The Night Before Christmas. Tawny Weber
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frosting.” When she frowned and shook her head, he elaborated. “Frosting is sweet. It’s fluffy and tasty and quite often decadent. But it’s not the point. The point is the cake.”
“And you think leather lingerie is cake?”
“No.” He waited for the stiffness to drain from her shoulders and her face to relax again before adding, “The cake is sex.”
He laughed when she almost fumbled her glass of water.
“You’re awfully naive for a woman who designs sex clothes.”
“I don’t design sex clothes. I design lingerie. Underwear, sleepwear, apparel to make a woman feel confident and attractive and empowered.”
As much as he was enjoying the view of her face, those round cheeks flushed and her eyes flashing, Gage let his gaze drop.
Her see-through blouse was ruffly and full, creating a hazy distraction from the delicious curve of her breasts, highlighted to perfection in a pink bra. He had to hand it to her. Lacy and dotted with pearly things, the bra was attractive. And if it made her feel confident and empowered, well, more power to that sweet satin.
But he was thinking sex when he looked at it.
A fact he knew was clear on his face when he met her eyes again. A fact that, if the way her gaze blurred and her breath hitched were any indication, got her a little excited.
Good. He still had hope of rescuing this evening. As irritated as he was to put off his departure to Tahoe until next week after he’d nailed down winning this contract, spending more time with Hailey was a pretty good consolation.
He’d be even happier if they could spend some of that time naked. Or at least—his gaze dropped again—seeing her lingerie in more detail.
“Then I guess I’m all for empowerment if it comes in pink satin and—” He made a show of leaning closer. “Is that lace tan or brown?”
Pink, even darker than the last blush, washed her cheeks. Gage grinned. Teasing her was fun. Something he’d never actually experienced when it came to business. Missing was that sharp competitive edge, the driving need to win. Not that he had any doubt he’d triumph when it came to the contract. But for once, it was more about enjoying himself than proving himself.
Just then, the waiter stepped in with wine and a tray.
Gage leaned back, watching Hailey relax as she chatted with the man as he poured wine, letting him know it’d just be the two of them for dinner so to go ahead and serve. He waited until the man had left before arching a brow.
“We don’t order for ourselves?”
She gave an impatient little sniff, then after an internal debate that had him wondering what she was hiding, she shrugged.
“The point of this dinner is romance. Which is more than just candles, wine and music.”
“I might hate whatever you chose, though,” he teased.
“If you do, then I’m not very good at relaying the message of romance, am I?”
She said it as if romance was real. As if it was more than a sales pitch. He knew she was sweet, bordering on naive. But to really believe in that fairy tale? She wasn’t crazy.
“C’mon,” Gage said with a laugh. “It’s just us. Be honest. You’re not really buying into this whole romance-versus-sex thing, are you? That’s only a ploy to strengthen your pitch.”
Her lower lip stuck out when she frowned. He wanted to reach over and trace the pad of his thumb against it, test its softness.
“You don’t believe in romance?”
“It’s a device. A sales pitch.” He waved one hand to indicate the room, lifting his glass of wine with the other. “It’s all imagery.”
He sipped his wine, then gave an approving nod, pretending she wasn’t staring at him as though he’d spouted a third head and started babbling about the coming of aliens to take over the world and dress everyone in little pink tutus.
“Imagery? Romance is emotions, not packaging.”
“What’s its purpose?” he challenged, leaning back to rest one arm on the back of his chair and giving her a curious look. “To sell something, right? Sex, maybe? Companionship? Accoutrements like candles and wine and lingerie?”
Instead of rising to the bait and defending the fluff and froth of romance as he’d expected, Hailey just stared. Her look was intense, searching. Gage shifted, wondering if she could suddenly see through him the way he could see through her blouse. If so, he was pretty sure she wasn’t nearly as intrigued by what she saw.
“Is your lingerie just packaging?” she countered. “Is it just a way to make money?”
Yeah.
That was how his grandfather had built the company. On the concept of seeing what people thought they wanted and coming up with ideas to meet those wants.
That was how Devon developed new product offerings. He looked at the ideas people thought were so appealing and made them better. Bigger. More attractive, so they’d pay top dollar.
And that was how Gage sold it. By tapping into what people thought they needed and convincing them that his product was the only one that could perfectly meet that need.
It was Psychology 101, combined with Economics and Marketing 102.
But he didn’t think telling her that was going to score him any points.
So he shrugged, then shot a smile at the waiter, who chose that perfect moment to bring their food.
“Imagery is imagination, yes. It’s packaging and appeal. But romance is more than that,” she said as their dishes were set in front of them. His favorite spinach salad, he noted with a frown. “Romance is emotions.”
“Imagery taps into the emotions. Plays them,” he said, still frowning at the salad and wondering how she knew exactly what he liked. He glanced up to ask her and winced at the look on her face. Clearly she didn’t think the emotions were something to be played with.
He waited for her to chew him out.
Instead, she leaned closer, resting one hand on his forearm for support as she lifted her mouth toward his ear.
“And just so you know,” she said, her words a whisper of heat against the side of his head, low enough so the waiter couldn’t hear, “the lace is bittersweet chocolate. You know, like frosting.”
Gage closed his eyes and bit back a groan.
Every time he thought he had the upper hand, she found a way to knock him off balance.
“Enjoy,” the waiter said, breaking his thoughts.
Opening his eyes, Gage watched the guy leave. In the three seconds it took him to regain his equilibrium, Hailey dug into her own salad with a tiny moan of delight.
“I’m so glad you insisted we eat,” she admitted with a sheepish smile. “I was starving.”
“What’s for dessert?” he asked, noting that her salad was slightly different from his. Spinach, yes, but hers had strawberries, which he was allergic to. Did she know that? “Something frosted, I hope.”
She laughed, looking more relaxed than he’d seen her since they’d realized they were rivals.
“You don’t really mean that about romance, do you? That you don’t think it’s real?” she asked after a few bites. “I didn’t peg you as the kind of guy who didn’t believe in the softer side of love.”
Another one for the imagery books. Gage shoved a forkful of spinach in his mouth to keep that opinion to himself.
“I think we buy into what we want to believe,” he finally said. “If you want to believe that love is romantic,