[4 Seasons 01] Seducing Summer Read online

  “You’ll learn that she’s very trusting and thinks the best of everyone. She doesn’t really understand there might be someone out there who wants to kill her.” Neve’s lips twisted. “She’s a great believer in the underlying goodness of the human race.”

  “Sucker,” Gene said.

  She laughed. “Yeah.”

  “She knows about the death threats, though?”

  “Yeah, but she believes her mother’s using it to scare her, to force her to stay put. She thinks her mother resents her success, so it’s a natural conclusion.”

  Was Callie wrong there? Phoebe might not have painted her daughter in a wonderful light, but the whole reason for her setting up the protection was because she obviously loved Callie dearly, and she’d seemed proud of her achievements.

  Neve’s gaze slid to his chest. “Do you wear a bulletproof vest?”

  “Not at the moment. I will do, though, when we’re out on the road.”

  “Won’t she be able to see it?”

  “The company that supplies our equipment makes what’s called an executive vest—it looks like a waistcoat. That’s why I’m wearing one now, so she gets used to seeing me in them.”

  “I thought a three-piece was a bit over the top.”

  “I don’t know, I quite like it.” He straightened the waistcoat. He hadn’t missed the way Callie’s gaze had slid down him, soft and sensual as a warm hand on bare skin. “My new one’s bullet resistant and protects against hypodermic needles and edged weapons.” He spoke with some pride.

  Neve’s smile faded, and her face paled. “Jeez.”

  Shit, he’d said too much. “Don’t worry. We’ll do everything we can to make sure she stays safe.”

  Neve’s gaze appraised him. “You’d really jump in front of a bullet for her?”

  “That’s my job.”

  “You don’t know her. She can be really grumpy sometimes. Especially early in the morning.”

  He could imagine Callie early in the morning. With her blonde hair ruffled, wearing nothing but his shirt, nipples showing through the cotton like buttons. Seducing Summer. Now that was a fantasy that would carry him through any sleepless nights.

  Neve raised an eyebrow, and he blinked, realizing his eyes must have glazed over. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

  “Don’t even think about it,” she said.

  “Think about what?”

  Her previously warm expression turned cool. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

  “I don’t know what you’re suggesting, but I can assure you I’m excellent at my job, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep her safe.”

  Neve leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen on the table as she surveyed him. “And her heart?”

  He frowned. “What about it?”

  “This is important, Gene. I’m serious. You need to stay focused. Callie’s love life is important to us, and we’re determined to fix her up with someone soon, but her safety is even more important than that. I’ll be in touch with her on a regular basis, and if she gives me any kind of hint that there’s something developing between the two of you, I’ll be straight on to Phoebe, and before you know it you’ll be off the job.”

  “And I won’t be able to show my face around Wellington again?” He glared at her. “Come on, give me some credit. I have no intention of getting involved with her.”

  “You don’t know her.” Neve’s face softened. “Her IQ is bigger than yours and mine added together, she works harder than anyone else I’ve ever known, she’s very perceptive, and she has this weird knack of knowing what you’re thinking. Men find her fascinating, and it always leads to disaster. Because although she’s generous and funny, and has a heart of gold, her astuteness doesn’t extend to her personal relationships.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Neve hesitated. “You mustn’t tell her I told you. But I think it’s best you know. Four months ago, she walked in on her ex in bed with his secretary.”

  “Christ.” That was why she’d looked so sad.

  “We all knew he was bad news, but she couldn’t see it. She trusted him completely, and it nearly destroyed her. She’s just climbing out of the black hole she’d fallen into, so the last thing she needs is for someone like you making a move on her.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Come on, Gene. You’re gorgeous, smart, and there’s something dangerous about you. Don’t roll your eyes. You know perfectly well what I mean. You’re the kind of guy who goes after the woman he wants and doesn’t let anything get in his way. Well you can’t afford to do that with Callie. If you let her, she’ll fall for you, so you’ve got to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  Gene felt as if he’d walked into some kind of teen movie. He should have known better than to take on a job in a lingerie business. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said sharply. “This is a professional working relationship and it’s going to stay that way.” Callie might not have been what he was expecting, but that didn’t mean he’d jeopardize his job to play with her, and it was insulting to him that anyone would think otherwise.

  “I hope so,” Neve continued, ignoring his glare. “Because you can’t tell her that you’re actually her bodyguard, and that means lying to her, and she won’t take it well when she finds out—because she will, eventually. She’s too smart not to. Life’s thrown a lot at her, including a cheating boyfriend, a mother who’s determined to control her, and a father who’s an arrogant ass but absolutely adores her, so much so that she can’t see his bad points. I don’t know how much more she can take.” She frowned. “I don’t understand why Phoebe didn’t ask for a female bodyguard. Why did she insist on you?”

  “We go back a long way,” he said. He didn’t elaborate, even though Neve’s expression glimmered with curiosity.

  “You’re one for secrets, aren’t you?” She shrugged. “Whatever. I just want you to know that when you say you’re out to protect her, that means all of her, heart included. Do you swear?”

  “Want to find me a Bible?”

  “Look at my face. Do I look like I’m laughing?”

  His lips finally curved up. “I’m glad you care for her so much. Please don’t worry. I’ll make sure she stays safe, in every way.”

  “Okay.” She gave a heavy sigh. “We might as well get started, then. Open your notebook.”

  Gene did so, trying not to look up at the Sword of Damocles he was sure was hanging over his head.

  Come on, dude, he scolded himself. He only had to do this until the NZ Special Tactics Group had tracked down the man sending the death threats, which would hopefully be only days, a week at most, and should definitely be well before Becky came back from her maternity leave in May. Gene liked sex as much as the next guy, and it was true that he hadn’t had any for a while, but in spite of Neve’s predictions, he’d never been a man to give in to his desires. He was sure he could remain aloof, even if it took three months to catch the bastard.

  Ninety days of being practically glued to the curvy blonde’s side. He stifled a groan, gave himself a mental image of stapling her blouse shut, and concentrated on his notepad.

  Chapter Three

  “Coffee,” Gene said, placing the cup on her table. “Small amount of milk, quarter of a teaspoon of sugar. Stirred anticlockwise.”

  It was mid-afternoon. He’d already brought her lunch to her desk and had also managed then to give her a look that implied her tastes were particular, just because she liked her salad from a certain place with a particular dressing. She normally bought it herself—she had no idea why Neve had sent him out for it.

  “I don’t know how you manage to make me sound fussy,” she complained. “It’s not a word I’d ever call myself.”

  “Becky left detailed instructions on par with planning D-Day.” He stood in front of her desk, hands behind his back as usual.

  She reached for the cup. “I suppose we all have our quirks. And at ease, so
ldier.”

  “I like standing like this. It’s not cool for a man to put his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers.” His eyes held enough steel to warn her that she wasn’t going to be able to boss him around.

  “Fair enough.” She leaned back in her chair and sipped her coffee. She still hadn’t made up her mind about him yet. He’d been right in that a good PA’s job was to anticipate her—or his—boss’s needs before she knew them herself, and Becky had been very good at doing that, without the additional judgmental looks and rolls of the eyes. He was hardly perfect PA material. And yet he fascinated her.

  “Do I get a biscuit?” she asked. “Becky normally puts a chocolate Hobnob on the side of the saucer. Was that not on the list?”

  He raised an eyebrow as if to say, Seriously? She sipped her coffee. He pursed his lips, turned, and walked out, then came back a minute later with a Hobnob on a plate, which he placed in front of her.

  “Thank you.” She took a bite of the biscuit and chewed it. “Mmm,” she said with great enthusiasm.

  That made him laugh, which pleased her in turn. Knowing she could encourage his smile out gave her more pleasure than it probably should have.

  She’d expected him to return to his desk, but he began to walk slowly around her office, looking at the pictures on the walls. All but one were shots of women in Four Seasons lingerie, tasteful photos with clever lighting that made all the models—most of whom had generous body shapes—look sensual and sexy.

  “Do you like?” She rose and walked over to him, carrying her coffee and biscuit, wondering if he’d give her some comment about being mad not to like photos of women in their underwear.

  “They’re excellent.” He gestured at the one in front of him. “Superb lighting.”

  “It makes them look quite beautiful, doesn’t it?”

  “All women are beautiful regardless of lighting.” He tipped his head, studying the model in the photo.

  “That’s a nice thing to say.”

  He turned his gaze to her. “I would imagine you have to think that to work in a place like this.”

  “It helps, for sure. We believe that everyone should be proud of their body no matter what shape or size you are. Everyone’s different, and that should be celebrated. Nobody should have to change themselves to fit society’s version of the perfect person.”

  He studied her for a long time. He didn’t say anything, and his gaze didn’t move from hers, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was thinking about her naked.

  Finally, though, he just said, “You have a biscuit crumb on your lip.”

  Sticking out her tongue, she searched along her top lip, then along the bottom one, until she found it, and sucked it into her mouth. “Waste not, want not.”

  His gaze had dropped to her lips, but now it rose back to meet hers. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, though. Probably what an idiot she was with biscuit all around her mouth.

  Without saying anything else, he continued walking around the room before stopping at the largest photo on the wall. It was of Callie, Rowan, Neve, and Bridget, taken on the day of Willow’s wedding. They stood in a line, backed by cherry trees and purple, pink, and white wisteria. The photographer had taken the shot at the moment a brisk summer breeze whipped across the green, and all four of them were laughing, fighting the way their dresses were lifting in the wind.

  “The Four Seasons,” Callie said.

  “That’s Neve, isn’t it?” He gestured to the girl in the light blue dress.

  “Yes. That’s Rowan—she designs our lingerie. And you must have seen Bridget downstairs, too—she runs the shop.”

  “You met at university, right?”

  “Yes.” She gave him an appraising look. He’d done research on the business? Another point in his favor.

  “I like that your lingerie caters for all sizes,” he said.

  “Everyone deserves to feel pretty in what they wear, and it’s not only thin women who want to look sexy. I can personally vouch for that.” She smiled.

  “Not every man wants a stick insect,” he said. “Some of us like a woman to have curves.”

  Was he saying that he liked curvy women? He didn’t elaborate, and again, she couldn’t read anything else in his expression. He certainly wasn’t flirting overtly. Which was appropriate, of course. It would make her life much easier over the next few months if there was no spark between them.

  Would be a bit dull, though.

  She shrugged. “Well there are plenty of curves to go around at Four Seasons. None of us is keen on dieting.”

  Laughing, she walked over to the architect’s desk that stood against the wall. If he was going to be her PA, he’d need to know the business, so she might as well try to forget he was a guy and talk to him the way she would have talked to Becky. “Come and look at these.”

  Two huge catalogues sat on the desk. Finishing off her biscuit, she placed the coffee cup to one side and opened the first catalogue. The pages were made of board and slotted into clear plastic sleeves that clipped into the folder so she could add or replace items as necessary. Each page featured a large picture by the same photographer who’d taken the shots on the wall.

  Gene stood shoulder to shoulder with her, a few inches taller than her in her heels. As they leaned forward, his aftershave wound around her like a ribbon—something with sandalwood and a touch of citrus, making her mouth water.

  “This is the Four Seasons swimwear.” Trying to concentrate, she began to leaf through the photos of models in bikinis and costumes, taken on the quay by the Te Papa museum. “Rowan’s aim was to design swimwear that women with more generous body shapes can feel comfortable in while still feeling sexy. For example, our bikini tops have more material in the cups so the wearer doesn’t have to worry that she’ll turn to the side and pop out.”

  “Very thoughtful.”

  “We think so. We do offer the traditional tiny bottoms, but we concentrate on the hip- or waist-high bottoms, often matched with tankini tops, as well as one-pieces. Rowan’s very clever at designing patterns that draw the eye away from the bits we don’t want to be seen. Many women don’t mind having a larger bust, but they’re uncomfortable about showing their midriffs, so our designs are based around disguising that area by having fancy tucks or folds of the material between the boobs, dark-colored panels down the sides or across the tummy, and bright colors in strategic places.”

  He lifted a hand, and for a brief moment she thought he was going to cup her cheek. He just touched her earlobe, though, and to her surprise, produced a two-dollar coin as if he’d pulled it from the shell of her ear.

  She laughed. “Magic tricks?”

  “The theory of misdirection. It’s what the swimwear does.” He smiled and pocketed the coin.

  Her earlobe tingled where he’d brushed it, sending a ripple through her entire body. He’d obviously shaved that morning, she thought. An image flashed through her mind of him standing in front of a bathroom mirror wearing only a towel, tipping his head back as he ran a razor across his cheek.

  Ooh.

  Blinking away the haze of lust that threatened to overwhelm her, she pushed the swimwear to one side and opened the lingerie catalogue. “Yes, you’re right. Misdirection is the key for swimwear. Underwear is slightly different, as generally it’s not made for others to see. It serves two basic purposes—to support the figure and make one’s outer clothes look good, and to make the woman feel sexy, both for herself and her partner. Quite often, she’ll buy two separate sets of lingerie—comfortable, well-fitting bras and panties to wear every day, and prettier lingerie to wear for special occasions. Rowan wanted to design a range that fulfilled both purposes—that was both practical and sexy.” She gestured at the model on the page, who wore an underwired bra with full cups, a wide back, and generous straps, that was nevertheless pretty with its intricate lace and embroidery.

  Callie had shown the catalogues to various men over the past few years, from the occa
sional salesman to partners of women who visited the office. Nearly all of them had cracked jokes to cover their discomfort, while the gazes of a few had lingered longer than was necessary as they ogled the models.

  Gene turned the pages at the right pace, though, without making lewd remarks or suggestive comments. “How is the range priced? Compared to other brands?”

  Wow, this guy was pure class. Callie wanted to hug him, but just managed to restrain herself. “High-end rather than cheap, but competitive compared to some of the more well-known brands. A price that says quality without being expensive. We did a lot of surveying of women and discovered that underwear—especially bras—is something most are willing to spend money on, if it’s comfortable and makes them feel good. They may buy cheap T-shirts and two pairs of shoes for the price of one, but they won’t skimp on their underwear.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he said.

  She glanced at him, but he was examining the last page that showed the same model in all the different styles of panties they produced, and Callie couldn’t tell how wry he’d meant his comment to be. Was his humor just exceptionally dry, or had he merely been commenting on the penny-saving abilities of her customers?

  Finally, he moved back and closed the book. “I’m impressed. So why are you touring the country?”

  She wandered back to her desk. “I’ll be approaching high street stores to ask whether they’d consider stocking the Four Seasons brand.”

  “Couldn’t you do that by phone or email?”

  “I’m better in person,” she said, sitting down. “You can’t appreciate my sparkling personality and lively wit until you talk to me face to face.”

  He stood before her desk, hands behind his back again. “I see.” He kept a straight face, obviously trying hard to be polite. For whatever strange reason, he wanted the job, and it was clear he’d be professional behind the desk.