“Is all this really necessary?” Becky eyed the extensive makeup palette spread across her kitchen counter. She should have known better than to ask for Roseanne’s help.
“Yes, it is.” Her friend rearranged the assortment of paints and creams, most of which Becky couldn’t identify. “Amy did a great job on your hair, and the dress we picked out is killer. All you need is a little makeup, and Ford Adams won’t know what hit him.”
Amy Kilgore, former classmate and present owner of Dippity Do, had done a fantastic job on Becky’s hair. The new layered cut made the most of her natural curls while framing her face in the best possible way. Thrilled with the outcome, she’d made an appointment for the following week to have her hair styled before the next show, too. “I don’t want to hit him. I just want him to notice me.” Becky closed her eyes while Roseanne smeared some kind of lotion stuff on her face.
“Trust me, he’s going to notice.” She put the cap back on the tube and tossed it aside. From another tube, she squirted a dot of pale liquid onto her fingertip. Brush in hand, she tilted Becky’s head back. “Hold still, will you? We’ve got to get this done, pour you into your dress, and get you there in time for the show.”
“Preaching to the choir.” Becky twitched her nose. “That tickles.”
“Shut up. Artist at work here.”
Aware of the minutes ticking by, she tried to remain calm, but the closer she came to actually carrying out her plan to bring Ford to his knees, the more she doubted she should. “Am I doing the right thing?”
“No doubts, girlfriend. The man deserves to be taken down a peg or two after the way he tricked you on last week’s show.”
When Roseanne came at her with another brush, Becky closed her eyes again. She didn’t know why it bothered her so much if Ford thought her uptight, but it did. And she’d made up her mind to change his opinion.
Becky closed her mouth while her friend drew a line beneath her lower lashes. As soon as her hand lifted, she asked, “What if he doesn’t notice?”
“He’s gonna notice. He’d have to be dead not to. Take my word for it. Lips open, honey.”
Becky parted her lips. While Roseanne worked her magic on them, Becky envisioned Ford’s face when he saw her. Maybe, for once, he’d see her as a woman, not just his business partner. What kind of relationship could he have with this Ronnie woman? Ford had been in Butte Plains for half a year, and she’d yet to make an appearance. If she had a guy as gorgeous and great as Ford, no way would she let him wander off on his own for months. Ford had never given Becky reason to believe his affections were up for grabs, but his actions didn’t speak of a commitment to his long-distance relationship. Besides, she had no intention of trying to steal Ford. He’d deliberately insulted her. Today’s makeover was payback.
“There. All done.” Becky grabbed the hand mirror Roseanne held out to her. “What do you think?”
“Oh, wow.” The woman staring back at her couldn’t be her.
“Like it?”
Becky turned her head from side to side, admiring the transformation from all angles. “You’re a genius, Roseanne. Where did you learn to do this?”
“Lonely hours spent watching YouTube videos.”
Becky set the mirror aside. “Business has been that bad?”
“My occupancy rate last year was less than 20 percent. Thank goodness I own the house outright. I’m only paying utilities and the small loan I took out to convert the property into a B&B. As long as I do all the cooking and cleaning myself, I can get by with renting the occasional room.”
“Then I won’t waste any more of my time feeling guilty about the length of time Scott spent here. I’m sure the extra money helped.”
“Sure did.” Roseanne got busy stashing everything back into the plastic shoebox she’d used as a travel case for today. “Is he coming back?”
Becky didn’t miss the wistful tone of her friend’s voice. Even though she complained about Scott’s overbearing ways, anyone who knew Roseanne well could see she’d fallen hard for the Yankee and had been devastated when he returned to New York. “Maybe. I’ll make sure he stays at The Yellow Rose if he does.”
“Thanks.” She secured the lid on the box. “Let’s get you into your dress and on your way. At least one of us should get what she wants.”
~~~
Ford tossed the script for the KeyP Me Safe Light show in the wastebasket without reading a single word. They’d tried going the scripted route, and it had been a dismal failure. He had no idea if Becky Jean had tried out the product, but he’d find out soon enough. Ever since their conversation earlier in the week, he’d been thinking about how to play it if it became clear she hadn’t tried it. He hadn’t tried it either, but he knew what the tiny little device could do, and he had plenty of experience with similar items. If necessary, he’d point out the unique features of their pocket vibrator then launch into a monologue about how much fun it had been to use it on B.J.
Becky Jean would be sure to turn varied shades of red, which the viewers would incorrectly interpret as embarrassment. They’d sell thousands of units, and no one would be the wiser except him. He’d be watching his back for the foreseeable future, but the sales would be worth sacrificing his safety.
“Hey, Justin,” he said, looking around their tiny studio. “I can see our co-host isn’t here yet.”
“We’ve got time. She called about an hour ago to say she’d gone home to change clothes for the show. I sure hope she doesn’t have any more suits like the one she had on last week.”
“I hear you,” Ford said as he adjusted his tie. “It worked out though.”
“Sure did. A few more weeks like the last one and I can pay off all my student loans.”
“That would be nice.” He propped his hip against the display table. “I know what you said when we hired you, about this being an opportunity to get in on the ground floor of something with real potential. And honestly? I thought you were nuts.”
“If we’d gone on the air last week the way B.— Ms. Parker wanted, we would have been sunk. The woman has vision, but she can’t act.”
Ford chuckled at the accurate description. “This whole thing was her idea, so yeah, she has vision. I think once she sees the public doesn’t want robots selling them sex toys, she’ll be onboard with this fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants style.”
“Are you saying you threw out this week’s script, too?”
“Yep.”
“Thank you, God.”
“You’re welcome, but just Ford will do.” He kept a straight face until Justin caught the joke and burst into laughter. They were both brushing tears from their eyes when the door opened and Becky Jean stepped inside.
No. Not Becky Jean. B.J. Parker walked through the door.
Her auburn hair hung in loose curls around her shoulders—the complete opposite of the tight bun she’d worn earlier. Her makeup was heavier than he’d seen her wear, but flawlessly done. Her eyes sparkled, and the shade of red on her lips matched the dress hugging each and every one of her generous curves. His rational mind knew the garment would pass the HR test for work-appropriate clothing, but damn, it had to be the most unconsciously sexy thing he’d ever seen. The clinging red number screamed look but don’t touch in a way that made his fingers itch to peel it off her.
Justin’s low, appreciative whistle snapped Ford out of his lustful haze.
“Sorry I’m late.” She tossed her purse on one of the conference room chairs lining the walls out of camera range. “My hair appointment ran late.”
“Damn, B.J.— I mean, Ms. Parker. You look—”
“Perfect,” Ford interrupted before the younger man said what both of them were thinking. “You aren’t late. We were just talking about the videotaping equipment you ordered.”
Justin gave him a puzzled look but took up the conversation. “In addition to taping during the day, we’ll be able to do several weeks’ worth of shows in a short period of time. As it stands, we only get one shot at doing it right, but once we start advance taping, we can edit out blunders.”
Ford joined Becky Jean on their designated spots.
“Jacket on or jacket off?” she asked.
Hell, he hadn’t even noticed the dress had a matching jacket. She dropped the short blazer off her shoulders to reveal the sleeveless dress beneath. His brain leapt into action, conjuring up images of all the ways he could assist her in removing the cover-up. “On. Leave it on.” For now.
“If you say so. I like the dress either way.” She shrugged the fabric over her shoulders then pulled her hair free from her collar and smiled at Justin. “I don’t think I’ll be as nervous when we can edit out mistakes. If I’d known how popular the show would be, I would have purchased the taping equipment in the beginning.”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about, Ms. Parker. A few mistakes make you human, and people relate to flaws.”
She laughed. “Well, they must, because we made plenty of mistakes last week. If we stick to the script tonight, it should go better.”
“About the script—”
“Did you try the product, Becky Jean?” She didn’t need to know he’d decided to ditch another carefully worded script in favor of pushing her buttons on live television. Nothing good could come of it, but good things did happen when she responded to him without artifice. Last week’s sales were proof enough.
“No, I did not,” she said. “I’ve used flashlights and key rings before.”
He raised an eyebrow at the one function of their product she’d left out. “Have you ever used a vibrator?”
Color bloomed on her cheeks. “I have a massager. Does that count?”
He had no business imagining the things popping into his head. “I suppose it does.” Lord, she’s going to be the death of me. He glanced at the clock—thirty seconds until air-time.
“On your spots,” Justin said. “Ford, a little closer to Ms. Parker.”
Ford moved closer. She always smelled good, but maybe because she’d been to the salon to get her hair done her scent seemed more tantalizing than ever. Every breath he took made him more aware of the Siren standing next to him. And like every wise sailor, he knew he needed to steer clear.
Justin held up five fingers. “On in five. Four. Three. Two. One.” He pointed his index finger at them.
“Good evening, folks. I’m K. Ford Adams, and this is my partner, B.J. Parker. Thanks for tuning in tonight.” Ignoring the exasperated vibes coming from his partner, he thanked everyone who placed orders the previous week then mentioned the availability of the Safeguard Backdoor Locking System for those who hadn’t yet ordered. After repeating the 800 number, he turned to Becky Jean.
She jumped in on cue. “Tonight, we’d like to introduce you to one of our newest products, the KeyP Me Safe Light.”
Ford followed her lead, moving to the display table. He took up the dialogue, describing the tiny vibrator in his own words while B.J. held one of the miniature marvels up for the camera to capture. So far, she’d gone along with his non-scripted version of the show—mostly because she had no choice on live television. Lifting the small device from her palm, he prayed she’d go along with his next idea.
“Ladies and gentlemen, last week we promised we wouldn’t show you a product we couldn’t personally recommend. And since I have it on good authority B.J. has not tried out the KeyP Me Safe Light, I feel obligated to show you, and her, the benefits of this little jewel.”
“Oh no!” Becky Jean placed her hand on Ford’s chest to hold him at bay. She shook her head. “No. No. No. No. No.”
“Just a little demonstration for our audience, B.J.” He smiled at the camera then back at her before moving to stand behind her. Placing his hands on her shoulders to keep her from running, he addressed the viewers. “In case you don’t know, B.J. is the Marketing Director here at Adams Manufacturing. She works hard at her job, and I often see her at her desk, late in the day, rolling her head, trying to loosen the tight muscles in her neck. Sound familiar to anyone out there? I thought so,” he said amiably, hoping to draw the audience, and Becky Jean, in. He’d only guessed she rolled her head to reduce stress, but from the way she turned to glare at him, he’d nailed her behavior.
“Though there are many uses for the KeyP Me Safe Light, this is one of my favorites.” He held his hand up to show the key ring around his middle finger and the mini-flashlight/vibrator lying along the length of the digit. With a flick of his thumb against the switch embedded in the end, the device hummed to life.
“B.J. seems a little tense right now. Let’s see if we can fix you up.” Before she could get a protest past her lips, he brushed her soft-as-silk hair over one shoulder and pressed the humming cylinder to her racing pulse. She moaned as he worked the vibrator up and down her slender neck. No words were necessary. The way her body responded to the sensual massage said it all.
Ford crooned soft words in her ear, imagining what it would be like to have her beneath him, to feel her body respond to his in bed. He shouldn’t have to share her responses with anyone, let alone the entire world. If this episode proved anything like the first one, millions of people would be witness to Becky Jean’s surrender.
No woman had ever turned to putty in his hands the way she did. Knowing they were not alone, he still couldn’t bring himself to stop. Slipping his hand lower, his lips followed the path he’d blazed. His hand trailed down the slope of her neck to her shoulder where he pinched her jacket between his thumb and index finger, slowly easing it off her shoulder.
He managed to repeat the process on the other side, but when he eased back to see what he’d done, the sight of her bare upper arms trapped in the confines of her jacket nearly sent him to his knees. Giving himself a mental shake, he removed the jacket. Just her jacket. Nothing more. But there was something about the demure neckline of her sleeveless dress, it made removing the outer garment seem like a sensual act.
He’d been inside his share of clubs where the dancers had no problem removing what little clothing they wore while moving provocatively. None of those shows had ever affected him as much as seeing Becky Jean’s bare arms.
Thanking the heavens the viewing audience couldn’t see him below the waist, he smoothed the vibrator along the length of her right arm, massaging and caressing every inch of skin. When he reached her hand, he stroked each finger before pressing the digits together. As he dragged the toy from fingertip to palm, her fingers closed over his like tulip petals folding in for the night.
Becky couldn’t take her eyes off Ford’s hands. One of hers lay in his open palm while he did all manner of wicked things to it with the vibrator attached to the middle finger of his other hand. She should be taking Ford to task for ignoring the script again, but from the moment he’d swept her hair off her neck, she’d forgotten why she should be pissed at him. When he touched his lips to her neck, she’d turned into a puddle of goo and lost the ability to think at all.
Yes, the vibrator hummed over her skin, but she couldn’t blame it for her mental shutdown. No, she blamed it entirely on Ford. Sure, the tiny trembles made her skin tingle, but they were overshadowed by the feel of his hand trailing along behind, leaving fire in its wake.
“B.J.?”
She tore her gaze away from her fingers clamped down on Ford’s. Dazed, she studied his face for clues.
“What do you think of the KeyP Me Safe Light?”
“Huh?”
He smiled so bright it was like looking into the headlamp of an oncoming train. Something in the back of her mind told her to run, but the message got lost somewhere between her brain and her feet. She stood rooted to the spot, staring up at Ford, their hands intertwined, her heart thumping out an erratic beat. He spoke to someone—not her.
“There you are, folks. If that’s not a raving endorsement of the product, I don’t know what is! Remember, the number is 1-800- BUT-PLUG. Operators are standing by to take your order.”
“And, we’re out!” At Justin’s triumphant shout, Ford yanked his fingers from Becky’s grip, severing their connection. She shook her head and a bead of sweat trickled down her temple. The young tech went around shutting off the hot lights. “Tonight was even better than last week. Man, oh man, we’re going to make a fortune if this keeps up.”
“I think you may be right.” Ford held something out to her. Becky stared at the lump of red fabric for a moment before reaching for it. “Sorry about dropping your jacket on the floor, but I didn’t know what else to do with it. Put the dry-cleaning bill on the production expense report. In fact, I think we should add a clothing allowance to the expenses.”
Becky jammed her arms into the sleeves and resettled the jacket on her shoulders. She felt shaky and not at all in charge of her faculties. As the lights dimmed, she shivered in the suddenly cool air.
“Are you all right?” Ford took her by the elbow and led her to the nearest chair. She dropped heavily. “You don’t look so good.”
“Thanks.” She glanced up at him. “I’m fine, just got a little overheated, I think.”
“When you’re ready, I’ll drive you home.”
She grabbed her purse and stood. “That’s not necessary. I can drive.”
“You might be right”—he took the purse from her hands, slung the strap over his shoulder then reached for her elbow again—“but why take chances when I have to go past your place anyway?”
“I suppose.” She couldn’t think when Ford touched her, couldn’t muster up the wherewithal to tell him to mind his own business. “We should check in with the phone bank, make sure they have it covered.”
“We hired a dozen people this week and installed enough lines to handle the load, plus an elaborate call-holding system. They don’t need us distracting them.”
She acknowledged the truth in his statement. They’d spent an exorbitant amount of money on the upgrades as well as converted the old supervisor’s office on the production floor to accommodate the new order takers.