Tarzan & Janine (2 page)

“I could have sworn she was a man,” Tanner muttered. A sick feeling filled his stomach. His father was right.

Tossing the paper back in the pile on his desk, his father leaned forward. “Truth is, son, you’re a marshmallow with the women.”

“And that’s a crime?” Tanner knew the answer before the words left his lips.

“In the used car business, it is. We’re not a charity organization.” His father leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The word is out. You sold three cars to three generations of Smithson women. And they’ll all be tellin’ their friends.”

“That could be a good thing.”
C’mon, Tanner, spin this in your favor
. “Return customers and word-of-mouth advertising is bound to be good for business.”

“Won’t do the dealership a darn bit of good, if they’re all comin’ to you, son.” His father shook his head, his lips tightening. “Face facts—as soon as a female feeds you a sob story, you’re silly putty in her hands.”

Tanner hung his head, knowing every word his father spoke was true. He was a soft touch where women were concerned. That wily Smithson grandmother had him pegged the moment they’d met.

For just a moment, he’d held her hand, feeling the parchment-thin skin and smelling the lilac fragrance she’d doused herself in. He hadn’t been able to bear the thought of the elderly pensioner making high payments for the vehicle she had her heart set on. Hell, Tanner didn’t need the commission. He could subsidize every one of their customers if the action didn’t leave a paper trail back to his investment portfolio.

“I have no complaints about your sales volume. You need to work on your profit margin if you want to prove you have the fire in your belly for this business.”

Right now, the only fire Tanner felt in his belly was the ulcer he’d earned. Despite the promise he’d made to his mother, he still resisted committing the rest of his life to Peschke Motors.

“You’ve got three months. Make those months count. And, son, decide what you’re gonna do with your life.” His father had leaned his forearms on the desk to deliver the final warning. “Don’t straddle that fence—all you’ll get is bruised balls.”

At two o’clock that same afternoon, Tanner was feeling pretty bruised all right. Standing in line at the concierge’s desk in the hotel lobby, his stomach still roiled at his father’s words. Even knowing he had the support of his best buddies wasn’t helping.

Barbara Stockton of Barbara Stockton’s Beauty Secrets, or BS-Squared as he thought of her, had requested him specifically for this deal, and that he come to her. Tanner hoped like hell she wasn’t Aggie Smithson’s friend. This was his chance to make the deal of a lifetime. A chance to redeem himself for all the missed opportunities—if he could keep a hard-core business mind and not be swayed by a woman’s woes.

“I’m here to meet with Barbara Stockton. Could you tell me what room she’s in?” he asked the busy concierge.

“I’ll have to call her room first to verify the appointment. Could you wait just a moment, sir?”

“Sure, I’ll wait over there.” Tanner pointed toward a potted plant set next to an entryway.

Women moved in surges, ebbing and flowing from the ballroom. Feeling out of place and outnumbered, he swam with the current until he reached the plant. He almost grabbed hold to keep from being swept into the sea of estrogen. More than once, he could swear he felt the soft pat of a hand on his ass.

Tanner stared into the ballroom from his anchoring tree, feeling incongruous as the only male for as far as his eyes could see. The large expanse was partitioned into dozens of booths where women demonstrated various beauty products. Hands in his pockets, Tanner forced himself to relax. He leaned against the doorframe and heaved a sigh.

Why were women his greatest weakness? What about them made him such a pushover? Every last one of them—be they homely or gorgeous, elderly or eligible—left him feeling like he had to protect them, take care of them, and ease their worries. Why did they have that affect on him, and how could he armor himself against it to pull off this deal?

He had a knack for bringing in the customers. Perhaps he should stick to publicity and marketing and let someone else handle the sales. He certainly wasn’t helping the dealership if he gave away cars. And Peschke Motors had been a part of the Peschke family for three generations. The place meant a lot to his father, therefore, the business meant a lot to Tanner.

How could he make his father proud and keep the business going? Ideas raced through his head, none seemed substantial enough to impress his father.

“Please notice when Rafael applies the Miracle Hairspray, it goes on evenly, without spitting or clogging.”

Tanner heard her before he saw her. Though soft and breathy, the voice carried over the steady hum of hundreds of feminine conversations. And that voice made every hair on his body stand up and cry
halleluiah
.

Because he stood a good foot above the tallest, he didn’t have to crane his neck to see over the heads of the women gathered.

A beauty perched on a stool with a mini-microphone attached to the low-cut lapel of her suit jacket.

“Holy hell,” Tanner breathed.

When the spraying stopped, the woman climbed gracefully from the high stool and shook her hair back from her shoulders. “See? Every hair remains in place with a springy, natural hold.”

Tanner’s gaze remained riveted—but not only to her hair. Her entire package captivated him from the top of her golden blonde coif to the tips of her bright pink, Barbie-style stilettos. Every curve and feature in perfect proportion, her beauty was reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe. And that musical, breathy voice made his pulse flutter and his mouth dry. Tanner’s blood raced from his heart to his extremities—one in particular.

The cotton-candy pink suit that would have looked feminine but professional on any other woman, clung lovingly to her generous curves. The skirt ended just above her knees—round, pink kissable knees. The three-inch stilettos emphasized delicate ankles and well-defined calves. But just her physical perfection wasn’t what drew him, she dripped sweetness.

Tanner gulped and forced himself to look beyond the woman to the enraptured crowd gathering around her. With her voice, beauty and natural talent, she could sell beachfront property in Arizona.
Or...

A Cadillac of an idea slipped into Tanner’s mind and gunned all eight cylinders.

This gifted, eloquent and drop-dead-gorgeous woman could be the answer to all his prayers. But who was she?

Tanner stepped forward, but pressure on his arm stopped him, and he looked to the source.

“Excuse me, sir.” The concierge stood at his elbow, drawing his attention from his salvation. “Ms. Stockton will see you now in the Double Diamond suite. It’s on the forty-sixth floor—the first door on your right when you exit the elevator.”

“Thank you very much.” Tanner turned to treat himself to one last glimpse of the curvaceous blond in the pink suit. “I’ll talk with you later,” he whispered before heading for the elevator and the dreaded meeting with BS-Squared.

The trip to the forty-sixth floor took only three minutes. Not much time to compose his scattered thoughts. Thankfully, the fifty-something-year-old Ms. Stockton couldn’t possibly hold as much appeal as the breathy blonde who waited below. And she wasn’t old enough to play to his soft side, like the infamous Aggie Smithson.

Tanner rapped lightly against the door bearing the shiny brass nameplate with ”Double Diamond Suite” engraved in bold letters.

When the door opened, he turned up his smile full force. “Hello, I’m Tanner Peschke, you must be...” Tanner’s voice faded and his smile slipped.

“Barbara Stockton,” she finished for him. “Won’t you come in?” Turning, she stepped aside and waved a hand with a flourish, indicating the way.

He gulped, and his heart sank to his knees. “I’m doomed.”

“Pardon me, did you say something, Tanner? You don’t mind my calling you Tanner, do you?” Barbara Stockton’s throaty voice purred. She eyed him with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smile.

“I said, nice room.” Edging past her, he entered the lioness’s den.

For a woman in her fifties, Barbara Stockton was very well preserved. Her shoulder-length, dark brown hair curled artistically around her face and glinted with beautifully engineered red and gold highlights. She wore a full-length wrap made of a filmy leopard print. Beneath it, she sported a black sports-bra and figure-hugging leopard-print leggings. And if that wasn’t enough, the black thong worn over the leggings was the clincher.

Tanner frowned. This was no Aggie Smithson. Barbara Stockton was a very astute businesswoman, a lion in the jungle of gone-by-the-wayside beauty products distributors. What did he have to fear? She didn’t inspire him to one iota of protectiveness. If anything, he felt like raw meat being dangled to entice her ravenous appetite.

Pushing back his shoulders, he stood tall, schooling his face into that of a professional businessman. Tanner was sure even a seasoned negotiator like his dad would have difficulty with this feline. With a raised eyebrow, he said in his smoothest voice, “I’ll wait by the window while you get dressed.”

He could handle this. Barbara’s beauty didn’t appeal to him. But the blonde downstairs did, and he couldn’t wait to return to the ballroom to propose his idea for the dealership.

“Daahhling, you seem awfully tense.” Barbara’s voice tickled the back of Tanner’s ear as her fingers dug into the taut muscles at the base of his neck. “
Relaaaxxxx
.”

Tanner inhaled deeply, but it didn’t work. How could a man relax when a cat had her claws in him?

“It’s awfully warm in here, don’t you think? I just finished working out.” She slipped the filmy wrap from her sleek, well-toned shoulders and the garment cascaded to the floor in a careless heap. With a practiced turn, she walked toward a cabinet on the far wall. “Can I pour you a drink?”

Think blonde, think blonde
. His new mantra had the immediate effect of bringing to mind the pretty spokeswoman in the ballroom downstairs. Thinking of the two women, Tanner realized no comparison existed.

Granted, Barbara Stockton was incredibly hot, but she didn’t have the same impact. Her moves were too predatory, too calculated. A feral cougar, he could resist.

“Yes, I’d like a drink.” Tanner eased his mouth into a genuine smile, feeling more confident by the moment.

“What’s your poison?” she asked with a little flirty glance from beneath her brown eyelashes.

“Whiskey.” He smiled wider, confidence restored, a feeling of invulnerability spiking his blood.

With his ‘Marilyn’ firmly fixed in his mind, he spent the next two hours playing musical chairs among the sofas and loveseats in the suite, while negotiating the purchase of a fleet of cotton-candy pink company cars from the equally determined CEO.

By the end of the meeting, Tanner had won. He’d gotten BS-Squared’s handshake—and unsolicited kiss—on a contract that promised the dealership a tidy return once they’d repainted and sold the vehicles. The contract was a coup de grace, and he hadn’t had to compromise the company, or himself, to get it.

Exiting BS-Squared’s suite with a promise from her to visit the lot, Tanner allowed a little strut in his stride as he returned to the ballroom. He was determined to find “Marilyn”. During his time with BS-Squared, he’d begun to think of the blonde as his good luck charm. Somehow, he had to convince her to come to work for Peschke Motors.

Once inside the ballroom, he was disappointed when he didn’t see her at the Miracle Spray booth. After five minutes of scanning the multitude in the area, he finally spotted her on a raised dais, astride a mechanical bull.

She’d changed her clothing. Body-hugging denim and gray snakeskin boots were topped with a scoop-necked pale pink T-shirt that ended just above her silver belt buckle.

“As you can see, even a full two hours after applying Miracle Hairspray, my hairstyle is still in place.”

Tanner was fascinated. He hadn’t imagined the sexy, breathy voice. Nor had he exaggerated the impact of her voluptuous figure. She spoke with the confidence of an experienced actress and, even more intriguing and definitely arousing, she rode the mechanical bull like a pro.

With a hand gripping the rope tied around the torso of the beast, she held her other arm high in the air in true rodeo-rider fashion. Each rise and fall caused the woman’s breasts to lift and dip. That little space of skin between her tiny T-shirt and her belt played peek-a-boo with her audience.

God Bless America—and the inventor of the mechanical bull. Every red-white-and-blue blood cell in Tanner’s body rode south. Without thinking, he crossed the ballroom floor and climbed onto the dais. He had to talk to her now.

“Even a bucking bull can’t destroy the beauty and natural spring.” Janine Davis recited her scripted lines without fail. Maybe this wasn’t an Academy Award-winning performance, but she gave it her all anyway. Every acting job added a credit to her resume, putting her one step closer to realizing her dream.

“Ma’am, I don’t think the hairspray has anything to do with your beauty.”