Sugar and Spice: A Karma Café Novella (4 page)

Showing that she wasn’t much for long contemplations between word and deed, Anja lifted her phone.

She didn’t dial though.  Instead, she arched one well-defined brow.

“This is crazy,” Dedra said, shaking her head as she paced.  “I can’t seduce a man.  I’m hardly a femme fatale.”

Anja didn’t answer.  She just waited, her expression patient and serene, while Dedra kept pacing and talking herself in—then-out—then-in to going along with Anja’s plan.   

“He could be horrified,” she muttered, tossing out her final misgiving.  “Laugh in my face, call me crazy for thinking a guy with his reputation would want a woman like me.  One who has such a, well, short sexual reference list.”

And she was being totally ridiculous.  She was leaving, so what did it matter if she left giving a bad impression?  Paul wasn’t going to laugh.  At least, not to her face.  And if he was horrified, well, the worst that happened was she learned to not seduce any ex-bosses in the future.

Stopping mid-pace, Dedra glanced at Anja.  She hadn’t moved.  “You really think this is a good idea?”

“What I think doesn’t matter.  It’s what you think that counts.  What you feel.  What you know you can live with.”

She knew there was no happy-ever-after for her and Paul.  Even if he hadn’t been her boss, he was still out of her league.  And he was about to engage in a business merger disguised as marriage.

But one night?  Could she live with that?

Could she live without it?

“I want it.  Really, really want it—him,” she said quietly.  “But I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Why not?”

How did she explain a lack of sexual confidence to a woman who looked like men threw themselves at her feet?  Dedra chewed on her thumbnail, wishing she could run out the door but unable to.  Because if there was a chance, even the slimmest, teensiest chance, that Anja could make this happen, Dedra wanted it.

Because while she wasn’t sure what she could live with, she was pretty sure she knew what she couldn’t live without.

And that was trying, for just one night, to live out her fantasies.

“Why not, indeed,” she finally said, her words a giddy contrast to the sick feeling of terror clutching at her stomach.  Then, tossing her fate into Anja’s hands, she added, “Let’s do it.  It’s time for my once in a lifetime.”

Two hours, a half bottle of wine and a painful squeeze on her credit card later and Dedra was ready.

Well, sort of.

“Are you sure this is a good look for me?” she asked, twisting to try and see the back of her skirt in Anja’s full-length mirror.

“It’s the look you wear every day.  How can it not be good?”

“Because it doesn’t scream seduce me.  It doesn’t say sexy.  It’s just...  Well, me.”

“It’s you, plus,” Anja said still playing fairy godmother as she adjusted a curl here, tweaked the drape of a necklace there.  “It’s perfect.”

Perfect?

Dedra peered into the mirror.

As usual, her hair was pulled up in a bun.  But instead of tight and controlled, this one was loose and messy, with wavy tendrils falling all around her face.

She wore a taupe skirt and crisp white blouse similar to ones she’d worn hundreds of times before.  But this skirt was just a little shorter, hitting her mid-thigh.  And just a little tighter, curving snug over her hips and cupping her butt.  The blouse had lace at the wrists and collar, artfully disguising that only two of the three buttons were closed.  The lace offered peeks at her cleavage when she moved, without being a blatant flash of boobs-in-the-face.

Dedra ran her hands down her hips, wincing at the visible lines.

“Don’t you think the garter is a bit much?  I mean, this skirt is so tight you can see the outline through it.”

“That’s what you want.  To intrigue and titillate.”  Anja dug through a basket of fragrance samples Justine had left.  “You’re you.  Clothes and a look that he’s familiar with, but with that extra fantasy oomph.  If he’s at all interested, this look will push all of his buttons.”

“If he’s at all interested.”  Dedra bit her lip, giving her reflection another look.  The cherry red gloss made a vivid contrast against her white teeth.  Earrings, a subtle swing of silver chains, swayed along her jawline.

“He’s a man, isn’t he?”  Anja laughed.  “He’ll be interested.”

It wasn’t the words that had Dedra raising her brows.  It was her mocking tone.  Dedra peered at her.  “That sounds a little cynical.  Don’t you believe in the magic between a man and a woman?”

For just a second, Anja looked lost.  Sad.  Then she shrugged.  “I believe in magic, definitely.  And in heat between a man and a woman.  I think it’s like a recipe.  Mix a little of this and a little of that and you have a treat.  Whether it’s delicious or not depends on the ingredients, the proportions and how well it’s prepared.”

She stood, walking slowly around Dedra for one final inspection.  Her smile was wide, her face as satisfied as a cat on a fishing boat.  “Perfect.  I’ve got to say I am one excellent cook.”

Dedra gave the mirror another doubtful look.  Sure, she looked a little sexier than usual.  But was it enough to make Paul go crazy, jump her body and do all sorts of wildly sexy, semi-kinky things to her?  Because that’s what it was going to take.  There was no way she could seduce him.

“Oh, wait!”

Dedra winced.  Had Anja read her mind?  Oh please, please, please, don’t let this be a lecture on how to seduce a guy.  That would be so humiliating.

“You’re going to need these.”  Anja hurried into the tiny kitchenette and opened what looked like an ornate spice cupboard.  She came back with a delicate red ceramic box.

“Here.  This is all you need to convince Paul to show you a good time.”

A gun?  Dedra squinted at the box.  It must be an awfully tiny one.

“They’re chocolate.  Truffles, with just a little bit of something extra,” Anja explained, giving the box an indulgent look.

“Drugs?”  Dedra pulled her hand back in horror.

“Don’t be silly.”  Anja drew the box back a little, her expression offended.  “My Gramma made these.  Let’s just call them magic.”

Riiiiight.  Magic.  Dedra wanted to scoff.  Then she peered around Anja’s living room again, taking in the Goddess statue, the variety of crystals and the wreath shaped like a star over the door.  Real or not, magic was something Anja clearly believed in.  And it’d be horribly rude to mock the idea when the other woman had already been so helpful.

Dedra’s gaze landed on the cards, still laid out on the table.  She bit her lip, wondering if she was the one who needed to adjust her beliefs.

“I guess it’s a good excuse for stopping by,” she mused, starting to actually feel more excited than nauseous.  Maybe a little bit of magic would do the trick.

As soon as Dedra took the box, Anja clapped her hands together in a finished gesture, then waved Dedra to the door.  “Okay, you’re all set.  Go make your dreams come true.”

Chapter Four

“L
ook I know it sucks, and if I could figure out a way to appease the board without marriage, or to secure the Bittle merger without committing to a lifetime—or a minimum of five years—with Sylvia, I’d do it.  But we’re out of time.”

“This blows,” Peter said, his voice sounding like a pouty little boy over the speakerphone.  “You shouldn’t have to sacrifice yourself for this company.  We work hard... Well, you work hard and do a damned good job of making the board richer each year.  Why isn’t that enough?”

Maybe because Peter kept their attorneys and PR department working overtime on damage control for his wild escapades?  Paul wasn’t going to beat his brother over the head with that, though.  He’d been just as wild at that age.  If it hadn’t been for the loss of their parents mandating Paul step into the role of Chastain’s CEO, and twenty percent of their voting shares going to the board and giving the old geezers more power, he’d probably still be just as wild.

“The board thinks one of us appearing settled will give the stockholders the illusion that we’re a stable company,” Paul said tiredly.

He didn’t agree with them, of course.  And if there had been any other way to pull off the Bittle merger without shackling himself to their president, he’d have blown off their demands.  Politely, politically, perfunctorily.  But he wanted Bittle’s assets.  Not just their connections overseas, which would take him another dozen years to build.  But their revolutionary comfort insole was key to Chastain’s next design launch.  Chastain designed gorgeous shoes that women lusted after, but Bittle knew how to make them comfortable enough for all-day wear.  And Sylvia Bittle knew it, so she’d priced her insole—and herself—accordingly.

“It’s bullshit,” Peter muttered.

And bitching about it was pointless.  Before he could say anything, someone knocked at the door.

“There’s someone here.  Probably one of my landladies with more food,” Paul said, glancing at the leftover muffins, cake and tarts from the three visits they’d already made.  He shoved a tired hand through his hair and wished like hell he was on a remote island somewhere without troublemaking brothers, meddlesome boards or doors to be pounded on.  “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Fine.  You answer your door and I’m going to get ahold of Sylvia Bittle.  There has to be something she wants more than marriage to approve this merger.”

Paul snorted and punched the
end call
button.  More than sinking her claws into a million dollar contract, a guaranteed spot on the social register, and a chance to turn her daddy’s hard work into a flashy diamond ring?  Not likely.

He didn’t blame her, though.  Good business said get all you could from what you had.  She had a winning hand, and was smart enough to play it right.

Since nobody but the ladies, or the witches as Peter was still calling them, knew he was here, he didn’t bother with the peek hole.  Just yanked open the door.

And froze.  It was like getting hit in the face with a fistful of horny.

“Dedra?”

Maybe?  Suddenly breathless, he felt like he’d just been sucker punched.  Where was his plain assistant?  The one he could ignore except in sweaty dreams?  The one whose only concession to sexy femininity was to wear Chastain shoes?

“Hi,” she said, her smile a little shaky around the corners.  “I thought you might want company.  And, um, I brought chocolates.”

That little smile playing over her full, red lips, she held up an equally glossy red box, then lifted the lid to show two heart shaped chocolates.

“Sure.  Yeah.”  Instead of moving, though, he stood there staring.  He always maintained a low-level heat when she was in the room.  But that was easily controlled.  Something he could ignore.  This was like a blazing conflagration, totally out of control.  This wasn’t a push-it-aside gentle fantasy, this was a grab-on-and-ride full out desperation.

Then he took a closer look.  She was dressed as usual, wasn’t she?  What was different?  Why was she tripping all his passion meters?

As usual, her hair was pulled away from her face.  Instead of tidy and sleek, though, it was all silky and soft looking.  Like someone had tugged their fingers through, trying to set it free.

She wore her normal, bland colored clothes, only instead of helping her fade into the walls, this time they grabbed Paul’s attention and wouldn’t let go.  Lacy ruffles accented her breasts, making his mouth water.

His fingers itched to trace that path along her collar to the slender gold chain as it dipped down into her cleavage.  He wanted to bury his face there, to breathe in.  To taste.

Oh yeah, he wanted to taste.

He’d lick his way down to her feet, taking his own sweet time to enjoy every decadent, delicious bite.

“Paul?” she prompted.

“Huh?”  He tore his gaze rose from the sexy red of her toenails, peeking through her black strappy
Peekaboo Princess
sandals, to meet hers.  “What?”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”  This time he stepped aside.

When she held out the box again, he automatically took one of the candies and popped it into his mouth.  Wide-eyed, she did the same, then, still watching his face, set the box on the table.

Chocolate, rich and creamy, exploded on his tongue.  Delicious, with a hint of something nutty and just a touch of caramel.  But Paul was more interested in the woman standing across from him than in dessert.

He didn’t question that Dedra showed up exactly when he needed her.  That’s the kind of thing that she did.  She knew what he wanted before he did, was locating the answers as questions tripped off his tongue.  She was perfect.

Which was why he shouldn’t be lusting after her sexy toes.

His eyes dropped to her hips as she crossed the room.  And damn near popped out of his head.  Oh, baby.  God bless whoever had shrunk her skirt.  The plain, unassuming fabric now emphasized the sweet curve of her butt, and as she walked he could see the faint ridges along the back of her thighs.

No way.  She wasn’t wearing a garter belt, was she?

His gaze dropped.  He moaned, actually moaned, out loud.

Her unassuming nude stockings had seams up the back.

A garter belt and seamed stockings?

He was a strong man.

A powerful man.

A man who knew his own mind and had control over his own body.

But he was a puddle of lust at the idea of a garter belt
and
seamed stockings.

“Are you okay?”

He pulled his eyes, but not his mind, away from her underwear and frowned.  “What?”

“Are you okay,” Dedra repeated.  “You seem, um, distracted.”

“Yeah.  Distracted.”  Paul shoved both hands through his hair, trying to pull his thoughts back into focus.  As long as he kept his eyes off her legs, he should be fine.  And her breasts.  And her hair.

Hell, don’t even look at her
.

He stomped to the window and stared at the foggy San Francisco evening.  “I was just talking to Peter.  Trying to figure out our options before the board meeting on Monday.”

“I didn’t think you had any options.  Isn’t that why you agreed to the merger, I mean, marriage with Sylvia Bittle?”