sending a wave of anticipation through her.
Her eyes instinctively sought the intriguing line of his mouth, lingering over the firmness of his lips. She didn’t know what had excited him, but she sure knew what would work for her—if he were to gather her in his arms and press his lips to hers. A shiver raced over her skin, raising goosebumps.
“...pay the bills!” Larson’s indignant tone finally registered in Livvy’s bemused mind.
“Yes, Mr. Larson, but...” Her concentration suffered a major setback when Conal perched on the edge of her desk, and Larson launched back into his tirade. She could feel the warmth from his large body reaching out to her. Luring her closer to him.
In self-defense she dropped her eyes and found herself staring at his thigh. His muscles were pushing against the thin gray material of his suit pants, and Livvy felt her fingers tremble with the urge to touch him. To probe the strength of his muscles and find out if they were as hard as they looked. To—
“...big boobs,” Larson concluded.
“Boobs!” Livvy jerked up, outrage momentarily dousing her fascination with Conal’s body.
“Breasts,” Conal amended in a stage whisper.
Livvy ignored him, even if she couldn’t entirely ignore the tightening of her own breasts at the gleam of mischief in Conal’s eyes. Clients might be important, but there were limits to what she was willing to do to keep an account. Larson was skating seriously close to that limit.
Livvy’s eyes narrowed as an idea suddenly occurred to her.
“Mr. Larson, I will concede that you have a point that sex sells, but you’re being very unimaginative about it. Instead of a bikini-clad woman, why don’t we hire a model from one of the male strip clubs?”
“What?” Larson sounded confused.
“It’ll be great,” Livvy said blandly. “We can get a muscular type in a sequined jockstrap and—”
“You can’t do that!” Mr. Larson sputtered.
“Why not?” Livvy felt the trembling of Conal’s body, and she looked up to see him choking on the laughter he was trying to contain. Conal would be a natural in the role, she thought dreamily. They could put him in a redsequined bit of nothing and drape him over a power saw. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She would buy. And so would half the women in New York City.
“I don’t think you appreciate my business,” Larson blustered. “I’ve half a mind to take it elsewhere.”
Half a mind about summed it up, Livvy thought acidly. “We would be very sorry to loose your business,” she lied, “but of course you must do what you think best.”
She gently hung up the phone in contrast to the way Larson slammed the receiver down.
“What was that all about?” Conal asked.
“Inappropriate sex,” Livvy muttered, not wanting to talk about Larson’s fixation with large-breasted women.
“Sex inappropriate? Is that possible in this culture?” Conal grinned at her, his white teeth gleaming darkly against his tanned face, and the laugh lines around his eyes deepening. When he smiled, he smiled with his whole face, Liwy realized. Would he make love with the same intensity? Would he—Stop it. Livvy hastily yanked her imagination up short. She absolutely had to get some kind of grip on her daydreams, because they were beginning to take over
