Leave It to Cleavage (32 page)

In these rooms, customers would be measured within an inch of their lives and then led to a formal sitting alcove to sip champagne while they selected the components and fabrics that would make their undergarments completely custom. The surroundings promised quality and pampering, and Miranda intended to make sure those promises were kept.

In the alcove, Carly perched on an elegant slipper chair beside a Louis XV commode, her smile radiating the satisfaction Miranda felt. “You did it, Boss. You really did it,” she said.

“
We
did it,” Miranda corrected, as she used her sleeve to wipe a small smudge from the burled wood. “I’m going to miss you outside my office when you move to the design department full-time.” She nodded toward the bookkeeper, who had already moved to Atlanta to oversee their expansion there and who was busy fussing over the big gold appointment book. “And we won’t have Helen around to torture anymore.”

Surveying her newly created kingdom, Miranda knew a deep stirring of satisfaction. She
had
made this happen; she had looked adversity in the face and triumphed over it.

So she had no personal life, and today her “grand gesture” might be thrown back in her face. What was that compared to all she had achieved?

At 9:58
A
.
M
. she joined Selena on the main sales floor.

“Ready?” Selena asked.

Miranda rubbed her palms down the sides of her skirt. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Together they stepped forward to unlock the glass doors of Selena Moore and welcome the crowd of well-heeled women who waited, invitations in hand.

They’d been chosen for their buying history and their standing in the community, and Miranda had vowed to make sure they all left with scheduled fitting times and a taste of the luxury and personal service that awaited them at Custom Cleavage.

Two hours and twenty appointments in the schedule book later, Miranda glanced up to see her mother, Andie, and Gran approaching.

“It looks marvelous.” Joan Ballantyne Harper surveyed her daughter’s domain while Gran and Andie bussed Miranda on the cheek.

“But?” Miranda waited for the thing she’d overlooked, the way in which she might have made it better.

“But nothing,” her mother said. “It looks perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Miranda exchanged glances with Gran. “It’s the suite at the Ritz I treated her and Daddy to, isn’t it?”

“It most certainly is not.” Her mother blushed. “Though I must say that in-suite massage was especially nice.” She smiled, her love and approval so obvious and genuine they nearly knocked Miranda over. “I’m very proud of you, sweetheart.” Her mother glanced over at Andie. “And I must say you’re doing a fine job of teaching this girl how to shop.” She patted Miranda on the cheek before heading toward the hors d’oeuvres. “Keep up the good work.”

“So?” Miranda turned her attention to Andie, unable to halt the quick peek over her shoulder for some sign of the girl’s father, or to keep her face from falling when Andie confirmed her fears.

“Daddy, uh, didn’t think he’d be able to make it.” She cleared her throat. “Is it okay if I hang out?”

“Always.” Miranda took in the girl’s flawless makeup, the artfully styled hair, the high-top sneakers, and squashed her disappointment. She could hardly have expected Blake to wait all those months for her to signal her interest. Her invitation to a candlelit supper following the opening had obviously been too little, too late.

“Why don’t you go help Carly pass canapés. Be charming.”

Andie grinned her father’s grin. “And what
else
would the reigning Miss Rhododendron be?”

“Good point.” She watched the girl head over to Carly and saw the two confer.

“She’s a good girl,” Gran observed. “Lots of spunk. I can still see her strutting across the stage in that gown you chose for her.” Gran’s eyes twinkled. “I understand Blake’s putting in a special holding cell at the police station for all her suitors.”

Miranda smiled, but it felt strange to have everyone else on such a friendly footing with Blake when she herself was so . . .
left out
?

“Hasn’t he come by?” Gran asked.

Miranda pulled an order form from the desk drawer. There was a steady stream of women coming through the front doors. She had bras to sell and a company to rebuild. “No.” She tried to keep the hurt out of her voice. She’d asked the man to leave her alone and he’d obliged. Then she’d changed her mind and he hadn’t. End of story. She was not going to moon about in the middle of her big day. She didn’t need Blake Summers or any other man to make her life complete.

“Well, enjoy yourself, darling.” Gran gave her a hug. “I’m going to see what Lindsey’s up to back in the office. Gus and I may take her for an ice cream. We’ll see you back at the hotel.”

Miranda went back to chatting up customers and making sure all went smoothly, while out in the boutique Selena did the same. The afternoon passed in a blur of smiles and handshakes and a truly satisfying number of appointments. Custom Cleavage was off and running.

So why did her heart feel so damned heavy?

When the last invited guest had left, Miranda kicked off her heels and shared a celebratory glass of champagne with the jubilant Selena. Watching her new partner leave through the back entrance, Miranda chastised herself for letting her disappointment over Blake steal the luster from the day, but she was at a loss as to how to make that disappointment go away.

From beneath a back counter, she pulled out a beribboned picnic basket and specially stocked cooler and began to unpack their contents. She set the candlesticks, the bottle of red wine, and the carefully chosen cold supper for two out on the table in the alcove, and contemplated what she’d intended to be the first of many romantic meals she’d share with Blake.

Lighting the tapers, she took a seat at the table, folded her hands in her lap, and stared into the flames, knowing he wasn’t coming, but unable to stop wishing the man she’d finally admitted she wanted would somehow walk through the door and tell her he still wanted her.

She lost track of how long she sat there, but the candles had burned low by the time her remaining glimmer of hope finally sputtered out and died.

Miranda blew out the candles and turned her back on the alcove. Not yet ready to face her family, she sank into a fitting-room chaise, closed her eyes, and let the events of the last nine months tumble through her consciousness. She tried to push the sadness away and focus, instead, on how much had been accomplished, how fortunate she was. But she couldn’t stop thinking that in the jigsaw puzzle of her life, one very critical piece was missing.

She was still thinking about Blake Summers when the fitting-room door opened.

“Ah, what is this I see?” Blake stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Could it be a delicate flower in need of pollinating?”

Miranda looked up. She’d started tingling at the sound of his voice, and as he crossed the dressing room and sat on the edge of the chaise, relief and a surge of hope shot through her. Her insides turned all warm and gooey; there was a chance she might actually be producing honey.

Without asking permission, Blake lifted her foot onto his lap and started massaging it with strong fingers.

“Blake, I . . .”

“Even with the invitation, I wasn’t sure if you were really ready,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t going to come.” He ran a hand through his hair in a gesture that had become as familiar to her as his face. “But I didn’t want to miss your opening.” He said it simply, sincerely. His smile was rueful. “And I couldn’t make myself stay away.”

The rightness of his being here settled over her, and as he continued his massage, she searched for the words that would convey all she felt.

“I’ve learned a few things since I took over the business,” she finally said as she offered her other foot for his ministrations.

He cocked his head, interested.

“And now I know that a good bra is like a good relationship. It lifts you up and helps you stand on your own. And it’s right there in your drawer when you need it.”

The massaging stopped and the corners of his mouth tilted upward. “I think I hear a new banner in the making.”

She used her foot to silence him but smiled back as she followed through with the analogy. “Some women want lace and some want cotton. Some of us need a little padding. But when it comes right down to it, we’re all just looking for the perfect fit.” She looked at him, willing him to understand what she was trying to say.

“Okay,” Blake said. “It may be a little long for a banner, but it’s very profound all the same.”

He wasn’t going to make this easy.

“What I mean is . . .” She paused and gathered her courage. “If you’re willing to give me some time, maybe we could, um, try each other on for size.”

He didn’t respond and her heart thudded in her chest. He considered her carefully, weighing something—she had no idea what—in his mind. Maybe she had misread his intentions; maybe he’d only shown up to be polite. Maybe . . .

“Okay,” he said while his smile grew. “But I get first dibs on the measuring tape.”

With her feet still in his lap, he leaned over and brought his mouth down to hers. And then he kissed her until all she could think about was taking him to her hive.

He nibbled on her earlobe and the nape of her neck. “I’m sorry I missed our candlelit supper. We can go have it now if you’d like.”

But dinner wasn’t at all what she had on her mind right now. She nudged him with a big toe. “So is that a stinger in your pocket,” she asked in a passable Mae West, “or are you just glad to see me?”

She looped her arms around his neck, and when she nudged her foot more tightly against his crotch he made a buzzing sound that reverberated in his chest. He pressed her down into the chaise, and she shot a look toward the fitting-room door.

“It’s okay,” Blake said as he stretched out on top of her. “I locked the back door, and the worker bees have all gone home.”

His lips moved down to the hollow of her throat and on to the
V
between her breasts. His hair tickled her chin as Miranda closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure.

“You know, I promised you a knighthood that time on the stairs,” she said as his fingers moved to the buttons of her blouse. “And in appreciation for your loyal service and the service I hope you are about to provide, I hereby dub you”—she thought a moment, then smiled as it hit her—“‘Sir Stings-A-Lot.’”

Blake laughed and brought his lips back up to hers. Good God, the man could kiss. She sighed again and gave herself up to him completely.

It was a damned fine thing to be queen.

Acknowledgments

One of the great things about writing is all the cool stuff you get to learn and the even cooler people you get to learn it from. This time out I’d like to thank Rob Vann, Purchasing Manager, VFIntimates, for teaching me more about bras than I ever expected to know, and for always being just an E-mail away. I’d also like to thank Angela Dotson, former pageant coach and Miss Telfair County, for helping me see how well pageant training translates to the corporate world.

Additional thanks go to James Butts, Jack Berry, and Wally Lind for sharing their knowledge of small-town law enforcement. I hope they’ll forgive me for any liberties I’ve taken. Any errors or mistakes are definitely my own.

Thanks also to the Highland Gap contingent, Cheri and Mike Madsen, Earl and Diane West, and Julie Hilliard for introducing me to mountain life and helping me create the fictional town of Truro. For financial and basketball info I have to thank my husband, John Adler, and Amy L. Kaye, Esquire, for the details of divorce.

Thanks, too, to the members of the Georgia Romance Authors Network and all the other women I coerced into sharing their feelings about their bras.

No acknowledgment would be complete without a very large thank-you to fellow writers Karen White, Jennifer St. Giles, and Karen Kendall, without whom I’d still be beating my head against a blank computer screen. You’re the best!

About the Author

Wendy lives with her husband and two sons in a testosterone-laden home in the suburbs of Atlanta. When not at one ballpark or another, she spends her time either writing or attempting to invent an automatic toilet-seat–dropping device.

Leave It to Cleavage
is her second romantic comedy for Bantam. Readers can contact her at 1401 Johnson Ferry Road, Suite 328/(-70, Marietta, GA 30062 or through her website at
www.authorwendywax.com
.

Also by Wendy Wax

7 Days & 7 Nights

LEAVE IT TO CLEAVAGE
A Bantam Book / August 2004

Published by
Bantam Dell
A division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York

All rights reserved
Copyright © 2004 by Wendy Wax

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address:
Bantam Books, New York, New York.

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www.bantamdell.com

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eISBN 0-553-90106-0

Published simultaneously in Canada

v1.0