Lucky 7 Bad Boys Contemporary Romance Boxed Set (59 page)

Unable to stop herself, she glanced at the bed and sighed. It was empty, but for the incredible memories.

“Sorry, what?” she asked her aunt, realizing she’d missed everything the woman had just said.

“I said that ten years ago, I’d be on board with your ideas, Natasha. I love your list of alternate accounts and all of your ideas on how to expand my options. But things are different now. I need an account like
Perfect Passion
.”

“But you stand to make a lot more money and have so many more options if you diversify your focus,” Natasha argued. And she’d never have to talk to creepy Ruf again. She wasn’t telling her aunt that, though. She was here to help the woman, not stress her out.

“I want something simple and easy, with the least amount of work possible,” Sharon said with a sigh that tore at Natasha’s heart. “I just don’t have the spunk to juggle it all anymore.”

“Don’t say that,” Natasha argued. “You’ve as much spunk as anyone.”

“Once upon a time, maybe. But we all run out eventually. To be honest, Tasha, I’m going to need whatever spunk I’ve got left to fight for my health. My life.” Sharon’s voice trailed off in a defeated sigh.

It was unlike Sharon to sound so down. Usually the woman was so upbeat, it grated on your nerves. She was everything Natasha wished she could be, only better. Sharon didn’t care what others thought. She’d thumbed her nose at the family wish for decorum.

What was going on? Natasha dropped to the bed as her stomach sank. “Aunt Sharon, has your prognosis changed? Are you okay?”

“No, no, sweetie,” Sharon reassured. “I’m fine. Nothing has changed. I just need to eliminate as much stress as I can, that’s all.”

“All right,” Natasha said slowly. Then why did Sharon sound so depressed? Was it money?

“You know—” Natasha offered slowly. “—if you wanted, I could keep helping out after I go back to work. Keep the books, do some more designing, that kind of thing. Actually, I have a lot of new ideas already.”

She glanced at the three notebooks she’d filled with sketches. Sure, some were too over the top for her aunt’s tastes, but Las Vegas seemed to inspire Natasha’s naughty side. Maybe if she was willing to shoulder some of the work, Aunt Sharon might eventually expand her collection to include a few racier lingerie designs.

“Honey, I know I asked a lot of you when I got sick. You jumped right in too. Took over designing, handled the store, even jumped in to work up that business plan for me. But I’m thinking it’s all too ambitious. It’s ludicrous to think I can keep my business and deal with this illness too.”

“Ludicrous?” Natasha squinted at the phone, her mind racing. “Aunt Sharon, have you been talking to my parents?”

“Susan called,” Sharon acknowledged.

“And what? Delivered a sermon?”

“She’s just concerned.”

Concerned, the Stover code word for disapproving.

God only knew the list of what was unacceptable in the Stover clan was so narrow, Natasha usually felt like she was walking a tightrope. But Aunt Sharon had never cared what others thought. Which was one of the reasons Natasha adored her.

“Susan might be a stuffy know-it-all, but she did have a couple of good points,” Sharon said. “I have to admit, I don’t know how can I keep healthy and deal with this business at the same time.”

The resignation in her tone made Natasha want to cry. Even after the MS diagnosis, her aunt had sounded optimistic. She’d been willing to fight to keep her dream, her company and her shop alive. That fight, that spunk, was gone.

“Is there anything else I can do?” Natasha wondered aloud. She felt so helpless.

“Well...”

“Yes? What do you need?” Anything, she almost promised. But before she could say anything, her aunt continued enthusiastically.

“Well, I had an idea the other day. It’s crazy, but it’d be the perfect solution.”

Perfect enough to keep her from having to see Rufus Randall in a strip club, waving dollar bills? Natasha was so ready.

“I was thinking about you. You’re wonderful at every aspect of the business. The design side, the sales side, even the business side.”

Natasha got a hard knot in her belly.

“You have vision,” her aunt continued. “So much so that I wonder if I was drawn to open the boutique simply to pave the way for you.”

“No,” Natasha protested a little too loudly. “This is your dream. I’m just helping you.”

“But if you were a partner, you could take care of the store, keep it going. You could handle these things for me,” Sharon said persuasively.

She could also be disowned and forever haunted by the ugliness of her parent’s reactions. Judged by her peers and fired from the engineering firm. Terror washed over her at the idea, even as a small part of her was screaming ‘Yes!’.

“Aunt Sharon...”

“I know, I know, it’s a crazy talk. Forget I asked. You just get that
Perfect Passion
account and everything will be fine.

Natasha wanted to cry. She wanted to apologize, to protest her own wimpiness.

But she couldn’t.

Instead she took a deep breath and put on her brightest voice.

“You just relax and focus on getting healthy. I’m sure everything will be fine.” And whatever wasn’t, she’d find a way to make it that way. She had no clue how, but she had to make sure her aunt’s business thrived. “It’s all going to work out. You just have to think positive.”

Natasha heard a deep sigh on the other end of the phone line. “Okay, honey. You’re right. I shouldn’t be so pessimistic. You’ll nail that
Perfect Passion
line and everything will be just fine.”

Natasha said her goodbyes and hung up the phone. Then she stared out the window, wondering how in the hell she was going snag the account her aunt was counting on so badly.

* * *

“So,” Ruf said the next evening as he rubbed his manicured hands together. “Anyone want to take a guess at where we’re going for tonight’s entertainment?”

Natasha looked at Ruf. Tonight, he wore an amethyst satin lapelled evening jacket which looked almost as silly as his Rhett Butler mustache. All evening, he’d been making calf-eyes at Audra. Natasha couldn’t hold back her sigh. She loved her aunt. She really, really did. And if hitting strip clubs and titty bars was what it took secure the other woman’s future, then fine. But, man, did she wish she were calling the shots here. If she was, she’d get out now and run.

“Hoover Dam?” she offered hopefully in response to Ruf’s question.

“Lake Mead?” Drew speculated in a monotone. Natasha knew he was just as frustrated with this little outing as she was. After all, he’d been doing his damnedest to get his sister to meet with some of the very accounts Natasha herself was lusting after. But he didn’t seem to have much influence over his business partner.

“Maybe a strip club,” Audra guessed, sounding as animated as Natasha heard yet. “I’ve been wanting to check one out, but some people have been total bores.”

“Now that would be a treat, wouldn’t it, L’il Darlin’?” Ruf said with a dirty little laugh. “And I’ve heard of a few clubs around here where the patrons can join in.”

Natasha cringed.

“Don’t tell me you have issues with nude bodies, Sweet Thing. You design that lingerie to cover it up, is that it?” Ruf asked. Then he turned to Audra, who sat on the seat next to him and patted her blood-red fishnet covered knee.

“If I had an issue with nude bodies, I’d hardly be in Vegas, now would I? After all, it seems that billboards like that are the norm here, hmm?” Natasha gestured out Ruf’s window so he had to let go of Audra’s knee to twist and see what she was referring to. A nude woman, covered only by a strategically placed logo, lounged on a bearskin rug, inviting people to experience a new line of skincare product.

“Besides,” Natasha continued when Ruf turned back to find Audra had shifted her knees toward the door, out of his reach, “Lingerie, if designed right, is made to complement the nude body, not hide it.”

“Interesting concept,” Audra said in that husky lisp of hers. The woman rarely spoke, so when she did, Natasha was always taken aback. Not by how sexy she sounded, but by the inklings of intelligence in her words. Natasha would think herself a snob, except that Audra really didn’t come across as being anywhere near intellectual. “What about people who argue that lingerie is just another layer of clothing?”

“I suppose it could be considered that,” Natasha agreed. Then, when Drew’s hand surreptitiously slid up the back of her jacket to trace a tiny design over the bare skin of her back, she swallowed and forced herself to focus on the conversation. “But in that case, I think it should be labeled underwear and not lingerie.”

“Semantics,” Audra said in a dismissive tone. “Do labels really make people feel safer?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not bad, just wussy. You know, like slapping a description on something, or someone, forces them into that tidy little box. Into something everyone can comprehend. And dismiss.” Audra’s sneer made it clear what she thought of labels.

“But even you’ve bought into it,” Natasha couldn’t resist pointing out. “You’re the epitome of a bad girl. Isn’t that a label?”

“No.” Audra denied with a shake of her head. “That’s your label for me. As long as I don’t own that label in my own mind, I won’t stagnate.”

“People don’t stop growing just because they’ve found their own definition of themselves,” Natasha protested.

“Really? What about the woman who finds a style, oh, let’s say something demure and ladylike. She picks her fashions to fit that style. Her mellow hairstyle, tame accessories. It all ties in together, right?”

Even though she knew there was a trap in there somewhere, Natasha slowly nodded.

“So that demure, ladylike style starts out as a fashion choice, but pretty soon it’s a car choice. You know, ‘cause it’s hard to ride a Hog in Chanel. Then it ends up being a job choice, a friend choice, all that. It leaks into everything. Before long, that label defines this chick so much, she hasn’t got a clue how to step outside it.”

Natasha’s back went up.

“Isn’t that a little deep for a discussion about lingerie?”

“Maybe. But you’re the one who started talking labels.” Audra shrugged and inspected her red fingernails before giving Natasha a long, inscrutable look. “Actually I did a paper on it in my psych class once. ‘Man’s helpless suppression of himself through the chains of descriptions’.”

And Natasha had spent her entire life struggling to fit the description put on her by her parents. Heck, the label she’d put on herself.

But Audra? The woman talked trash with the best of them, dressed like a stripper and appeared to be fascinated by psychology. The girl refused to be categorized. And that, Natasha supposed, was the real difference in bad and wanna–be bad. The real bad just didn’t care.

Ruf gave a hearty laugh, apparently oblivious to the undercurrents and rubbed his hands together. “Ladies, I have to tell ya, you are making my week. You have a way of taking any ole subject and turning it on its ear with your opposing opinions. I like that.”

Natasha didn’t. She felt like she was on an improvisational debate team, never quite sure when she’d be called on to take a stand on something she knew little about. And what the hell did any of this have to do with getting a manufacturing and distribution contract that would solidify
Sensual Supports
future and settle her aunt’s fears?

Not a damned thing. Which meant she should quit playing this game and stand up to Ruf, tell him if he wanted to discuss the contract with her, he knew where her booth was, but in the meantime, she had other things to do. Things that didn’t involve strip joints. This was just a waste of time.

She glanced at Drew. Well, not entirely a waste. Reconnecting with him had been a dream. The hot, sweaty moan-filled type dream. And she wasn’t ready to give that up yet.

But she didn’t need to keep playing Ruf’s games to continue her fling with Drew. If it wasn’t for her obligation to her aunt, she’d spend the rest of the week having incredible sex in his bed.

“So are we hitting a strip club or what?” Audra prodded. She grinned at Natasha’s grimace and asked, “What’s the matter? You don’t like strip joints? Do they make you uncomfortable?”

“I have no issue with sexuality, Audra,” Natasha said in a clipped tone. “But, contrary to what you apparently think, subtle sensuality can be much sexier than having some large breasted woman rubbing herself in your face. Compare the art of the belly dancing, the sensuality and promise in the moves, to watching some woman grind herself against a pole.”

“Sure. Sometimes. But other times, it’s that willingness to put yourself and your sexuality out there that is a lot more powerful. A hint of lace is just that, a hint. Like a tease. But a slinky dress, something that shows the goods, I think that’s sexy.”

Natasha fingered the bit of lace peeking out from beneath the hem of her skirt, then eyed the younger woman’s mesh and leather dress.