Weapons of Mass Seduction (10 page)

“Everything about you should be touchable. Your hair, your skin, and your attire should be inviting and be screaming to be caressed. Don't forget your manicure and pedicure, and in celebration do something different—maybe paint your nails, toes, and lips a flirty, come-hither red.

“What you wear is up to you, but make sure it's something comfortable and beautiful. Silk or cotton, risqué or demure, doesn't matter. Whatever turns you on will turn him on. Feeling positive about yourself determines how you give and receive pleasure from your mate. Your perceived body flaws and insecurities will evaporate as your partner responds to the sensually confident you.

“
RED HOT TIP
: To thine own self be true. At the core of a truly sensual woman is confidence in her authentic self. The evening you create should be driven first by your own comfort and enjoyment.

“Questions?”

Quiet all morning, Becca finally spoke. “I have one. What if it doesn't work?”

“In my experience, the one thing that will kill a red hot night every time is having too many expectations of yourself or your partner. Be flexible. Remember, one of the joys of living sensually is enjoying the moment and reveling in life as it comes. Plan your evening and then follow it wherever it takes you. Keep everything from your attitude to your menu light and flirty.

“One last thought. A red hot night is an amazing way to celebrate Valentine's or a birthday or anniversary, but what makes a night like this really hot is when it comes out of the blue for no reason other than to make your lover feel special.”

“You should do a workshop for men,” Tracy suggested, to unanimous agreement. “I'd love for my man to treat me to a red hot night.”

“Something to consider. Well, lovelies, you have your scheduled time for our one-on-one meetings. I'll see you there and then all of you again tonight at our closing dinner. Enjoy your afternoon.”

Chapter Twelve

“
W
hoa. This is hot. You should really be a fashion designer or stylist,” Becca said as she and Florence watched Pia turn two ordinary hotel-issue bedsheets into on-the-fly haute couture.

“You'd be surprised what jobs fall under the title ‘producer.' I've spent a lot of years being everything but talent on a music video set. Okay, let's add this brooch in the middle here, and voilà! Donatella Versace, eat your heart out.”

Pia stepped back to view her handiwork. In the span of forty minutes she'd outfitted herself and her teammates in the three most stunning togas to make an appearance since Cleopatra set her sights on Mark Antony. Flo looked fabulous in her backless halter; Becca, recovered from her hangover, was more than pleased with her one-shoulder mini; and Pia too was happy with her sexy strapless gown—all created from bedding—wrapped, twisted, and tied together.

“I still don't get why we're supposed to wear sheets to dinner,” Becca remarked as Pia adjusted the tie at her shoulder.

“Maybe we're supposed to represent Isis since the dinner is named after her,” Pia offered.

“Didn't you all see the note that came with the instructions?” Flo asked before reading the letter. “‘For thousands of years the Egyptian goddess Isis has been held up and honored as the essence of feminine energy. Tonight our Isis dinner is about honorin' the great enchantress in
you.
Your attire is not a costume but rather a reminder that what makes an amazin' seductress is not designer clothes or expensive jewelry but rather the joy and confidence she exudes from within.”

“She's got a point, and you have to admit, it is kind of fun,” Pia said. “I've never felt this sexy wearing a sheet—at least not in a vertical position.”

“Honey, after last night you'd feel sexy struttin' your stuff in venetian blinds,” Flo teased.

“What happened last night?” Becca asked.

“Let's just say that I'm a proud graduate of the WMS workshop and once again a fully functioning flirt. So much so, I blew off my one-on-one today and went shopping. I felt the need for a second personal icon.”

“So what new charm did you buy?” Flo asked.

“Well, it's not really a charm—more of an application.” Pia lifted her toga to reveal a diminutive tattoo on the small of her back—three curvy letters reminiscent of prime womanly parts—
WMS
. The entire tattoo was a mere inch long, but for Pia, its power of suggestion was immeasurable.

“I love that. But why didn't you put it where everyone can see it?” Becca asked.

“Because it's not for everyone to see.
I
can't even see it. I got it as a little push from behind—a reminder that the art of womanly wiles is as entertaining as it is empowering. I don't want to ever forget that about myself again.

“I think the important thing I learned this weekend is that instead of cutting away such a huge part of myself, all I need is balance. And to remind myself of that, I also bought this,” Pia said, flashing a new diamond right-hand ring.

“That's gorgeous, but how does that say balance?” Flo asked.

“It says balance because I say it does.” Pia laughed.

“Well, I wish I'd skipped my session with Joey and gone with you,” Becca said. “It was like getting a lecture from my mother.”

“Really? I enjoyed my talk with Joey,” Flo admitted. “I've learned a lot this weekend. She's really a smart cookie and a sexy ol' minx! Makes me feel like there's hope.”

“So what did she tell you?” Pia asked.

“Joey said that I was a secret sensualist—meanin' I'm not fully connected to my sensual side. She said women like me squelch our sensual expression and hide behind what's proper and safe.

“She could tell I was feelin' apprehensive about all this sensuality stuff—stuff Dan would think was downright foolish,” Flo continued. “She suggested that I try livin' in the moment and see if it brought me pleasure and expanded my view of life the way she knew it would. Then she said that if Dan couldn't accept this new part of me, then maybe it wasn't worth me acceptin' Dan—not if it meant rejectin' myself.”

“Again, a sage point.”

“Becca, darlin', I'm sorry. You had started tellin' us about your session and I just jumped in and interrupted.”

“It was nothing. We just went over all my tests and talked about what happened at the bar. Joey just kept going on and on about how sexy started on the inside and radiated outward, not the other way around—whatever that means.”

“Becca, I have to agree with Joey. Last night you were out of your league and, thanks to the alcohol, out of control.”

“I agree I shouldn't have drunk so much, and that won't happen again, but I know that when I walked into Suede nobody was interested in me. I even had a guy clean his teeth at the table, getting ready for his date with Julie. I think that says a lot.”

“I think it says that he's an asshole,” Pia countered.

“All I know is that once I changed, the guys paid a lot more attention.”

“Becca, darlin', I'm just gonna be blunt here and say it—sounds like they were payin' attention to your T and A, not Y-O-U—least, not the real you.”

“You sound like Joey.”

“Honey, I might be old like Joey, but you can't turn fifty-three without havin' picked up some sense along the way. I'm tellin' you, you've got what men want, so make 'em work for it.”

“You'll figure it out,” Pia said, giving Becca a warm, sisterly hug. “Just show more of the inside of Becca and less of the outside and you'll find the kind of guy you're looking for.”

“I can't believe we're all leaving in the morning. I'm going to miss you both,” Becca said, returning Pia's gesture with a tight hug of her own before repeating the same with Flo. “We're kind of like sisters now.”

“So let's promise to get together again and catch up,” Flo suggested.

“How about Columbus Day weekend? That's a little less than nine months away. Flo and Becca, do you think you can make it back east? New York is beautiful in October.”

“I'm there, darlin'.”

“Me too. I'll start saving as soon as I get back to Chicago.”

“Don't worry about that. I have more than enough frequent flyer miles to get you to New York, and you can both stay with me. It will be fun.”

“Okay, but let's promise to stay in touch in between,” Becca suggested, to everyone's agreement.

“Ladies, we need to skedaddle. I'm starvin', and for once I'm wearin' an outfit that I can really eat in.”

“Won't matter if Joey's just serving sexy finger foods again,” Becca added, her smile returning. “I'm dying for a big old sloppy cheeseburger. One thing I learned this weekend—eating sensually will certainly keep you skinny.”

“Wait, before we go, we need a picture together,” Pia decided.

Florence retrieved her ever-present digital camera and set the timer so they all could be in the photograph. The flash went off, and they were a frozen moment in time. Pia studied the picture in the little screen. Even in a miniature image, the difference between the first day they'd arrived and this point in time was clear. Gone were the unsure, sensually tentative women Joey Clements had encountered just a few days ago. Under her tutelage, the proliferation of weapons of mass seduction had increased threefold. She had done her job and unearthed the sensual women within. Left unclear, however, was what, if any, threat-reduction measures were available to the poor defenseless men they were about to explode upon.

Chapter Thirteen

“
P
ia, Grand Nelson is holding on line one,” Dee said stepping into Pia's office. She'd bypassed the usual intercom alert, knowing her boss was going to need a little friendly encouragement before picking up this call.

“Oh, shit. What if he says no? Then what?”

“Then you'll find a way to convince him otherwise. Come on,
chica
, you can do this. You've been back from San Francisco three weeks. You're a trained professional now. You're the Jamie Bond of seduction—Double-Oh-Seven with a license to thrill…”

“Enough already,” Pia said, giving Darlene a Can-you-get-any-cornier? look.

“Okay, how about this: Let's not forget that Grand Nelson has already seen you naked.”

“I was sunbathing. I had no idea he was around.”

“You were doing a lot more than sunbathing,
chica
.”

“I should never have told you. Anyway, a lot has changed,” Pia said, still blushing at the thought of Grand catching her literally with her pants down.

“Just remember all that phone flirting stuff you learned on the coast: You know, ‘Smile, because the other person can feel and hear the difference in your voice,'” Dee encouraged.

“What did you do, read the manual?”

“I may have glanced at it once or twice,” Dee admitted while nodding toward the phone.

Pia took a big You-can-do-this breath, plastered a huge smile on her face, and picked up the phone.

“Grand,” she said in a soft tone she hoped he would find enticing.

“Pia Jamison. This is a great surprise,” he said.

“I'm glad. It's nice to hear your voice.”

“Yours too. You sound almost as good as when you were calling me Fin,” he teased, referring to the name she'd called him during their marathon phone sex encounter.

“The Aruba shoot. That was a million years ago,” Pia said, wincing as warm humiliation crept through her body.

“Maybe, but that call…hell, that whole weekend is still in the top ten of my life's highlight reel,” he said.

Three years had gone by since the first time he'd laid eyes on Pia Jamison lying nude on the beach. She and their erotic time in the Caribbean was one fantastic fantasy he'd kept ready for instant replay over the years.

She looked over at Dee, who was shaking her head as she grabbed the Post-its and a pen from Pia's desk and furiously began scribbling notes.

FLIRT BACK!

“I confess, I think about that weekend from time to time myself,” Pia replied.

“Is that why you're calling?”

“I wanted to talk to you about doing some more directing for SunFire…”

PLEASURE, NOT BUSINESS,
with the word
pleasure
underlined several times, was the content of Dee's next note.

“…so I was wondering if we could get together and discuss the possibility of working together again. And to be perfectly honest, I'd like to see you,” Pia added, heeding Dee's advice and adding some sauciness to her tone.

“I'd love to see you too. Like you said, it's been a million years. When's good for you?”

“When's good for me?” Pia repeated. “How about…”

FEBRUARY 21–23,
read the note Darlene slid across the table.

“Either February twenty-first, twenty-second, or twenty-third would work for me,” Pia replied, reading off the dates she would be ovulating.

“I am tied up all three days,” Grand said, “but I could do the evening of the twenty-second. Would that be cool? Your husband won't mind?”

“No husband to mind, and the twenty-second is good,” Pia said, making a mental note to cancel her Birkam yoga class.

“Great. How about we meet at the bar of the Royalton Hotel? Eight o'clock?”

“Perfect,” Pia replied, giving Darlene the thumbs up and sending her across the desk to exchange a silent high-five. “Have a great weekend, and I'll see you in two weeks.”

Pia hung up the phone and clapped her hands. The Grand plan was in motion. She was both elated and petrified. The prey was in her sights, but did she have the guts to pull the trigger?

There was something about Pia's mission that made the unmarked door of the Royalton Hotel thoroughly appropriate. She entered and walked the long royal blue runway of a carpet, past the funky white chrome-legged chairs and sofas to the beat of the cranked-up techno lounge music, straight back to the bar and restaurant.

Pia perched on a stool at the far end of the bar to watch and wait. She'd purposely arrived fifteen minutes early to give herself time to settle down and prepare for the daunting task that was before her. Tonight felt like her last chance, and she didn't want to mess it up as she'd done in previous attempts.

“May I get you something?” the bartender asked.

Rehearsing for the main event, Pia threw a WMS eye smile on him, pleased by his return grin. “I'm sorry, your name is?”

“Steve.”

“Steve,” Pia purred, smiling and tilting her head. “I'd love a Bellini. In fact, make that two.” She needed her courage fortified.

“My pleasure.”

She turned away from the bar, crossing her shapely legs. As she perused the room, Pia was pleased to note that she'd caught the attention of several males, some with dates, others there to pick up someone else's. She was grateful for the appreciative stares and roving-eye appraisals. Pia smiled. If she could turn their heads, maybe there was hope for her with Grand.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks, Steve,” Pia said, lifting her glass and taking a sip. “Excellent,” she complimented before chugging down the first Bellini as if it were a shot of whiskey and starting on the second.

It boggled her mind that she was here in New York, waiting for the man who three years ago had been her mystery lover of sorts. Though they had never actually had sex, their stay in Aruba had been, bar none, one of the lustiest experiences in her life. Unbeknownst to her, Grand, there to direct the video, had happened upon her pleasuring herself on what she'd thought was an isolated stretch of private beach. Later that evening, he'd sent an anonymous note inviting her to be his fantasy lover. After a night of mind-blowing phone sex, they'd spent the remainder of the shoot in a sexual haze, enjoying both the pleasure and pain of a prolonged flirtation. But what went on in Aruba had stayed in Aruba, and after they returned to the States, the two lost touch. And now here she was, in full ovulation, waiting for this man to impregnate her without his knowledge.

Grand's professional attributes began parading through her head—intelligence, decisiveness, grace under fire, ambition, success. Immediately following behind were his outstanding physical traits—his five-ten frame, Boris Kodjoe looks, skin the perfect shade of mocha fudge, great hands and feet, and that impossible-to-resist, make-my-day, thousand-megawatt smile. Without a doubt, he was one of the sexiest, most sensual men she'd ever encountered in her forty-one years. He would make a beautiful baby, inside and out.

Pia's face broke out into a huge smile as Grand Nelson strolled through the door, drawing glances from all around. She sat unnoticed, checking him out as he looked around the bar. The boy still had
it
. Still lean, still bald and fine, and still strutting into the room like he owned it. It was impossible not to be both impressed and attracted.

The hostess motioned over to the bar and Grand approached, filling the room with his sunbeam grin. Pia, nerves settled by the champagne, returned his
I know a secret
beam with a welcoming smile of her own as she slipped off the bar stool and extended her right hand.

“Hey,” Grand said, probing with eyes that revealed his delight. “You are still as beautiful as you were when I peeped you on the beach in Aruba.”

“As are you,” Pia replied. It was all she could manage to spew from a mouth busy trying not to form kiss-me lips.

“Come here, you,” he insisted, taking Pia's outstretched hand and drawing her into a warm embrace. She stood there, her head resting against his hard chest, breathing in his heady cologne while experiencing the explosive inner mix of nerves, desire, and alcohol.

“Would you like something to drink?” Pia asked once they'd disengaged.

“Absolutely.”

“Steve, could you bring my friend a vodka on the rocks with a twist? And I'll have another Bellini.”

“You remembered,” Grand said, impressed by not only her memory but by her physical beauty. Pia was even more gorgeous than he'd recalled. She looked delicious in her simple and sophisticated black sheath dress and necklace with one pearl dangling from a long gold chain down her back. Her black pumps with the high-cut vamp and stiletto heel were the perfect showcase for her toned and shapely legs. Everything about her screamed sexy twist on classic beauty. And judging by the admiring looks of the males populating the hotel bar, including the besotted bartender, he wasn't alone in his thinking.

“Mr. Nelson,” Pia said, gripping her champagne flute with her thumb and forefinger and suggestively moving her other fingers up and down the stem, “there are a lot of things I remember about you.”

“Glad to hear that,” he said after gently clearing his throat. “I would hate to think I was reliving all those fantasies by myself.”

“Fantasy lovers can be quite stimulating, don't you agree?” Pia asked, reciting a line from the note he'd sent her in Aruba. At the same time, she crossed her legs, and held Grand's gaze while taking a long sip of her drink. As predicted, her action caused a flash of teeth across his face.

Grand stood in front of her at the bar and the two proceeded to catch up on each other's lives. They talked about their respective jobs and travels, laughing and commiserating together about the realities of their so-called glamorous careers. In between, she sought the answers to questions that were vital to her mission tonight.

Are you married or in a seriously committed relationship? No.
Apparently Grand Nelson and George Clooney had two things in common: a vow to remain forever single and a great love for the lake country in Italy. Finding out about the state of his health was a trickier proposition, and Pia drew that out in roundabout ways. As best she could tell, Grand exercised regularly, ate well, and was in general good health.

Pia continued the WMS SELL: smiling, making eye contact, listening closely, laughing, and lightly touching his arm when appropriate. Her actions had the desired effect, sparking and holding Grand's attention and piquing his curiosity. The sexual tension that existed between them in Aruba was still very evident, and with each passing minute and certainly every consumed beverage it became more and more prominent, eventually crowding out any semblance of a platonic evening.

“Why don't we go over to the round bar? It's a bit more private,” Pia suggested, referring to a small, secluded bar area tucked in a quiet corner of the lobby. Grand helped Pia off her stool and followed her back down the blue runner to a sexy circular room, flickering with candlelight and, as luck would have it, still undiscovered by tonight's crowd.

Pia sat on the built-in leather banquette while Grand sat across from her on a leather cube. She leaned her head against the curved tufted-leather wall, flirting with Grand in silence. As she'd learned from Joey, she talked to him through her eyes and facial expressions, making it clear that she found him just as attractive today as she had three years ago and that if he was willing she wanted to finally end the celibate state she'd existed in all these years.

Grand moved from his cube and joined Pia on the bench. “Nice necklace,” he said, fingering the pearls around her neck and leaning in for closer inspection.

“Thank you for noticing.”

“Have you eaten dinner?” he asked.

“No, and come to think of it, I'm starving. No. Make that
ravenous,
” she said before biting her lower lip, something she tended to do when she was feeling deliciously off-balance. The champagne cocktails were doing their job, lowering her inhibitions and fueling her bravado.

“I'll have them bring over the bar menu,” he said, raising his hand to signal the waitress.

“Wait. I have a better idea,” Pia said, reaching for his hand and lowering it into his lap. She gazed deep into Grand's sweet brown eyes, making it clear that food was actually nowhere on her mind. “Room service.”

For the first time all evening, Pia saw some of Grand's studly cool melt. A flash of disbelief and uncertainty crossed his face. It didn't last long, but it was enough to leave Pia feeling uncharacteristically bold.

Close enough to see the gold glint in his brown eyes, Pia reached up and caressed his lips with her fingertips. “Do you know how many times I've fantasized about your lips?” she asked him. “All that talk in Aruba and I can't believe we never kissed.”