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Because of what had happened last night, she had no doubt about wanting to finish what she and Joe had started. She was ready to embark upon a wildly sensual affair with an incredible man. And after their wild encounter the night before, she wanted it to be very special. And very, very sexy.
After that amazing encounter during which Meg had climaxed twice, they’d kissed and stroked each other for a while and then Joe had helped her dress, and then pack up the picnic basket. She knew Joe had to be leaving frustrated, though he swore he wasn’t. But the next time they were together, he would not be left empty handed. Or, um, full-trousered.
After last night—after everything Joe had done to her, things nobody had ever done before—Meg knew she was several years too late in starting her first sensual, erotic relationship. College groping just didn’t count
A nice girl might back off and see if Joe came to their next date equipped to go to the next sensual level of their relationship. But, as Meg had learned the other night when she’d dutifully kept her date with Ted the Weasel, sometimes it didn’t pay to be a nice girl. Not when being a bit of a bad girl could give her what she sensed would be the kind of pleasure she’d only ever read about in romance novels.
When she entered the complex, Meg beelined for the pickup counter inside the foyer. An attractive, middle-aged blonde, wearing a tight, pink sweater stood there. She was speaking with a balding, distinguished-looking older gentleman in a crisp, navy suit. Meg had seen them both working in The Red Doors the first time she’d come. The man’s posture was so perfect, and his language so precise, she pictured him as an English butler. Quite a contrast to the blonde, whose honey-smooth words rolled off her tongue in a cadence that could only come from south of the Mason-Dixon line.
“If you’re sure that’s all, then, Mrs. Merriweather?” the man asked as Meg approached.
“Yes, it is,” she replied. “But, Alfred, if you don’t start calling me Dixie, I’m afraid I might just have to put some pepper in your tea to spice you up a bit.”
The man pulled himself up even straighter and Meg thought she detected a hint of warmth in his eyes. “As you wish,” he murmured, his voice low and sedate. But Meg heard a note of something—intensity?—which surprised her, coming from such a reserved-looking gentleman. As he turned to leave, he nodded to Meg, then left the vestibule.
As soon as he’d gone, the blonde turned to Meg. “Well, hello, sugar, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
“You, uh, recognize me?”
“Of course I do.” The woman—Dixie—came out from behind the counter. She walked slowly, with a confident swing to her hips and an assessing glint in her eye. “Though I couldn’t have predicted the wardrobe. Child, where have you been shopping?”
Meg bit her lip. “I have an appointment with the owner.”
Dixie tapped the tip of her index finger on her cheek, still staring Meg up and down, then said, “Yes, I heard about that.”
“Could you ask Miss Ruskin to come out here?” She looked at her clenched fingers. “I really don’t want to go inside.”
Sliding a protective arm around Meg’s waist, Dixie said, “Come on, we’ll go up in the private elevator. You can get to the office without anybody seeing you. By the way, I’m Dixie.”
“Nice to meet you.” Meg let the woman lead her around the counter, watching as a nearly hidden elevator door slid open in the discreetly paneled wall. “Pretty ingenious.”
“We strive for discretion. A gentleman places an order on the computer, it’s brought down from one of the boutiques and waiting for him to check out ten minutes later.”
“It’s a great idea, and I’d probably love it if half the men of Chicago weren’t viewing me wearing the kind of underwear I’ve never even tried on in my life,” Meg said.
“Never tried on? Well, darlin’, we simply must do something about that.” Dixie’s warm laughter allowed Meg to relax for the first time since entering the complex.
She felt even more relaxed when she met Jamie Ruskin, one of the owners of The Red Doors. The woman, an attractive redhead, didn’t look the type to own a risqué lingerie shop. She was petite, with a short mop of red hair and an open grin.
“My business partner, Faith, asked me to apologize for not being able to meet with you. She feels as badly about this as I do.” As soon as Meg sat, Jamie put a file into her hands. “I found the paperwork your cousin turned in with the program, including the release you signed. I never noticed it, but the name of the store is spelled shear, like scissors.”
“He covered his bases.” Meg shook her head in disgust. “If you had noticed it, you would have thought it a typo.”
“Exactly. Listen, please don’t sweat this,” Jamie continued. “I’ve been working on the code all day myself, and I’ve called in another programmer. We’ll get you out of that program by tonight, I promise.”
“Thank you.” Meg was so relieved she even managed a smile.
“In the meantime, aren’t you a little curious?” asked Dixie.
Meg had nearly forgotten the other woman was still in the room. The blonde gave Meg a Cheshire-cat grin as she sat on the corner of Jamie’s desk. She crossed her legs, looking as sexy and confident as only a woman who’s old enough to know what she wants, and young enough to enjoy the hell out of it, could. “I mean, wouldn’t you like to take a peek at some of the more popular items men have purchased after seeing your picture?”
Two days ago, Meg would have laughed in the woman’s face. But two days ago, she hadn’t been embarking on a wild affair with an amazingly sexy man. “Items?”
“Don’t mind her. Dixie loves to dish out advice about sex and love.” Jamie chuckled. “But she sure can’t take it herself.”
“Don’t start,” Dixie said, rolling her eyes.
“Did I miss something?”
