Jamie Denton - Valentine Fantasy

JORDAN MCBRIDE HAD BEEN sure the impetuousness of youth was far behind him, until he stepped in to handle his younger brother’s booming business. Of all the stupid, idiotic things he’d done in his life, agreeing to temporarily run Fantasy for Hire until his brother, Austin, returned from his honeymoon and finalized the sale of the agency topped the list.

With a self-deprecating sigh of disgust, he examined the schedule spread over the scarred mahogany desk. Somehow he’d managed to double-book two of Austin’s employees for Valentine’s weekend. Although the lovers’ holiday was still a week away, his attempt to reschedule had failed. Both customers he’d spoken to had been adamant; if Fantasy for Hire couldn’t deliver the appropriate fantasy at the scheduled time, they’d be forced to look elsewhere.

“Great,” Jordan muttered before taking a sip from the steaming mug of coffee. He’d been at the helm for less than forty-eight hours and already Austin’s customers were threatening to jump ship. If things kept up at this rate, by the time Austin and his bride returned, Fantasy for Hire would be a distant memory.

The phone, which had been ringing nonstop all morning, jangled again. He set his coffee on the blotter, picked up the phone and took an order for a fantasy fireman to perform for the thirtieth birthday of a secretary during office hours. He bet the stuffy partners of the financial-district firm were going to be less than thrilled to have a woman’s fantasy come to life in their midst.

The front doorbell rang and he waved the visitor into the house without taking his attention from the order form. At least the financial-district fireman wasn’t needed for another three weeks, well after the Valentine’s Day rush. He still couldn’t believe how many couples married on the holiday for lovers. All fourteen of Austin’s employees were booked solid for bachelorette parties, and he still hadn’t found a solution to the double booking. One thing he knew for certain, he definitely would not be filling the void. Handling the office portion of his brother’s agency was one thing, but playing the role of male exotic dancer was out of the question. A man had to draw the line somewhere, and taking off his clothes for money was a pretty solid line as far as he was concerned.

He finished the call, assured the customer the fantasy fireman would arrive as scheduled, then leaned back in the worn leather chair. He dropped the pen on the desk and turned his attention to the woman who looked nothing like the UPS delivery man he’d expected to find. She stood with her back to him, admiring the Charles Fracé wildlife print he’d given to Austin for Christmas.

He admired her.

Legs. Sweet heaven, they were long, not to mention perfectly shaped. The kind of legs that made a man take notice. Black high-heeled pumps and sexy black nylons with seams running up the back didn’t hurt either. He followed the line with his eyes until it disappeared beneath the hem of her short black skirt, wondering if lacy elastic tops held them secure, or if she wore one of those sexy little garter belts with satin and bows. Black satin. With little bows the color of ripe, summer strawberries.

He cleared his throat, more to tighten the rein on his runaway imagination than to gain her attention. She turned around anyway, and gave him a smile capable of melting the polar ice caps.

“Hi,” she said in a soft, husky voice that set his imagination into overdrive again. Eyes the color of emeralds peered at him from beneath dusky lashes. A halo of russet curls framed a girl-next-door face complete with creamy complexion and a delicate dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She looked the type more comfortable in blue jeans and sneakers ready for a hike over a mountain trail, but he appreciated those sexy, black-seamed nylons just the same.

He stood and circled the desk. “Can I help you?”

Her smile wavered slightly and her gaze darted to the door. She took a deep breath, drawing his attention to the rise and fall of very full breasts beneath a teal silk blouse. “I have a fantasy.”

Yeah, so did he!

“Then you’ve come to the right place,” he said, forcing his mind on business instead of black satin and strawberries.

He indicated the metal folding chair, then waited until she was seated before returning to his own behind Austin’s old desk. What had once been the family dining room of his youth had been transformed into a makeshift office that served as the backbone of Fantasy for Hire, the agency his brother had begun a few years ago to help pay off school debts. A pair of old file cabinets that looked as if they’d been purchased at an army-surplus store replaced the antique china hutch that had belonged to his grandmother McBride. The oak dining table had been exchanged for a scarred mahogany desk, and the Tiffany lamp that had once hung from the ceiling had been replaced by a functional ceiling fan with overhead lighting. The no-frills office wasn’t exactly the type of place appropriate for receiving visitors or conducting business in person, but the agency wasn’t exactly the type to invite clientele into its office either.

“Wait a minute. Our address isn’t listed in the phone book. How’d you find us?” Nor was the address listed on the business cards the dancers passed out at the various parties and functions they attended. Considering the type of entertainment the agency provided, only their phone number was advertised in the book.

She offered him a sheepish grin while pushing a wayward curl behind her ear with a long tapered nail. “I have a friend with the phone company, and she checked out your agency for me.”

He didn’t like the idea that just anyone could obtain the address of an unlisted private residence. “What specifically can Fantasy for Hire do for you, Ms….”

“Sullivan. Cait Sullivan,” she said in a husky feminine voice that made him think of whispered words shared between lovers beneath a starry night sky.

He wrote her name on a form, then filled in the blanks with the Pacific Heights address she provided, along with her phone number. So much for her being the girl next door. Pacific Heights kept the daughters of San Francisco’s elite closeted from mingling with the rest of everyday society. Only a pedigree to rival royalty could breach the gated walls. No doubt Ms. Cookies-and-Cream, with her black-seamed stockings, was just bored and looking for a little excitement.

“Our prices are competitive. I don’t think you’ll find a better bargain in San Francisco to fulfill your needs. Why don’t you tell me your fantasy.”

She blushed prettily, just a slight coloring that turned her creamy cheeks a soft peach. Lord, she was adorable, and for the flash of an instant, he wished she wasn’t a potential client for his brother’s business or a part of San Francisco society. But a casual fling held little appeal, and he didn’t have the time to pursue his attraction to her in any serious way since he had a career to rebuild.

She set her purse on the floor beside her, then changed her mind and hauled the bag back into her lap. “I need a Valentine for my parents’ anniversary party next weekend,” she said, twisting the strap around her hand.

Jordan hated to disappoint her, but there was no way he could help her with a Valentine stripper. “This weekend? That’s impossible.”

“I can afford your—” she cleared her throat “—agency.”

“That’s not the problem,” he said. “I have no one available.” He stood, ready to show her to the door, but something in her voice stopped him.

“I really need your help,” she said, her eyes matching the plea of her words. “It’s my parents’ fortieth anniversary and my sisters, older brother and I are having this huge party for them. I need a date for the party.”