Real Women Don't Wear Size 2
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2006 by Kelley St. John
Excerpt from
Good Girls Don’t
copyright © 2006 by Kelley St. John
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
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Cover design by Diane Luger and Tamaye Perry
Book design by Giorgetta Bell McRee
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First eBook Edition: September 2006
ISBN: 978-0-446-55392-6
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Contents
Clarise Robinson’s Checklist for Turning Thirty
1. Revamp wardrobe.
Why do conservative when you can do vixen?
2. Perfect my shimmy.
Letting go of inhibitions at the Gasparilla Festival calls for a bit of expert shaking of “the Robinson Treasures.”
3. Collect some beads.
They’re plastic? Who cares? Everybody wants them. And just look how many a good shimmy warrants!
4. Make a to-do list.
A private list. A personal list. A what-I’d-like-to-do-with-Ethan-if-I-only-had-the-nerve list.
5. Corporate bonding.
That’s what I’m here for, right? Bonding. Corporately. As in bonding, with Ethan. Uh-huh.
HOT PRAISE FOR
GOOD GIRLS DON’T
“A sexy read . . . Pure, fabulous fun!”
—
JULIE LETO
, author of
Dirty Little Secrets
“[A] fun tale . . . Hits the right G-note.”
—
HARRIET KLAUSNER
, TheBestReviews.com
“Wow! This is over the top, and all the fun of a sweet
Sex and the City
! Fans of sizzling romance will have a ride on cloud nine with this one.”
—
MAGGIE DAVIS
, author of
Hustle Sweet Love
“Kelley St. John’s sexy debut,
Good Girls Don’t
, delivers both heat and heart, making St. John an author to watch!”
—
JULIE KENNER
, author of
The Givenchy Code
and
Carpe Demon
“Original, fast-paced, sexy, and sassy . . . For all you chick-lit fans out there, heads up! There’s a new kid on the block, and she totally rocks.”
—RomanceDesigns.com
“One of the most entertaining romances I’ve read in a while. Kelley St. John brings her characters to life, and readers will find themselves immersed in the story from the first sentence on . . . This is one of those ‘Don’t Miss’ recommend[ations], guaranteed to leave readers wanting more.”
—LoveRomances.com
“
Good Girls Don’t
shines, and the novel has found a place on my ‘permanent keeper’ shelf. Kelley St. John will take the romance world by storm!”
—TheRomanceReadersConnection.com
“A very entertaining contemporary romance novel . . . a sexy and fun read.”
—MyShelf.com
“A super-sexy and super-funny charmer of a story . . . St. John takes the reader on a wheelie ride of emotion— from laugh-out-loud to that little choke in your throat, and then back to laughing. FOUR STARS!”
—BooksforaBuck.com
“Will be enjoyed by anyone who likes hot contemporaries.”
—RomanceReaderatHeart.com
“A PERFECT TEN! A story with fast-moving action, sincere emotions, and the longing for love that is in all of us . . . a dynamite first novel filled with passion, emotion, and laughs.
Good Girls Don’t
pulled out all the stops . . . so what else can I do but give it RRT’s Perfect 10 award? I know you will give it one too.”
—RomRevToday.com
“A must-have! Fun and sexy . . . I highly recommend!”
—JoyfullyReviewed.com
ALSO BY KELLEY ST. JOHN
Good Girls Don’t
To my phenomenal agent, Caren Johnson,
who cannot be considered a “Real Woman”
since she does wear size 2!
Thanks for all of the support, Caren.
This one is for you!
* Devi Pillai, my amazing and extremely insightful editor.
* Beth de Guzman, for saying she couldn’t skip
any
of the scenes in this book.
* Julie Leto, Roxanne St. Claire, Sharon Pinson and Barbara Ferrer for all things Gasparilla.
(While this book is a work of fiction, the Gasparilla Pirate Festival is an authentic celebration that takes place each year in Tampa. To learn more about this unique event, visit
www.gasparillapiratefest.com
.)
T
o holidays,” Ethan Eubanks said, lifting his Starbucks cup of espresso.
“To holidays,” Clarise Robinson agreed, then added, “and sales. Lots and lots of sales.” She picked up her peppermint mocha, complete with whipped cream and red sprinkles, and tapped it against his mug. Then she brought the cup to her mouth, laughed, then stuck her tongue in the center of the cream and captured every sprinkle.
“Amazing how you can be such an adult at the store all day, then completely lose every ounce of maturity with a single cup of coffee,” he said, smirking. His turquoise eyes surveyed her over the top of his cup, but the tiny crinkles at the corners told Clarise he thought her childish antic was cute. Fine. Let him see her as his cute best friend this afternoon; tonight, he was in for a surprise. A big surprise. She fought the urge to wince, hating when the word “big” slipped into her vocabulary, even if only in her mind. “Curvy”—that was the better word. Ethan was in for a curvy surprise. She smiled.
“Okay, what’s that for?” he asked, never failing to read her signals, even if he couldn’t read her mind.
“I’m just looking forward to the company Christmas party tonight. I still can’t believe you reserved the ballroom at the Civic Center. Nice move, boss.”
A triumphant grin spread into his cheeks. “Nice try, Robinson,” he countered. “That sneaky smile of yours has nothing to do with the Civic Center and everything to do with what you’re wearing to the party. Go on, admit it; you’re glad you bought the dress.”
She placed her cup on the table and narrowed her eyes. “That thing cost me a week’s commission,” she argued.
“Don’t go trying to pull that on me, Ms. Robinson. I’m betting you made enough to pay for that sexy number today, didn’t you? You forget I see you in action on a daily basis. Every other department head wonders how you’ve had top sales for the past three quarters, but you’re not fooling me. I’ve heard those women come in and ask for you by name, and I see your sales figures, remember? Moreover, I sign your checks. In truth, I’m beginning to think Eubanks Elegant Apparel can’t afford you.”
She laughed at that. “Right. Can’t afford to lose me, you mean. My commissions may be high, but my sales are higher, and face it, Ethan, you can’t live without me.” She lifted her cup again, took a big sip, and silently wondered if tonight he might actually believe the statement. Would he see her in the slinky red dress and suddenly visualize the woman beyond the top salesperson? Beyond the best friend? Would he see that the girl behaving childishly right now was actually a thirty-year-old female with needs as big as . . . well, as big as her boobs and her behind? Did he ever think of her that way?
She sipped the drink and lowered the cup. Problem was, the whipped cream still towering on the top of the liquid had ended up dotting the end of her nose and causing her best friend-slash-boss-slash-fantasy . . . to laugh.
Clarise whisked away the cream with her napkin, though if she’d been at home, she’d have captured it with her finger and popped the sweetness in her mouth. Unfortunately, she wasn’t home, and double unfortunately, she’d just let him catch her in another childish moment. Oh well, it was nearly Christmas. If she was going to behave like a kid, might as well do it at the right season.
“You’re cute, Clarise,” he said, and took another sip.
“I know,” she said, trying her best to sound cocky.
He laughed again then asked the obvious. “You do love the dress, don’t you?”
“With a passion,” she admitted. “I swear, when you told me to buy it, I thought you’d lost your mind. I mean, generally, a Ben di Lisi isn’t intended for a woman with my”—she paused, took a deep breath of air and forced a surge of confidence—“curves.”
“I’m not touching that remark since it’s bogus. Like you tell our customers at the store, beautiful garments are meant for beautiful women—of all sizes. And trust me; those curves were meant to be flaunted. The customers believe it; why can’t you follow your own advice?”
She sipped the spicy drink, let the warm fluid coat her throat while she rehearsed her answer in her mind before uttering the words aloud for Ethan, and whoever was close enough to their table at Starbucks, to hear. “I do play this up at work,” she said, then waved a hand down her abundant body. “I work with color, texture, accessories, to emphasize the parts that I want emphasized,” she said, and refused to finish with,
“and downplay the parts I don’t.”
However, she did add, “I just don’t generally wear something as—flamboyant—as that dress.”
“Exactly,” he said. “And I have no complaints whatsoever with the way you dress at the store, conservative, yet classy. Plus, your makeup is always flawless, and your perfected updo gives you the final touches for conveying sophisticated elegance, exactly the image we want to reflect at the store. Shoot, I can tell the women are merely buying all of the pieces so they can achieve your look.”
She beamed. “Thanks.”
“But,” he continued.
“But what?” she questioned, glaring at him. “Don’t ruin it now; you’re batting a thousand, and I’m feeling pretty good.”
One sandy brow lifted. “But you’re always covered from head to toe, and in all honesty, if you’re going to preach curve flaunting to our customers, you should actually flaunt some yourself, at least once a year.” He grinned sneakily, knowing he’d hit a nerve.
Clarise swallowed. “Oh, I have no problem flaunting curves. It just isn’t professional to go around showing a bunch of skin during business hours. Besides, it isn’t how much you show; it’s in the way you present yourself, with attitude and confidence.
That’s
what I tell our customers.”
“And the right clothes?” Ethan asked, naturally tying this conversation back to Eubanks Elegant Apparel.
“And the right clothes,” she agreed.
“Hey, I was pulling your chain, and it appears I did a damn good job,” he said, touching a finger to her cheek, which, Clarise could tell by the stinging, was obviously red.
“Look, they put out those cranberry bliss bars you love. I’ll go get us some.” He stood and walked toward the food counter, while Clarise watched him move. Lord, he looked good when he walked away. Then again, he looked good when he walked toward her too. Six-foot-plus of tall, sandy-haired, muscled male in a tailored suit and confidence galore was a mighty fine thing to see.
“Pulling my chain,” she said to herself. “I knew that.” But did he know that the reason it was so easy for him to pull her chain was because of how thoroughly he did pull her chain? As in, revving up her sexual awareness to a fever-high pitch without laying a single finger on her? And what was up with that, anyway? They were friends, plain and simple. So why did Ethan Eubanks find his way into each and every one of her sexual fantasies on a nightly basis? And how in the world could she keep up this friendship without his seeing that her mind, and occasionally her body, crossed over that invisible boundary that separated friends and, well, more than friends? Then again, if the red dress did the trick, maybe tonight, he would look at her in an entirely new light. An entirely new sexy, sassy and vivacious new light.
