Tease. Suzanne Forster
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be plenty soon enough.
The moment she heard the man leave, Tess let herself out of the stall and went to the long bank of sinks to wash her hands. Mitzi, keeper of the towels, was seated on her stool at the end of the long counter, her many products displayed on wall racks behind her. She watched Tess intently, ready to hand her a towel when she was done.
Tess thanked her and grabbed some paper towels instead. “In a rush,” she said, taking a moment to scrutinize herself in the mirror.
Good girl? Her? What had Gabriel been thinking?
She pulled on a tight curl, trying to get it to relax and dangle in a provocative way. How did she get stuck with yellow bedsprings for hair? She’d always wanted to be one of those fey beauties whose hair went flying every time she gave it a little shake. The kind who gave men whiplash when she strolled by. She sighed. Not in this lifetime.
Still, she hadn’t had that much difficulty attracting men, especially back in college. She’d gone through a wild-child phase when hormones and adrenaline had uncorked inside her like a magnum of champagne. Reserved as she’d been, she’d gotten bold enough to flirt, and that was all the encouragement certain boys had needed. Suddenly, she was wildly popular. Not for any of the right reasons, of course, but the boys’ reactions had taught her that being sexy was about much more than one’s appearance.
Too bad she’d been riddled with guilt the whole time. Being “bad” had only been fleetingly good. Mostly, the experience had left her confused about her sexuality and her urgent need for male attention. And years later, when she’d finally figured it out, the answers hadn’t been pretty.
The bathroom door swung open behind her, and a small pack of women burst into the spacious room, laughing and talking, probably on a break.
Tess thought she recognized them from the Research Division but couldn’t be sure. She’d been introduced around by a Human Resources person, but she’d met too many people that week. It was all a blur.
“Last night was a Rolling Thunderclap,” one of the women said as the three of them entered separate stalls. “It was loud and fast, and there were reports of smoke coming from my ears.”
“Reports? How many people were there?” the second woman asked from her stall.
“Just me and my boyfriend, but he gave me updates on the half second.”
“Sounds more like a Shake, Rattle and Roll to me,” the second woman said. “Were there coital quivers? I’m a Mountain Fountain girl, myself.”
“And I fall somewhere between Napping Kitten and Arctic Silence,” the third said. “Therapy was suggested.”
Mountain Fountain was a Qigong position, but Tess was pretty sure they weren’t discussing martial arts. She moved aside as the women emerged all at once, not unlike synchronized swimmers. They washed their hands, thanked Mitzi for the towels and disappeared into the adjoining lounge.
Tess glanced at Mitzi, who shrugged. “This month’s Cosmo has a Name Your Orgasm quiz,” she explained. “Apparently, orgasms can reveal hidden aspects of your personality. If you’re limited to one kind, it means you’re not expressing yourself fully as a human being.”
“Ah.” Tess nodded. ’Nuff said. She gave her hair another tweak and frowned. A giant sigh escaped her. Limited to one kind? She should be so lucky. What was an orgasm? She couldn’t remember. Most of hers had been pretty forgettable anyway, if she was being honest. No Rolling Thunderclaps. Even all the heavy breathing in college had been only briefly exciting—and definitely not worth the self-recrimination afterward.
Mitzi was watching Tess with a knitted brow and enough concern to send Tess running. She reached for the Faustini bag the designer had given her, along with a pair of their gorgeous new stiletto boots. Each of the team members had received some Faustini launch products as gifts, and to better help them sell the line. Pride of ownership was a prime motivating factor, and old man Faustini, as everyone called the sixty-two-year-old founder of the company, was smart enough to know that.
“Gotta go,” Tess said. “Work to do.” She gave Mitzi a reassuring nod, but it didn’t seem to register. Mitzi’s health-o-meter was engaged.
“Female trouble?” Mitzi said. “Let me guess. PMS, right?”
Tess was too startled not to respond. She was premenstrual beyond belief, bloated and incredibly hormonal. Worse, she’d never been hornier. She glanced down at her body. “Does it show?”
Tess’s period was nearly two weeks late. Probably stress. She definitely wasn’t pregnant, unless this was an immaculate conception. She hadn’t had sex in months, which seemed to be affecting her cycle.
Good for creativity. That’s what she’d been telling herself. Theoretically, pent-up sexual energy could be channeled into other things, like work. In reality, though, she was getting more frustrated, not less, despite the distractions of a new job and a new life. At this rate, her sexual energy would soon be the equivalent of a black hole, sucking up every productive thought she had. Too bad she hadn’t been assigned to come up with an ad campaign for porno flicks.
Mitzi was off the stool and down on her knees, searching through the cabinet beneath the sink. “Maybe some clary sage and juniper-berry tea? It balances hormones, and it’s a powerful diuretic. You’ll pee like a racehorse.”
Tess reached for her purse. “Does it come in bags?” she asked, ready to buy on the spot. What did it cost? Fifty bucks a bag? Sold. Anything that equaled less bloating was gold.
“Aha!” Mitzi beamed as she pulled out a small box of tea bags.
The transaction went quickly, and the price was fair, but it all felt vaguely illegal to Tess. Maybe because Mitzi had literally gone under the counter to get the tea.
“Did I hear a man in here earlier?” Tess made small talk as she waited for Mitzi to process her charge card. “I met lots of people this week, and his voice sounded familiar.”
“Did you meet Danny Gabriel?”
Tess tried not to act startled this time. “Yes. Was it him?”
“No, but that’s who you were thinking it was, am I right?”
“I thought it might be him. Are you supposed to be psychic or something?”
Mitzi wrinkled her nose at the idea. “If the first five senses work, why do you need a sixth? Good eyes and ears is all it takes around here.”
Laughter drifted from the other room, where the women were hanging out. Tess wondered if they were still comparing personal bests or had moved on to something else.
She signed the credit card slip Mitzi pushed toward her and tore off her copy. “Thanks for suggesting this,” she said, picking up the box of tea. “I’m sure it will help.”
Mitzi had her PDA out and was busy making an entry. It was probably how she kept track of sales or inventory. “You’re welcome,” she said, not looking up, “but I think you might need more than tea, dear.”
Tess was already heading for the door. “Thanks, but I have plenty of soap and candles. This will be fine.”
“Tess Wakefield.”
The urgency in Mitzi’s voice made Tess hesitate. She turned to see Mitzi coming after her with a halting gait. Tess wondered if she was much older than she looked, or if she’d been injured somehow.
“Is something wrong?” Tess asked.
Mitzi handed her the credit card. “You forgot this.”
“Oh, thank you.” Tess took hold of the card, but Mitzi didn’t let go of it. Instead, she frowned, her dark eyes boring into Tess’s, as if she was searching for something.
“You don’t know anything about this place, do you?” she said.
“New