The Love Laws (2 page)

Kevin
watched her for a long time, admiring her curvy form and smiling to himself. No
matter what that girl thought, this wasn’t over between them. If he had his
way, it was just the beginning.

Chapter One

Three Months
Later…

Hidden
Treasures was empty and this, unfortunately, was nothing new. Jamie had been
completely alone since her lingerie store opened three hours earlier. The
provocative window display did nothing to lure customers through the door. The luxuriously
appointed interior and colorful tables full of panties, bras, corsets, and
robes were wasted because prospective buyers rarely came through the door. It
was pretty clear that the store was in big trouble.

She’d
tried everything—ridiculously overpriced advertising in all the local
newspapers, free giveaways and coupons, open houses, and even a rather risqué
fashion show. Nothing worked and she was quickly running out of options. Soon
she’d have to face the facts—her dream was dying a slow, painful death with
very little hope of resuscitation.

When
she’d opened the store the year before she’d known she was taking a risk. The
West Hastings location near Vancouver’s downtown was not exactly prime real
estate. In fact, it was a bit on the seedy side, but the relatively inexpensive
rent had allowed her to use her inheritance and savings to turn the former porn
shop into the lush showplace for her creations that she’d always wanted. She’d
thought her innovative designs would be enough to attract customers in droves.
She hadn’t counted on the saturated lingerie market—between chain outlets and
catalogues—she just couldn’t compete.

Jamie
walked past the nearest table of silk panties and resisted the urge to
straighten them for the third time today. What was the use of ensuring that
they were perfectly lined up? No one would see them but her. If things didn’t
improve soon no one would have the opportunity to admire the gorgeous high
ceilings, watered silk wallpaper or the French Provencal furniture she had so carefully
selected to make Hidden Treasures the ultimate luxurious haven for lingerie
aficionados either. The tap of her high heels against the hard wood floors
echoed loudly in the silent store as she made her way to the blue and gray
striped settee closest to the door and sat down with a long, drawn-out sigh.

She
felt like such a fool—using her inheritance, not to mention her savings from
working at the Kitty-Kat Lounge to create this place. Now it looked like it had
all been for nothing. Hidden Treasures was doomed—unless she came up with
something brilliant to generate some real publicity…soon.

The
muted bell over the door tinkled and Jamie popped out of her dejected pose. She
pasted a huge welcoming smile on her face, determined to charm the prospective
customer into buying something.

 A
single sale wouldn’t make a difference to her dismal financial future, but it
always cheered her up to share her designs. She loved the idea of people
indulging themselves by wearing something she’d created to enhance their bodies
and their love lives. It was a small contribution to the world, but she really
felt just the act of buying lingerie brought a small dose of fantasy and
sensuality to the mundane existence people typically lived. She smiled just
thinking about the 75-year-old woman who’d come in last week and left with a
racy black merry widow.

The
smile faded slightly when she saw her best friend, Clay Wood, and his sister
Catherine, enter the store. Jamie adored the handsome blonde, but he wasn’t
exactly her target market. Clay managed her sister Jessie’s vintage bookstore,
Forgotten Treasures. Working right next store meant Clay could usually be
counted on to make frequent visits throughout the day, usually bearing coffee
or chocolate to cheer her up as she watched her store go down the tubes.

Catherine
was as timid as Clay was flamboyant. She worked as a Proofreader at
The
Vancouver Star
and often met Clay for lunch. Today her mousy blonde hair
was loose and hanging down her back in limp shanks and the hem of her oversized
overalls dragged on the floor when she walked making a ‘shooshing’ sound with
every step.

Jamie
had known the girl for more than two years and every time she saw Clay’s sister
she itched to give her a complete makeover. She constantly had to fight this
impulse into submission because she didn’t want to hurt Cathy's feelings but it
was a huge struggle to avoid at least offering to take her shopping for
something that fit. Or maybe suggesting that she wear at least the occasional
non-neutral color to spice things up. The girl seemed to have a disturbing
beige fetish which just added to her tendency to fade into the background.

Jamie
liked Catherine but she didn’t usually contribute much to the conversation. Cathy
typically smiled, listened and occasionally nodded when she was particularly
enthused. Overall, she was just there, observing. It was almost impossible to
get a real impression of her personality because she didn't really interact
with anyone but Clay.

“Good
Lord, this place makes my store look like a Wal-Mart on Christmas Eve,” Clay
looked around and shook his head. “Where are all the frustrated housewives
buying their thongs these days anyway?” Clay asked, running his manicured
fingertip over the buff male mannequin’s muscular shoulder.

“Not
here, obviously,” Jamie said dryly and sat back down on her settee. “Can you
stop molesting Raoul for a minute and help me come up with something to save
this place from being a fond memory?”

Clay
snatched his hand away from the mannequin’s silk boxers and turned to Jamie.
“Ah, the smell of desperation is in the air,” he said, pretending to take a big
whiff. “Fear not, My Little Cabbage. Cat and I have come up with a solution to
your little problem.” He nudged his sister forward. “Come on, tell her what we
were talking about,” he said, nodding encouragingly.

Cathy
pushed her glasses up on her nose with a quick jab of her forefinger and
brushed some of her stringy blond hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture that
almost always preceded her efforts at conversation. “Well…it’s just an idea.
It’s kind of stupid really. You probably won’t want to hear about it—.”

Jamie
reached out and pulled Cathy onto the settee with her. “Cathy, of course I want
to hear it. Whatever you’ve come up with is better than the blank screen going
on in my head. Now, spill it,” she said as kindly as she could. She wanted to
be patient and understanding with Cathy's shyness, but she really didn't have
the time or the inclination to coddle the girl at this point. Her future was at
stake, along with her pride. If Clay and his sister had a viable rescue plan in
mind then she needed to know about it ASAP. Hope was fading fast.

Cathy
smiled timidly at her and quickly looked down at the toes of her thick-soled
Doc Martens. “Well, you know I’ve been trying to convince my boss that I’m
ready to try writing features, right?”

Jamie
smiled in what she hoped was a friendly, supportive manner and patted Cathy’s
hand. She couldn't help but notice that Cathy's nails were a mess. They looked
like she gnawed on them like a rabid hamster. “Sure, Clay mentioned that you
want to be a real reporter, not just a Proofreader.” Inwardly Jamie thought
Cathy might be a bit introverted for the job, but didn’t want to be the one to
crush the girl’s aspirations.

“Exactly.”
Cathy beamed for a second and then words began pouring out of her mouth in an
uncharacteristic rush. “Anyway, I’ve been trying to come up with something that
will really grab Mr. Allen’s attention. Then, last week, during a meeting he
began talking about someone doing a series about the single life and how
difficult it is to find someone to commit to a relationship these days. None of
the regular reporters wanted to do it because they thought it was fluff, but I
think it would make a great story.” Cathy glanced back and forth between Jamie
and then Clay, looking for some sign of criticism.

Clay
rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips. “Yes, yes, it’ll be fabulous,
sweetheart, but Jamie wants to hear what this earth-shattering idea has to do
with her and the resurrection of her comatose store.”

Cathy
gave Clay a small glare. She hated being rushed. “I’m getting to that,” she
snapped at Clay and then turned toward Jamie. “We were thinking that you could
be the subject of my story.”

“Your
guinea pig, you mean?” Jamie asked, raising a speculative eyebrow at Clay.

Cathy
reached over and tugged on Jamie’s hand to get her attention. “No, not a guinea
pig. You’d be a sort of romance guru who invents rules for getting a guy
interested and then tries them out. It would be so great. The public would be
riveted.”

Jamie
removed her hand from Cathy’s grip and stood up. “Why me? I haven’t been on a
date in almost two years. I’d be a complete fraud. You really don't need me at
all. You could ask anyone to do it.”

Cathy
looked up at Jamie beseechingly. “Please, Jamie. I need someone who really
knows what it's like to be an honest-to-goodness femme fatale. And no one else
even comes close."

"You
are pretty much an erection magnet," Clay interjected, placing his arm
around Raoul the mannequin again. This time he gave the life-sized Ken doll's
nipple a playful little pinch.

Jamie
just shook her head and ignored Clay's mannequin molestation. "You two…"
she said, poking Clay in the side as she walked towards the panty display.
"…Are laying it on pretty thick. I am not a femme fatale or Dear Abby or a
trained professional of any kind. Someone would have to be crazy to listen to
me. Why don't you do some research? Contact some life coaches or matchmakers or
prostitutes. Interview them about what men like. Or maybe, I don't know, ask
some men. Go to the source. Wouldn't that make a lot more sense?"

"It
doesn't matter how much research I do, no one is going to take advice from me?”
Cathy said, gesturing toward her frumpy clothing and heavy frame.

Jamie
gave her an exasperated look and straightened the rainbow of lace thongs for
the third time that day. "That's not true, Cathy. If you know your facts
and do a well-thought-out and entertaining article, then people will read it.
And that's all that matters. You don't have to sell yourself along with the
article."

"I
wish that were true," Cathy sighed. "But I'm pretty sure all the
women at the paper would laugh their collective guts out if I started telling
them how to attract a man. This article needs a face with some expertise and
that's you. Right, Clay?"

He
nodded enthusiastically. "Our aspiring little reporter has a point. Even
if you're as clueless as you say, you know you can talk a good game, even when
you're speaking directly from your rectum."

Jamie
paused. Clay did have an excellent point. Damn him for knowing her so well. He
was completely aware of how much she absolutely adored playing amateur shrink
to her friends and family. Whether they asked for her advice or not. Her
interference had certainly helped her sister when she was determined to give up
on Duncan, so Jamie felt at least partly responsible for their happiness now.
She found offering her insight to others very satisfying. Even if it wasn't
always appreciated.

Sensing
that Jamie was wavering, Cathy went in for the kill. “Just think about the
publicity for the store, Jamie. You could use the articles to plug Hidden
Treasures and give this place the attention it deserves.”

Jamie
stared at the younger woman for a second and then shook her head, amazed that
Cathy was actually attempting to cajole her. She was delighted to see that
Clay’s sister had some real spunk underneath that shy exterior, but it didn’t
mean she was willing to subject herself to public humiliation. “Seriously, it’s
a great idea. I think you can actually help a lot of people and entertain the
hell out of them in the process. But I’m out of practice. What do I know about
men at this point? Not much. Who’d be foolish enough to take dating advice from
me, an old spinster?”

Cathy
shrugged and then said, “I don’t know…I probably would. I mean, you’ve got this
store and your designs, and you were an exotic dancer for a few years. And Clay
said you minored in psychology in college. To the public, that makes you kind
of an expert. Maybe not Dr. Ruth, but still, you’re obviously someone who knows
what men like. You’re perfect for this.”

Jamie
just looked at her doubtfully and began straightening the seam on the pale pink
corset her female mannequin was wearing.

Clay
stepped in, holding up his hands. “C’mon, James. I used to go the clubs with
you and watch you whip men into a frenzy. Be honest, over the two years you
strutted your stuff at the Pitty Pat, how many men fell in love with you? I'm
not talking about naughty naked propositions, mind you. Those were too many to
count. I'm talking about actual declarations of love and commitment.”

Jamie
looked sheepish. “That's Kitty Kat, you goof. But those declarations don’t
count. They were under duress. Most of those guys were drunk, high or horny as
hell. Or all three.”

Clay
crossed his arms over his yoga-perfected chest and gave a cheeky grin. “I think
that's pretty much standard operating procedure for most declarations of love,
but never-mind that. How many?”