Taste Me. Carrie Alexander
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at her. He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh yes, I almost forgot. You’re fired.”
2
THE ROUND-BOTTOMED pixie’s mouth dropped open. Twin sparks appeared in her vivid peacock-blue eyes. Julian almost smiled. He’d shocked her, as intended.
“Unless you tell me your name,” he added. His palm went automatically to his wet shirtfront, as if that would quell the interesting sensations she’d set off inside him with her diligent scrubbing.
“Or I could just call you the laundry maid,” he said to provoke her further. There was a bit of the devil in him today—and she’d put it there. Before her, he’d been coasting on boredom, having everything in his empire but his crazy sisters under control.
With her tart tongue, quick mind and ripe figure, Mia Some Body was an intriguing prospect. Soon to be a satisfying conquest, when she’d received a full blast of his charm-her-pants-off charisma. He supposed that was conceited, but false modesty was a waste of time when the truth was that he hadn’t met a woman yet who could resist, as Mia had said, the full Julian Silk package.
Ahem. He’d better get his mind off full packages before his own became blatantly apparent.
“I’m no servant,” Mia said. She looked as if she might be grinding her teeth.
“Naturally. But I can hire and fire your delectable ass. You said so yourself.”
She blinked hard, widening her eyes to half-dollar size. “I don’t recall discussing delectable asses.”
He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “An oversight on my part.”
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“Do you see me laughing?”
Mia glanced at her cohort, the lithe young man she’d called Cress. He’d slid the sunglasses off his nose and was watching them with astonishment, the earpieces dangling down so the glasses hung under his chin like a chrome beard.
Mia motioned to the man. “Start packing up. Looks like the shoot is almost over.”
Julian cleared his throat.
“Right,” she said, in a way that meant “Oh yeah. You.” She tossed her head, regarding him with a smile gone smug. “Lucky for me, this job is over. I don’t have to take your orders, Mr. Silk.”
The little minx. “So you won’t tell me your name?”
She stepped behind the table and made herself busy, gathering a fistful of gloppy paintbrushes. He could tell the sudden activity was so she didn’t have to look at him, and that gave him some satisfaction. Not much, granted, but she was proving to be more of an elusive target than he’d expected.
“I’d be happy to,” she said. “If you ask nicely.”
“I was only teasing you about the firing thing. You’re not fired. In fact, I’m actually tremendously impressed by your work, Miss…” He gave her his warmest look, the one he used on orphans, harried secretaries and his sister Nikki when she broke up with another boyfriend.
“Kerrigan. Mia Kerrigan.”
“And please call me Julian.”
Her head tilted. “Not Mr. Silk?”
“No. Mr. Silk was my dad.”
“Was?” A frown flitted across her face.
“He died six years ago. A sudden heart attack. It was in the all the papers. I’ve been in charge of Silk Publications ever since.” Now why had he said all that? Mia had been right on the mark about Julian being sick of his reputation preceding him—even before Celebrity Gossip had made his exploits famous.
Was he trying to impress her? If so, bad try. She’d made it obvious that she wasn’t the kind of girl who’d be impressed by an inherited position and wealth, even if the family company had been teetering on the brink of bankruptcy when he’d taken over and he’d saved his mother and sisters from having to downgrade to coach class.
“I don’t follow the society and financial sections,” Mia said. “But I am sorry for your loss.”
Her voice had softened. There was only sincerity behind it. Not a hint of the inner calculation over how much he was worth and whether she could snag him—reactions he’d come to recognize at fifty paces.
Julian gave his rolled-up sleeves a brisk shove. “Thanks.”
Mia’s eyes met his, and for a moment a warm current flowed between them, sweet and pure, unadulterated by her flip remarks and the surface charm of his initial attempts at seduction, which suddenly seemed rather puerile.
Petra clacked toward them. “Julian, you must join us. The shoot’s breaking up, and Victor and I are taking the Sugar High team out for drinks.”
“Not this time, Petra.” He didn’t want to take his eyes off Mia. Certainly not to schmooze a bunch of ad guys.
“Julian…” Petra’s dark red lips pooched out. She moved herself into his line of sight, cutting off Mia. “I know it’s a bore. But they have bought a six-page spread in the December issue, and Victor’s minions are working on a long-term contract for future ad campaigns…”
Yammer, yammer, yammer. Julian let Petra rattle on, but he wasn’t listening. He was watching Mia, who’d moved onto the set to lean over the model’s dais and begin removing the hard candies. The overalls pulled snugly across her derriere. Even in baggy denim, Mia Kerrigan was all T&A, as ready for plucking as a ripe plum. But she was no easy fruit who’d fall into his open arms after one shake. She was a lofty reward he’d really have to work for, tantalizingly out of reach until a final, supreme effort delivered her to his arms….
Making the first taste of her juicy flesh all the sweeter.
The model rose off her perch, full breasts swinging as she shimmied into the robe Cress held out for her. Julian barely registered the outstanding multicolored body that made the other spectators gape. There was a smattering of appreciative applause as she stepped off the set like a queen, Cress holding her hand aloft.
The pair disappeared behind a door in the darkened part of the vast studio. A murmur of satisfaction came from the suits, while the photographer and production team carried on without comment. For them, a gorgeous nude woman, even one tricked out like a gingerbread house, was business as usual.
For Mia Kerrigan, too.
Another good reason for Julian to explore her world. Thoroughly.
“Julian?” Petra faked a light laugh. “You’re not usually so distracted. I suppose I don’t have to ask why.”
He nodded. Let her think that. “This cover should fly off the stands.”
“It’s not exactly a new concept.” Petra’s sniping tone betrayed tendrils of jealousy, even though she was usually good at giving off the modern woman’s anything-goes, live-for-the-moment, no-commitment vibe. “Demi Moore did it on the cover of Vanity Fair ages ago.”
“We’re doing it better.” He paused. “Thanks to Mia Kerrigan. Where did you find her?”
“The artist? Oh, I don’t know. She was in someone’s Rolodex, I suppose. I think she’d done body painting for the ad campaign of a makeup company. Living Color.” Petra shrugged. “Her fee was outrageous.”
“She’s worth it.”
Petra’s eyes narrowed as she followed Julian’s gaze and realized that perhaps it wasn’t the model he was slavering over. “Oh really?”
“As art director, I’m surprised you don’t agree.”
“But I do. The cover will be…spectacular. I was only saying it’s not a new idea.”
“Hard Candy should do a body-painting feature. A fashion