Mad About You (2 page)

That corset represented everything he wanted in a woman. Size-wise, yes. He liked his women bountiful. He was a big man and liked having something to hold on to. He always felt like he had to be careful with skinny women. He wanted a
woman
—someone who could hold her own with him.

More than that, though, he wanted someone who’d pull off wearing the corset with aplomb. A smart, bold, sexy woman who knew how to bring her man to his knees.
That
was who he wanted.

Like the goddess who stepped onto the makeshift runway and began strutting her stuff through the room.

“Hello,” he said under his breath, coming to attention. She walked like she owned the world, her round hips swaying with sassy attitude.

He loved that. And, hot damn, she was gorgeous. Sultry eyes and a mouth that begged to be loved. Her bouncy hair was long and trailed over her creamy shoulders. And her curves…

Delicious.

Quietly, still watching her, Bull snuck up next to Nicole and whispered, “Who’s that?”

“Joey?” Nicole asked, nodding at his goddess. “She lives in the neighborhood. She shops at Romantic Notions.”

He growled low and deep in his throat. “She looks like my size.”

“She is, actually.”

“I could tell.”

Smiling, Nicole patted his arm. “She’ll be around after the show.”

“I’m gonna make sure of it.” He kissed her cheek and went to wait for his moment.

When the last model strode out wearing white bridal lingerie, the entire room burst into applause.

This was his chance. He wove his way through the crowd to the spot where he’d seen her hanging out with the other models.

When he got there she was gone.

He looked around the café but didn’t spot her, but he noted a couple of the other women disappearing into the back area. She’d gone to change, most likely. He wasn’t about to lose the chance to ask her out, so he lounged against the wall in the back, waiting.

He
really
hated waiting.

He smiled at the woman who emerged from the back, trying to look innocuous, which was pretty much impossible for someone like him.

Finally, she came out, dressed like a librarian, in a skirt that hit her knees and a little jacket. Her hair was pulled back in one of those fancy twists women magically knew how to do. Even buttoned up the way she was, she was sexy, and he wanted her.

He pushed away from the wall.

Her beautiful eyes met his.

His heart seized. He touched his chest, hoping he wouldn’t keel over before he got one taste of her luscious lips.

Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat, catching himself before saying
I have a corset in my closet I’d like you to try on
. Even he knew that was creepy. It was a conversation for the next time. For now, he dazzled her with a wholehearted, “Hi.”

He mentally smacked his own head.
Hi?
That was the best he could do when he faced the woman of his dreams?

Joey smiled at him and said in a Southern accent, “Hello.”

Her honey voice melted him, but her polite smile made him want to grab her by the hair and kiss genuine emotion into her expression.

Somehow he managed to restrain himself. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Bull.”

She reluctantly shook his hand but let it go very quickly. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her tone insincere.

Leaning, he lowered his voice said, “This is where you tell me your name.”

“Joey,” she replied after a pause.

So she was going to be difficult, huh? Game on. “Your mom named you Joey?”

The fine skin of her forehead furrowed. “No, she named me Josephine Belle.”

“Josephine Belle,” he drawled, testing it on his tongue. It was mysterious and full of curves. Round on his tongue. Perfectly
her
. He hummed appreciatively.

Her eyes widened, and she took the smallest step back. “No one calls me that anymore, not since my mama died.”

“Even better.” He stepped forward. “What do you do for a living, Josephine Belle?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know whether you’re free to go out during the day or at night.”

“Neither,” she said firmly.

“You work all the time?”

“No.” Her adorable nose wrinkled. “You’re free to go out at any time?”

“My schedule is flexible.” It was a vague answer, but he didn’t want to get into his recent career quandary.

“Are you a consultant?” She looked him up and down like she couldn’t picture it.

Smart woman. He’d go postal if he had to sit at a desk all day. “I dabble. So tell me when you’ll go out with me.”

A wall in the form of a polite smile went up. “It’s sweet of you to ask,” she said in her steamy Southern voice, “but I’m not available.”

Was she taken? He lifted her left hand and looked at her ring finger. No ring, no tan line. Keeping her hand, he scowled at her. “You dating someone?”

“Well, no.” Blinking like it was a foreign concept, she retracted her hand.

He felt the slow slide of her palm against his like an intimate caress. He resisted the urge to throw her over his shoulder and carry her away. He doubted she’d appreciate that much enthusiasm so soon.

Instead he calmly said, “Then we can go to dinner. There’s a great French bistro in the Marina that serves the best pork chops—”

“No, thank you.”

Again with that polite, vague smile. He’d kiss it off her mouth if he didn’t think she’d smack him upside the head.

She must have sensed the direction his thoughts had taken, because her eyes widened and she stepped aside. “I need to go mingle. Excuse me.”

“I—”

“It was nice meeting you,” she lied as she quickly rejoined the party.

He watched her disappear into the crowd. He could follow her, but he knew she’d make a quick getaway.

He stuck his hands in his pockets. Well, that wasn’t exactly the way he wanted to start off with the woman he was going to spend the rest of his life with.

Chapter Three

His grandfather had always told him he’d know The One when he kissed her.

His grandfather was right.

Scott leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on the desk. He’d left the lights dimmed, sitting in the soothing shadows of his home office.

Only he wasn’t soothed, not with the lingering taste of Julie Miller’s kiss on his lips. He reached for his glass, the whiskey purely medicinal tonight, to calm himself. But no amount of whiskey was going to cure what ailed him: waiting till Monday to see Julie didn’t make him happy.

He wasn’t the sort of man who waited. Patience wasn’t one of his virtues: he identified what he wanted and then went for it.

He
definitely
wanted Julie.

Grandpa Davis would have nodded and said, “Whatchya waiting for then, boy?”

Scott grinned, holding up his glass high to the portrait across the room. “Here’s to you, Grandpa.”

He and his sister Alexis had their mother’s father to thank for being grounded. The Carrington-Wrights were an old San Francisco family, from back in the Gold Rush era. In the city, they were royalty, and when his mother had married into the family, she’d embraced all the excess that came with the name and money.

It would have been easy for his sister and him to grow up to be like the entitled and spoiled people they’d gone to school with, but Grandpa Davis always said the family money wasn’t their identity. It was a fail-safe and not something to rely on. The mark you made on the world was the measure of the person you were.

Somehow, he and his sister had managed to keep true to that. Scott had his venture capital company, and Alexis her fitness videos, which he’d helped launch. Scott went a step further, shortening his name to avoid riding on its prominence. He didn’t want to live as Prescott Carrington-Wright III. Prescott Carrington-Wright III sounded like a pompous ass.

Grandpa Davis had taught them integrity, and loyalty, and the value of love. “Love trumps all, Scotty-boy,” he used to say.

Scott sipped his whiskey, remembering how his grandfather used to sip whiskey as he told stories about him and Grandma Louise. How Davis had walked up to Louise and kissed her the first time he’d set eyes on her. How he’d always held her hand, right up to the very end when she’d passed away.

Scott wanted to be with someone whose hand he could hold, who’d hold his hand just as faithfully. Who saw him for who he was, and not what he was on paper.

Julie was it.

He used to question Davis about how he’d know. His grandpa had smiled and said he just would.

Grandpa Davis was right. The same way he knew when a company was a good investment, his gut told him Julie was, too.

“That’s a desk, darling, not a foot stool,” his mother said as she breezed in. She sat on the edge of said desk. “And it’s an heirloom.”

He smiled. His mother was the exact opposite of her father. Davis Roberts had had money, sure, but he’d kept a small house and lived modestly. Elise Roberts Carrington-Wright didn’t know the meaning of modest. She and his dad had been perfectly matched—and perfectly unhappy. But his mom had a quirky sense of humor and a good heart underneath the diamonds and pearls.

“I’m surprised to see you, Mom.” He stood to give her a kiss on her proffered cheek.

She cupped his face, the way she’d been doing for as far back as he could remember. “I could say the same. You’re the one who’s always gone. I’d hardly know you lived here.”

“It could be because the house is palatial,” he replied mildly. He and Alexis had moved back in after their dad had passed away two years ago. Their dad, in his traditional selfish way, had up and died in his mistress’ bed. Elise had been understandably upset, just as much from her husband’s death as the public embarrassment.

Moving back hadn’t been a problem. The house was so large he could have an orgy in one wing and his mother wouldn’t hear a peep of it. Not that he was into orgies. He was more of a one-woman kind of guy.

“You could hide yourself less when you’re home.” She looked around his office and wrinkled her nose. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to redo this room? After Alexis’s wedding, of course.”

His sister’s wedding was the current cause Elise was throwing herself into. “I like it the way it is.”

“It’s dark, like a man decorated it.”

“Since I’m a man, I guess that’s a good thing.”

She hummed, obviously not convinced.

“Did you just come down here to talk to me about furniture?”

“No.” She physically wilted. “I came to get a drink to help calm my nerves.”

“What’s wrong with your nerves?” he asked as he went to the wet bar to the side of the room.

“The wedding. You can’t imagine how difficult it is to organize an event for four hundred people.”

He wanted to point out that he was pretty sure Alexis hadn’t wanted that many guests, but he knew better. He just signed the checks and kept quiet.

“The florist had a hissy fit a couple days ago,” his mother continued, nodding as he handed her a glass of the sherry she liked. “Today she emailed me to say she wasn’t going to do the flowers for the wedding. Can you imagine the nerve? It’s only three weeks away. How am I going to find a florist to do the wedding in such a short period of time?”

He thought of Julie, but there was no way he was going to subject her to his mother—not to work for her, in any case. He didn’t want to kill the relationship before it’d even started. “I’m sure you’ll find someone, Mom. You always handle it.”

“I do, don’t I?” She gave him a direct look that never boded well for him. “About the wedding. Have you asked someone to be your date yet?”

“I’m working on it.” He was going to ask Julie, but even he had the sense to wait until after their first date—not because he was worried he wouldn’t like her, but because his chances of success would be much higher.

He pictured Julie in a dress short enough to show off her legs, with her hair down and her lips glossy. He hadn’t seen her legs, but he knew they’d be incredible. He was getting turned on thinking about her. So he stopped, because having dirty thoughts about his soon-to-be lover in front of his mom seemed plain wrong.

“Hmm.” She nodded and sipped her sherry daintily.

“What does that mean?” he asked suspiciously.

“Nothing, darling. Don’t stay up too late.” She flashed a Cheshire smile as she glided out of his office.

“Don’t even think about it, Mother,” he called after her.

She waved over her shoulder. “Good night, darling.”

He stared after her. He was better off not imagining what she was planning.

He took the card Julie gave him out of his pocket. It was after eleven—too late to call, but he couldn’t stop himself from sending her a text.
Thinking of you. —Scott

Two seconds later she called him. “You have nothing better to do on a Saturday night than think about a woman you just met?”

“I can only think of a better way of spending my night,” he said with a grin.

“I’m surprised it’s just one.”

“I didn’t want to scare you off.”

She chuckled softly. “You’re…”

“What?” he prompted, leaning back in his chair.

“Different,” she replied.

“Not the most enthusiastic endorsement, but I’ll take it.” He set his glass on the desk. “Are you home?”

“I’m at my shop. I’m working on a pet project.”

“At eleven o’clock on a Saturday night?”

“I don’t have time to work on it during the day, so I do it after hours. I didn’t mean to be here so late.” She sighed. “It’s not going well. I’m having trouble with the frame I’m building.”

“I can come over and help,” he offered.

“Are you an artist?”

“No, I’m a businessman, but I can be pretty motivating.”

“I’m sure you can be,” she said with a smile in her voice. “What sort of business?”

“I invest in business ventures. I back Nicole and her line.”

“That’s impressive.”

“It sounds more impressive than it is, but I like it. I help people successfully launch their dreams, and I make a nice living doing it. I can’t ask for more.” Except someone to share it with him.