Sultry in Stilettos (26 page)

After thirty minutes on
the treadmill, he checked the time. He'd have just enough time to
shower and grab breakfast. They had a meeting with Lila after
that.

Ricca had a leg up on him
there. She was great with the clients who wanted romance. Well,
really better with clients in general. Beckett’s strengths were his
creativity and his ingenuity. He was a problem solver.

As he hustled in the
shower, he could hear his phone ring. He quickly rinsed off and
snatched up his phone, barely managing to get a towel around his
ass. "Hey, Braedon. What’s up?”

"Hey, Beck. So, I didn’t
want to bother you with this, but I thought you should know—there’s
a cleaning crew here at the building. Not to mention an architect
and a contractor."

Beckett used one of the
smaller towels to rub the water out of his hair. "What?
Who?"

“
Shawn Roland. He was one
of the architects on the Atlanta Olympic Center.”

“I know who he is. What
the hell is he doing there? I didn’t call anybody. Did you call
him?” Beckett had been about to give up until he could regroup with
a new plan for cash. Who the hell had sent the
architect?

“I didn’t call anyone.
He’s here courtesy of Adele Westhorpe.”

Holy
shit
. Had Jaya called in a favor? He could
use the help, but it didn’t sit well with him. She should have
talked to him first.

He frowned and shook his
head, trying to force it to work. “What’s the deal with the
cleaning crew?”

Braedon sighed as if he’d
already asked all these questions. “Some guy with a construction
company. He brought a contractor over too, who’s talking to Shawn.
Guy said Ricca had mentioned the place was in need of a miracle, so
he wanted to help.”

Ricca? Warmth bloomed in
the center of Beckett’s chest. She’d done this? For him? Why hadn’t
she told him?
Maybe because you were too
busy acting like an idiot.
“Fuck. I can’t
believe she did that.”

“Yeah, me neither. I can
sure as shit tell you she didn’t do it for me.”

“Listen, Braedon, I have
to get ready for a meeting. I’ll call you when I’m done,
okay?”

“Yeah sure. What do you
want me to tell the crew?”

“Hell, keep them there as
long as they’re willing to stay. I’ll talk to them when I get back
in a few days.”

“Will do.”

Hanging up with his
brother, Beckett felt like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. Ricca
had done this for him.

All he’d managed to do was
try and break her heart.

Ricca took a deep breath.
She was in her element.

"Sandra, make sure you
have the water delivered ahead of time. Andrew, we'll need those
portable freezers. It's hotter than Satan’s eyeball out there, and
I want to make sure those misters are good to go." She could feel
Beckett's eyes on her as she took charge of the overall logistics.
He was different somehow. He didn't interrupt like he normally did,
didn’t battle her all the way for control. He let her do her
thing.

And the way he was looking
at her—
holy shit
.
If she thought it was hot outside, it was nothing in comparison to
the heat in her body. She tried to focus on the staff. "And the
food. Can you confirm the list for me? Lila was very specific. She
wants this experience to be as authentic as possible."

The wind blew the wardrobe
rack, sending gossamer pieces of the most elegant silk that Ricca
had ever seen waving in the wind. "And you all have confirmed
fitting and style?"

The wardrobe team nodded
with clipboards in hand. God save her from the billionaire with a
harem fantasy, but even she had to admit it was a hot idea. She'd
once been told by a date that she had a body for belly dancing. At
the time, she'd been a little offended, but maybe she needed to be
flattered.

Turning her gaze back on
Beckett, she sighed. "All yours."

His lithe body glided out
of his seat like the extreme heat wasn't getting to him. She loved
everything hot, but Beckett lived more of a pampered life. Usually
he looked like he was going to melt if it got over 75.

"Thanks, Ricca. So far, I
wanted to tell everyone, fantastic job. Ricca and I are super
excited to pull this off. It'll be one of the best adventures that
Fantasy, Inc. will have ever hosted."

She tried not to watch his
hands as he spoke, but every time he used them for emphasis she was
drawn in. The size of them. The strength in them. The way they'd
looked molding her breasts.
Damn
it.
She shifted her legs as her body went
on instant red alert, softening and heating for him. If she kept
this up she'd be in serious trouble.

"So the car is being
delivered in an hour. The show room was more than happy to lend us
a car for the experience, but let's take good care of her, yeah? I
want this turning out better than the last car we used."

The team of mechanics
nodded, then asked a couple of questions concerning how often
they'd have to clean out sand and check on the car.

Beckett might have been
talking to the group of Fantasy employees, but his gaze followed
Ricca around the room. Something had changed, and she wished to God
she knew what it was. Maybe if she could pinpoint it, she could
diffuse it. Just like a bomb.

As he spoke, his voice
washed over her, making her remember all the times they'd spent
time at his place or hers watching games or just plain hanging out.
She wasn’t going to wait for life to happen to her anymore. She was
going after what she wanted.

****

Two hours later, Ricca had
been dying to try on the harem girl costume. Beckett was down with
the mechanic crew, drooling over the arrival of the Bugatti Veyron.
It was a hell of a car, but Ricca had a feeling she lacked the
anatomical parts to fully appreciate what was under the hood. She
fingered the costume and all its intricacies with the shiny gold
sequins and gold inlay. The silk was as soft as butter and gossamer
sheer. She was so not into that whole owned, and dominated thing,
but the outfit, yeah, the outfit she could get behind. So pretty.
As gifts from clients went.

As gifts from the wardrobe
department went, this was one of her favorites. Notwithstanding the
Jimmy Choos she'd been given after a
Sex
And The City
fantasy from last
year.

She slipped into the harem
pants, shocked at how low they hung on her hips. As it was, she was
sure there was some Beyoncé booty crack appearing over the back
edge. The front topped out at the very edge of her pubic bone. One
slight shift, and her vajayjay would be out for all the world to
see.

She slipped her arms into
the sleeveless top, dubious about the little jacket’s ability to
hold in her double D’s. She'd never given her boobs much more
thought than how best to cover them. But as Micha would say, she
had a good rack. Considering their size, they were still firm and
thankfully, not sagging.

For the briefest instant,
she worried they'd tear the delicate silk fabric of the top. She
needn't have worried though—the midriff-baring blouse was made for
sex and covered just enough of her ample breasts to be enticing.
There were tiny little rope strings in front, in case she wanted to
tie them in. She considered it, but knew there would be a boob
rebellion if she did. Then she really would tear the
material.

Studying herself in the
mirror, she gaped at the wide expanse of skin showing between the
bolero and the pants, but damned if she didn't understand the
fantasy. You couldn't help but feel sexy in it. Thank God, she’d
been hitting the gym though. She'd never be as thin as Micha or
Jaya, and her feminine curves would always be with her, but she
could see the soft lines that hinted at a belly well worked out, so
she was content. She did a happy little twirl, and the harem pants
fanned out, making her look like one of MC Hammer's dancers.
Scooping up the veil, she attached the
piece de resistance
to her head,
covering her face in the customary manner. If Beckett could see her
now, he'd probably pass out.

The moment the thought of
him intruded, she frowned. He hadn’t taken the bait, not once.
Maybe she'd missed her shot. Taken too long. She’d had to be sure
though. Jumping into a relationship with a friend was tricky
business. Maybe he was gone forever.
Or
maybe you need to get over yourself and got get what you
want.
She eyed herself in the outfit and
wiggled her hips. Maybe Morocco was the place for fantasies after
all.

Sawdust tasted like shit,
but Beckett was eating a whole mouth full of it the moment he saw
Ricca in the harem girl costume.
Holy
fuck.
He needed to call the Moroccan
police in or something, because she was officially trying to kill
him. And come to think of it, what a way to go.

Shit
, what had he come in here to say to her? He couldn't think.
He tried to get his brain to reboot, but all he could see was the
pastel pink, gossamer fabric as it slung low, so low, on her hips,
and the insufficient blouse as it tried to cut off circulation to
her breasts.
Dinner
. Oh right. Dinner. He cleared his throat. "Um—"

She whipped around, shock
in her eyes. Embarrassment was quick to follow. "I um…Wardrobe had
an extra. I just…Um. Thought I'd try it on…Um..." Her voice trailed
off, and her cheeks flushed.

He wasn't any better. His
brain attempted to use mental telepathy to get the pants to drop.
God, she looked beyond sexy, all that cinnamon skin on display.
Soft and spicy. He knew just how she'd taste and feel. So did his
dick. His skin felt itchy and tight with need.

Good God.

She ducked her head. "Um.
What did you need?"

Again, his brain failed to
turn over. Like a faulty car starter, he tried and tried several
times before thinking finally kicked in. “Dinner. The team was
going to go down to the restaurant by the pool. I already passed. I
need to call Braedon, so figured I'd just room service it. Wanted
to—" Again, his eyes strayed from her face to focus on the swell of
confined breasts.

The sawdust effect finally
gave way to full on salivating. He cleared his throat again. “Check
with you to see if you wanted to go." There, he'd gotten it all
out. He wondered why something that could have taken less than a
minute to say had somehow morphed into a fifteen minute broken
speech.

What the hell was he
thinking?

When she spoke, her voice
was low. ”Beckett? You’re staring."

Well, fuck yeah, he was
staring. Did she have any idea what she looked like? "I…I'm sorry.
You just look like every guy’s
I Dream of
Genie
wet dream.”

Ricca started to move
toward him, and he knew there was trouble.

"Beckett, can you help me
with the zipper? I think it's stuck.”

Oh shit.
He narrowed his eyes. Was this all an elaborate
game? He said he wasn’t going to sleep with her anymore and
endanger their friendship, and she paid him back by torturing
him?

He reminded himself that
this was his Ricca. She’d always been up-front with him. She wasn’t
playing him. She stood in front of him, back turned. He could smell
the spicy oils she'd been using as they mixed with her own unique
scent to make his blood stir and his cock pray for
attention.

Hands shaking, he slipped
the back of his left hand into her pants. Both of them jumped at
the skin to skin contact. Gripping on to the soft silk to brace the
zipper, the tried tugging the zipper loose with his other hand. It
didn’t budge. The harder he tried to tug, the more contact his
hands had with the sinful expanse of bare back. He really wasn't
going to survive. "I…" he swallowed. “I don’t know what you did,
but it won't budge.”

“Oh, God. You can’t tell
me I'm going to be stuck in this thing. Serves me right for trying
it on.” She reached behind her back to her zipper and tried to tug
at it herself. Their hands intertwined and collided, sending
sharper zings to the center of his raging desire.

"Ricca, wait, you'll tear
the fabric."

She batted at his hands.
"I need to get this thing off of me. I..."

He stilled her hands.
"Chill out. It's okay. Worse comes to worse, we'll cut you out." If
she kept moving her ass in those shakes and wiggles, he'd tear her
out of the damn thing.

"Beckett, we can’t cut me
out of it. It was a gift from Lila. I know I shouldn't have
bothered trying it on. There was no way it was going to fit. But I
couldn’t help myself. I just—"

Another deep breath.
Another wiggle of that God given ass.
Fuuuck
. The soft flesh came into
contact with his cotton shorts, and they both gasped.

"Beckett,” she
squeaked.

He inhaled deeply. He had
an opportunity to be a good guy. Get the hell out of her room and
go get the wardrobe team to help her out.