The Hot Line (9 page)

C
lipboard tucked under her arm, Jenna crinkled her brow in concentration and cataloged all the sexy undergarments taking over Cassie’s living room. A few days previous, Cassie had asked Jenna to host a lingerie party for all her friends, some of whom just happened to be major players in the fashion industry, and Jenna had been working double time to make things perfect. If things went according to plan, and Cassie’s friends were impressed with her latest designs, it could lead to many new and profitable contacts.

Of course, what Nick and Cassie hadn’t expected was that every time they entered their living room they’d be bombarded with thongs and negligees. Not that Nick seemed too despondent over that, Jenna mused.

She could hear Cassie in the kitchen trying to usher sexy firefighter Dean Beckman out the back door before the guests arrived at the front. Jenna sighed in relief, thankful Dean wouldn’t be around to catch the sexy show.

The last thing Jenna wanted was Dean in close proximity while she showed off her new Siren line. The man turned her into a jittery starstruck teenager and caused her skin to flush with heat and desire without him even trying. Not only were her reactions to his nearness embarrassing at best, but she was certain all her friends had caught her lusting after him a time or two. Who could blame her, though? The guy had a body that would put any male model to shame.

Suddenly, the provocative mental image of a hard-bodied Dean Beckman strutting his stuff in a pair of bun-hugging boxers from her male catalog rushed through her mind.

Jenna let her thoughts wander, picturing a naked Dean standing before her, tall, hard, lethal, and hers for the taking. Her mind raced, as she visualized herself in a barely there teddy from her bestselling collection, and Dean slowly lowering the straps until the skimpy material slipped from her body and pooled at her feet.

Libidinous slut that she was, Jenna bit back a moan as she indulged in her fantasy a second longer—a fantasy that had been invading her thoughts, even in sleep, for the past week or so. Her hand went to her throat, her legs widened involuntarily. She pictured Dean sinking to his knees, his mouth going to her breast, the tip of his tongue making a slow pass over her engorged nipple while his hands slipped between her thighs, climbing higher and higher until he reached her passion-drenched pussy. With the utmost expertise, he’d dip his head, inch open her swollen pink lips, and stroke her with the soft blade of his tongue the way she’d always longed to be stroked….

Oh, my!

As lust rose to the surface and clamored for attention, Jenna swallowed. Hard. If only she had the nerve to live out one of her nightly fantasies with the sexy firefighter from Station 419.

Trying diligently to shake off a burst of heat that suddenly prowled through her, Jenna worked to rein in her lust and gave herself a reality check.

Of course, she couldn’t expect Dean to be different from any other guy she’d slept with. The few men she’d slipped between the sheets with cared only about their own needs, their own pleasures. As long as they were inserting object A into slot B, they were happy. No man had ever had the burning desire to take charge of her pleasures, or to drop to his knees and lavish her with undivided attention until she quaked and climaxed in euphoria. Heck, just because she wanted to engage in sex with the lights off didn’t mean she wasn’t interested in an earth-shattering orgasm, too. She was, after all, a woman with needs.

And fantasies…

Blocking all thoughts of men, one in particular, Jenna turned her attention back to the task at hand. She had to ensure the display was arranged perfectly before she unveiled her latest designs.

As Jenna took stock of her new line of red-hot lingerie, she made one final adjustment to the Siren display, making sure each piece in the arrangement was visually as well as aesthetically pleasing to her clientele. Once she was finished, she stood back and smiled.

There, that was better.

“Are you still at it?” Megan asked, sticking her head around the corner.

Jenna steepled her index fingers and tapped them on her lips, continuing her examination. “I just want everything to be perfect before the show begins.”

“Stop fussing. Everything
is
perfect,” Megan said. With Cassie’s black cat, Misty, curling around her feet, Megan stepped farther into the room and glanced at the sexy assortment of lingerie, all arranged by color, style, and line. Under her breath she whispered, “Can you say ‘obsessive’?”

Jenna swatted her. “Hey, I heard that.”

Megan made a face. Her cute little nose crinkled. “At least it’s better than what Sara is calling you from the kitchen.”

Jenna folded her arms across her chest, angled her head, and humored her friend. “Let me guess: anal, extreme, fanatical, stubborn, obstinate…”

O-kay
…Megan could stop her anytime now.

Blue eyes sparkling, Megan chuckled and tucked a short blond curl behind her ear. “Yeah, that, and that you need to get laid.”

Jenna rolled her eyes heavenward. “I do not need to get laid.” Okay, okay, so maybe she
did
need to get laid. Otherwise why would she be drooling like a teething toddler whenever Dean breached her personal space? Heck, who was she kidding? He didn’t even have to be in the same room. Just thinking about him had her hormones dancing to the Macarena. Unfortunately, her libido would have to wait. Right now she had a show to think about.

Jenna turned her thoughts to the night ahead. She knew the purpose of the impending event was twofold. One, it was Cassie’s way of helping her build clientele and securing new contacts before she expanded her business, and two, Cassie was in search of the perfect negligee for her wedding night, which happened to be a little over a week away.

Jenna glanced at her watch and frowned. Panic mushroomed inside her.

Megan furrowed her brow, concern evident in her big blue eyes. “What is it?”

“I’m just wondering what’s keeping Kate.”

“Kate?”

“You know, Kate Saunders, Cassie’s friend, the model.”

Megan nodded. “Oh, right, I remember. The chicky who clung to Dean like dandruff a couple of nights ago down at the Hose.”

Tamping down a sudden burst of jealousy, Jenna sauntered to the big bay window and peered out. “What could be keeping her?” she murmured under her breath, twisting back around to face Megan.

“Stop biting your lip and relax. She’ll be here,” Megan assured her.

“She’s over an hour late and the guests are due to arrive any minute. I still have to size and fit her body with the line and style that will best accentuate her shape.”

Always one to say the first thing that popped into her head, Megan said, “What shape?” She gave an unladylike snort and waved a dismissive hand. “She’s a model. She has no shape. And I really don’t know why you had to hire someone in the first place.”

Since her friends were always trying to get her to overcome her insecurities, Jenna gave her usual spiel. “An artistic display is far more inspiring, and since my clothes aren’t going to strut around the room by themselves, I needed to hire a model.”

Megan scoffed. “Smart-ass.” She picked up a sexy red thong, walked to the full-length mirror, and held it to her hips. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. Why don’t you just model the line yourself?” Megan turned sideways, checking herself from all angles. “With all your curves, you have a better body for modeling lingerie than those celery sticks you hire anyway.”

Just then the door bell chimed and a noise inside the kitchen gained Jenna’s attention. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She shot Megan a smile, thankful that she didn’t have to rehash their same old argument. How many times did she have to tell her friends that parading her scantily clad body in front of other men and women ranked right up there with injecting herself with the Ebola virus? Heck, who was she kidding? She would choose the Ebola hands down.

Unlike her sexy, athletic friend, Megan, who was confident enough to take a strength training–pole dancing class with a group of other women, Jenna preferred to keep things low-key.

Jenna knew that for all appearances she was a bold, confident business woman. One who’d taken her small town in Iowa by storm when she designed her own clothes and opened her first boutique. Unfortunately, even though she’d shed weight, lost the braces, and discovered contacts, on the inside she was still that chubby little girl who hid behind baggy shirts and droopy drawers. The nickname the boys had given her back in grade school, the same name that had followed her through high school, rushed through her mind. Instead of Jenna Powers, they’d called her “Jenna Bow Wow-ers.” It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out what “bow wow” stood for.

As Jenna made her way into the kitchen, she walked past the floor-length mirror and shot herself a glance. She tossed her long chestnut hair over her shoulders and narrowed her green eyes for a closer inspection. Tonight she’d abandoned her loose-fitting casual clothes and opted for a formfitting business suit, because she wanted to project a professional image. Some might see a tall, curvaceous woman, one with confidence and style, but Jenna saw something entirely different. She could never dispel the image that had been ingrained into her over the years. And at twenty-nine years of age, she assumed nothing or no one could ever change that.

She stepped into the kitchen and scanned the room, noting that Dean was nowhere to be found. She also noted that he’d left behind his unique signature scent—one that turned her knees to pudding and made her feel all hot and bothered inside. She inhaled, letting it curl through her bloodstream, letting it arouse her libido.

Before she did something stupid, like moan, Jenna turned her attention to the waiflike model leaning against the kitchen counter, Cassie by her side, a concerned look on her face. Jenna glanced at how the girl was clutching her stomach and stopped dead in her tracks. Oh, no! This was not good. Not good at all.

“Are you okay?” Jenna asked, stepping close enough to press her palm to the woman’s forehead.

“I’m Kate,” she said, thrusting a wobbly hand out. “Kate Saunders. Sorry I’m late. I’m not usually late,” she rushed on, her glossy eyes unsteady, and her face growing whiter and pastier by the second.

“Kate, you don’t look so good.”

“I went to a dinner party last evening and I think I might have eaten something that didn’t agree with me.” Kate swallowed and glanced around the room, panic apparent in her expression. “Um, Cassie, can you help me to the bathroom?”

Cassie set her glass of wine on the table and grabbed Kate by the elbow. “Let’s go.” A few seconds later, Jenna cringed as the sounds of one very sick Kate reached her ears.

“I guess that settles it then,” Megan said, plunking herself into a chair next to Sara, who had a wide grin on her face despite the wretched sounds coming from the bathroom. Of course, Sara hadn’t stopped smiling since she’d begun living out her fantasies with Mitch Adams a few days previous.

Jenna’s gaze went from Sara to Megan. “Settles what?”

Megan rolled a shoulder. “You’re going to have to model the line yourself after all.”

Dread washed through Jenna. She narrowed her gaze. “Are you insane?”

“Nope, just a carrier,” Megan said, chuckling. She poured a glass of wine and held it out to Jenna. “I don’t think you have a choice. Guests will be arriving any minute and there is no time to call in another model.”

Jenna accepted the glass, took a much-needed sip, and with a casual nonchalance that she didn’t feel, said, “Forget it. I’ll just showcase the pieces from the racks.”

Megan wagged her finger. “What was that you said earlier, something about an artistic display being more inspiring? Look at it this way, Jenna. If the owner/designer won’t wear her own line of clothes, why should they? Are you going to risk your new line flopping because you don’t want to put that gorgeous body of yours in a negligee?”

As much as Jenna hated to admit it, Megan was right. Proper presentation was essential for full effect. And if she wanted to ensure contacts and create a buzz in the industry before she officially launched…

Jenna suddenly had a lightbulb moment. “Why don’t you do it for me, Megan? You get to keep the clothes you wear,” she said, adding incentive.

“Can’t. I’m on my period and I’m bloated.” Megan slunk down lower in her chair and rubbed her stomach for effect.

Jenna cast Sara a pleading look. “Sara?”

Sara threw her arms up in the air. “Wouldn’t you know it? I have my period, too. I’d like to help you out, Jenna, but I feel like a big cow.” She puffed out her cheeks and mimicked Megan’s actions. “Plus, I really think you’re the best candidate for the job.”

Jenna folded her arms and thinned her lips, casting her friends a sharp glance. All those Nancy Drew books she’d read as a child only added to her suspicious nature. She took a moment to connect the dots. (A) a sick model. (B) both of her friends with their periods. And (C) both of them insisting she model the line herself.

Not that they were responsible for Kate’s sudden bout of food poisoning, but still…

“What are you two up to?”

“Nothing,” they said in unison. “Nothing at all.”

Megan hopped up. “Come on, Jenna. I’ll help you get dressed.”

“And I’ll read the cue cards while you model the lingerie,” Sara piped in cheerily.

Before Jenna could protest, Megan dragged her into the living room. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

Fun?

Skating at Rockefeller Center on New Year’s Eve was fun. Swimming with the dolphins at Sea World was fun. Reaching an earth-shattering orgasm with a drop-dead-gorgeous firefighter was fun, not that Jenna knew firsthand, but she could only imagine. But this…this modeling stint, not so much fun. Heck, getting struck down by a bolt of lightning actually sounded a hell of a lot more fun to her.

“How about these?” Megan asked, twirling a provocative pair of panties around her finger.

Jenna held her hands up, palms out. “Megan, I don’t know about this.”

“Come on, Jenna. Just picture the audience naked. It will relax you.”