Chapter 1
Nate
New Orleans, noon…
All my rigorous training over the last few years had paid off.
I was now officially a certified expert at looking Casey square in the eyes, and could sustain a full five minutes of conversation without staring at her legs, breasts, or ass.
Okay, five minutes was a bit of an exaggeration. Maybe it was closer to three minutes, tops. But in my defense, I’d worked my way up from lasting only ten seconds without roaming my eyes up and down her beautiful body.
Today, I was slated to earn my general stripes on this account because the blue-eyed blonde looked absolutely stunning as she stepped off my plane at the New Orleans Lakefront Airport.
Her long, shapely legs on display, all creamy skin and toned muscles, in a red skirt and black heels.
Damn, the woman was tailor-made for her job as the head of a sex toy company. She radiated sex appeal.
She adjusted the strap on her shoulder bag as she scanned for me, a hand above her eyes to shield the June sun that was shooting balls of fire.
The small executive airport was relatively quiet today; there were only a few other guys in suits meeting passengers here.
I was a guy in a suit too, but I’d ditched my jacket, loosened my tie, and rolled up the cuffs on my sleeves.
When she spotted me, her lips curved up in a big smile and she waved.
She walked over to me, and damn, did she look fantastic from top to bottom.
Eyes up, eyes up.
When she reached me she planted a quick kiss on my cheek, and the citrusy scent of her hair that was so very her drifted into my nose. “You’ve completely spoiled me, I’m afraid. How can I ever fly commercial again after this kind of treatment?” she asked.
“The full treatment?” I arched an eyebrow. “What exactly did you do on the plane?”
She swatted me on the arm, then laughed as I took her suitcase and rolled it behind me as we headed across the tarmac, the midday heat and omnipresent humidity pelting us from above.
“I was actually referring to the chair massage option, which I made ample use of, as well as the fresh veggie risotto for lunch and the cucumber in my Perrier,” she said, pointing her thumb back in the direction of the Dassault Falcon I had acquired full use of when I’d been wooed, courted and won in a search two years ago for a new Chief Executive Officer of The Luxe line of luxury hotels.
They’re known for high-end eco-friendliness, and under my watch the hotel’s plane had gone from low-emission to carbon-negative after switching to a new methane-diverting biofuel.
But the massage was still my favorite part too.
When we reached the terminal, we were greeted by a blast of arctic air from the overactive AC units that were operating at full throttle in New Orleans these days.
“Damn,” I said in a low whistle, shaking my head. “Makes me so sad to think you worked the entire flight. You’re such a workaholic.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Touché,” I said because we were equally addicted to our jobs. We both logged long hours and late nights, our midnight emails to each other almost always answered within minutes, and took countless cross-country and transcontinental flights. “Speaking of, are you ready for your meeting?”
She nodded, pushing a few loose strands of hair off her shoulder. “Absolutely. I freshened up on the plane, and brushed my teeth. Want to smell my minty-clean breath?”
I rolled my eyes. “I was actually referring to your proposal for the lingerie company,” I said, slinging her previous words back at her.
“Oh, the partnership proposal for Grant. That teeny, tiny little thing?” She waved a hand as if it were no big deal.
But I knew how important it was to her. She turned serious.
“I reviewed it a few more times, and practiced my pitch on the plane. I’ve got it down pat and I’m hopeful,” she said, holding up her hand as she twisted her index and middle fingers together, “that he’s ready to play ball. ”
“If you were a ballplayer, I’d give you a good luck smack on the ass as you ran onto the field.”
She raised her eyebrows and wiggled her ass, and yup.
There it was. I’d made it three whole minutes before I dropped my gaze fully to her backside, which was so damn tantalizing.
Round, firm and tempting. As we left the airport, I held the door open for her, enjoying the view while she walked ahead of me.
Hell, if she was going to wiggle that smackable rear, I was going to stare freely.
She tipped her forehead to the black town car, gleaming and polished, that waited by the curb in the broiling heat. “Yours?”
“But of course,” I said as the driver scurried around to open the door. Once inside, she smiled like she had a secret. “Want to hear my pitch?”
“You know you can always practice your pitches on me,” I said.
I settled into the leather backseat, only vaguely wishing she wanted to practice other things with me.
But that was never in the cards because our friendship was too important.
As we’d both risen to CEO posts in the last two years, me at the hotel, her at Joy Delivered, we’d leaned on each other more.
She was my sounding board, and I was hers.
Though we both traveled frequently, we were based in New York, so we got together regularly to bounce ideas, discuss concerns, and provide advice and insight that benefited our respective companies.
As we drove away from the airport she launched into her proposal for Grant Abbot, a lingerie magnate who ran a line of upscale boutiques around the world.
“Let’s talk about all that the LolaRing can do for Entice,” she began, and I was glad I was a good multitasker.
Being close friends and confidantes with a smart, beautiful, clever woman who I also wanted to nail had turned me into the consummate juggler.
However, keeping my focus on business turned far more complicated when she started to discuss the off-the-charts pleasure her new product was sure to deliver.
Words like delicious, stimulation, and molten desire fell from her tongue and landed right in my lap.
“We’re talking about the ultimate pleasure on a path to prolonged orgasm,” she continued, her stormy blue eyes fixed on me as she rattled off all the benefits of one of her company’s newest products.
“And our intensely arousing toy, paired with your sleek and sultry new line of lingerie would make the most fantastic gift package for the sexually adventurous couple.”
Okay, I was promoting myself to full lieutenant general stripes today.
It was like pulling teeth to keep my mind anywhere but on imagining using this intensely arousing new product on her.
Clenching my hands in tight fists, a massive dose of restraint coursed through my bloodstream as she waxed eloquent on the number of all-consuming, toe-curling, star-seeing climaxes she expected the LolaRing would serve up.
God, I was being tested so fucking hard today.
“So what do you think?” She shifted closer, her eyes wide and eager.
I breathed out roughly, considering my response before I opened my mouth.
The thing was, I, Nate Harper, had been wildly attracted to Casey Sullivan for years, but when I answered her, I wasn’t speaking from below the belt.
I was speaking from the brain. I was speaking as a businessman.
As someone who was on the receiving end of pitches all day long.
“You nailed it, Casey. I have no doubt that we’ll be celebrating at dinner later,” I said, since I’d already made a reservation at the hottest new fusion restaurant on Bourbon Street.
She flashed a big, bright smile, her eyes glittering with excitement.
“Here’s hoping we’ll be toasting to silk and dildos tonight,” she said, as she dipped a hand into her purse and reapplied her lipstick.
I had to look away then too. We pulled up to her destination in the Central Business District.
She grabbed the door handle, ready to head to her meeting. But she stopped and turned to look at me, a softness in her eyes. “By the way, thank you for doing this for me. The plane, the car, the room at your hotel…”
“It was nothing. I’m happy to help. I’ll make sure your suitcase gets to your room.”
She nudged my shoulder. “Guess what? I even remembered to bring my shampoo. No hotel shampoo needed this time. Though I’m sure yours is fabulous.”
I laughed. It was a running joke. She was particular about her ethically-sourced, cruelty-free shampoo, but always packed in a rush so she often forgot to bring it along.
Next time she forgot it, she’d be pleasantly surprised to discover ours was cruelty-free now too.
Minutes later, I walked across the cobblestone courtyard of The Luxe, lush with greenery and a fountain playing a lazy rhythm, then through the gilded revolving doors and into the marble lobby. Within seconds, my hotel manager rounded the corner and marched over to me.
“Good to see you again, Mr. Harper,” Daniel said.
The man had a homing beacon installed, but then, that’s what a good manager should do—zero in on the boss.
He’d done so nearly every time I had stepped through the front doors the last few days.
When I’d arrived earlier in the week, Daniel’s first words had been: “We weren’t expecting you till next week, but we’re always glad when you take the time to visit. ”
That was because I had rearranged my schedule so that my trip to visit my company’s recently-renovated French Quarter property intersected with Casey’s New Orleans venture.
I had no notions whatsoever of acting on my attraction; I’d learned to live with it and tamp it down.
I simply knew this potential deal was important to her so I wanted to make sure I did everything I could, from the private ride through the sky, to the room on the top floor.
She deserved it. I’d never met a harder worker than Casey, and if I could deliver a few perks for her, well, hell—that was why I was in the business of delivering perks.