Excerpt of Something Naughty

Prologue

"Edible bra and panties? But we sell business suits!" Damon Becker turned squarely to face his grandmother.
"And now, edible underwear, honey," Henrietta replied, frowning at him. "Women aren't exactly rushing in to buy our suits, so it's time to give them an incentive." She reached for the bottle of lotion to sniff it.
Damon couldn't believe it. "With who?"
His grandmother's weak smile only fed the dread in his gut. "With Naughty Devil. I'm sure you've heard of them. They are a small company just like us, but they carry very nice stuff. Intimate women's apparel and such."
"Are you saying we're going from three-piece business suits to . . ." He gestured at the merchandise spread on the table in disbelief. "This? We have a solid reputation in our businessˆ¶"
"Which is all fine and dandy, but it's time for a change," she said firmly. "These items are sexy and tasteful." Her smile reappeared and she inspected the package of edible lacy underwear. "Perhaps literally."
He bit back a groan. Holy Christ.
"Opportunity presented itself, Damon. I couldn't let it pass us by." She wiggled her eyebrows at him. "I'm positive this is going to work out. What better way than to mix a little naughty with a whole lotta nice?"
"Please tell me you're kidding."
She continued, unconcerned. "This is evolution, kiddo. Change is good. What do you think of 'Whether you're in or out of a suit, in Becker Fine Tailoring, you'll always look stunning.' Kinda wordy, but you get the gist, right?"
He steepled his fingers and leaned in, trying to center his thoughts and follow hers. "We have four generations' worth of conservative reputation ˆ¶"
"They were my ancestors before they were yours, Damon." A half-turn from where she sat was enough to remind him that despite being eighty-two years of age and in fragile health, she still called the shots. "I've made many decisions without your help, thank you very much."
Had her new medication for her heart condition pushed her past her normal levels of eccentricity?
She pointed an emerald feather tickler at him. "Just because my heart is sputtering along doesn't mean my mind is gone!"
Damon felt a moment of guilt. He'd deliberately stayed out of the family business, making his visits short so as not to be dragged into it. Being on tour duty in the army had made much of that possible. Now, he was home. To this.
"Nana, I wish you would've brought me in on the decision sooner."
"Don't be silly. You weren't even in the country. Anyway, it's a reputable, distinguished business and . . . what's done is done. We're now in the naughty business, or rather, they're in ours."
He covered her hand, feeling the frail bones that held the reins to the business for so long. "It's not too late. Give me a couple of days to find a loophole."
"I can't, Damon. I won't. In fact, I'm looking forward to it."
He kept his mouth shut to hold back his disagreement. He felt inexplicably torn; the tailoring business had been the pain and pride of his family for as long as he could remember.
"Promise me you'll help make this a smooth transition," she insisted.
"I haven't seen all the products yet ˆ¶"
"Oh, try not to be so starchy! What works for Naughty Devil should also work for us. Mixing our formal style with a little of the Naughty Devil titillation is just the right combination. Sexy and vibrant. I'm not so old that I've forgotten what that's about."
Her hand fluttered over her chest and he felt a moment of sheer panic. "Are you okay?"
"Relax." She frowned. "I was just sensing Jamus nearby."
Great. Now Grandpa's ghost was in the room?
Her features softened and she patted his cheek. "My father and his father's father, and his beyond that, built this business into what it is today. I want to leave my mark too, Damon. This is my legacy. You will help make it happen, won't you?"
If her speech hadn't convinced him, the faint moisture in her eyes left him no choice. It tore him up inside to see it. He couldn't remember ever seeing her near tears . . .
She never seemed so fragile and small.
He nodded.
"Promise?" she insisted.
"Have I ever contradicted you and won?" he hedged.
Her smile crept back and she stubbornly blinked the moisture away. "Excellent. I'll set up a meeting."
Chapter One
"This lotion is lightly lubricating, and the floral scent is not overpowering. Would you like to try it?"
Tanika Davis extended the bottle to Damon Becker's open hand and a droplet accidentally spilled over, landing in his palm.
"Oops! I'm sorry." She looked around for tissue but he was already crushing the dab of cream with his hands as if it were paper he could crumble.
"Sorry about that," she apologized.
He mumbled something she couldn't quite hear.
Tanika hurried to put the top back on, briefly wished her sister was in her shoes to handle the situation rather than still at the hospital, happily nursing her brand new baby. At the moment, twenty-seven hours of labor didn't sound so bad. It beat the heck out of doing a sales pitch to the Patron Saint of Propriety.
Her first impulse when she met him was to drag him into the nearest closet and uncork her sexual frustrations. Three seconds later she realized he had the personality of a butler. And it was definitely not the kind that made hot monkey love in supply closets.
"Need a tissue?" she asked politely when he continued to rub his palms together.
"No, thanks."
His head was clean-shaven, his features were roughly attractive, and his skin absolutely flawless. To top it off, he was wearing a black suit that looked perfect in the light. He had the intensity of a preacher and the brawniness of a linebacker. Truth be told, she was having trouble getting past his body.
Mmm, mmm, good!
But when he steepled his fingers like that, he looked painfully allergic to the slightest sin.
"If the lotion's not your type, don't worry. It's a subtle scent that washes off with soap. But if you like it, all it needs is a little body heat to linger." She smiled, hoping he'd show some levity.
To no surprise, she watched him across the narrow boardroom table as he glanced sternly down at the stack of papers before him. "There are products here that are anything but subtle, Ms. Becker."
Brother. Was he for real? "Actually, Naughty Devil offers a range of products, from the elegant and, yes, subtle, to the bold and sassy."
He pointed to the array of products before him. "We could start with the lingerie and exotic lotions, but the other kinky toys do not belong in a women's clothing store."
Kinky? Not unless his clients were all monks, and even then! Had no one ever used a little fun-bondage on this guy?
"We only carry a handful of "toys", and they are only available online. These velvet handcuffs are hardly kinky, Mr. Davis," she said with a careful smile. She glanced at his large hands, certain the velvet would be snug and tight around his wrists, but they would fit. Maybe behind his back instead of the headboard, butˆ¶
He gave her a look that seemed to read her thoughts.
"My clientele would consider them playful," she said, holding tight to her smile.
The slightest furrow of his brow was comment enough.
Deciding not to fall into the trap of explaining herself, Tanika took a large gulp of her cooling coffee, then charged on. "As a matter of fact, high-level executives make up a large percentage of our repeat customers, and not just for lotions and lingerie. It's why your VP asked me to work with you on an advertising strategy."
His frown deepened. "I've looked over your product selection and I don't see a simple way to blend them in the catalog. I propose we keep half the catalog for the Becker Fine Tailoring items and half for ND items. We can even print one catalog upside down from the other, give them a little juxtaposition. How does that sound?"
"Mutual placement is the key, Mr. Becker. A marketing strategy has already been discussed with your grandmother."
He leaned back, his shoulders holding his tension like boulders. He looked like he was about to say something but instead he briefly nodded his shaven, perfectly shaped head, looking resigned. "I see."
Tanika felt a twinge of pity for him. "I was expecting to meet with your grandmother, the CEO, today."
He leaned back. "She asked me to convey her apologies for not being able to attend. However, she wanted me to review the ads, if you have them."
"I do."
"Then by all means, please continue."
He didn't have to look like she was requesting a prostate exam, for crissakes.
"Is there a problem?" he asked.
She widened her stiff smile. "Actually, there was. We couldn't book our original model, and because of time restrictions, we substituted. Perhaps another meeting with your grandmother would beˆ¶"
"Ms. Davis." He leaned forward again, all wide shoulders and intensity stretched taut. "I'm sure the model you chose will do nicely."
Hmm. "Of course."
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly at her tone of voice.
She tapped her pencil in her hand. "Well, then.
* * *
Damon noticed Tanika's tone didn't change one bit, but she looked distinctly annoyed. Her attitude emanated from her in waves, sparking in her eyes.
Dazzling eyes. Sultry. Like dark amber in sunlight. Despite her business suit, luscious curves, and a perfectly conservative French knot, her eyes were the epitome of seductive temptation. Everything about her was so unmistakably feminine. There was nothing he could put his finger on precisely, just a natural comfortable sensuality about her body, an unconscious femininity that was almost blatantly sexual . . . and yet wasn't.
She quietly cleared her throat and he briefly refocused on the pen in his hand as he listened to her.
"We market our products with the Naughty Devil logo, so here are some ideas of how I would approach joint placement in ads. As you will see, our products are not as incompatible as you'd think."
Tanika placed a large portfolio case on the table. The sand-brown tailored jacket she wore was molded to the lush roundness of her breasts and a faint satin-on-satin sound reached his ears. The barest scent of an unknown fragrance wafted over to distract him. Lily? No, that was too soft. Definitely not roses. Orchids? Musk? No, greener. What was it?
"Here is a glimpse of our hosiery and one of your suits." She straightened a photo of a man in a Becker Fine Tailoring suit, hands fisted in his trouser pockets as if to hide an erection in his pants. He boldly stared at the camera with an almost thuglike challenge.
A woman hid behind him, eyes laughing as she peered over his shoulder wearing reading glasses, pencils sticking out of her coiffure. Halfway down, the angle of the shot showed off one of her legs, long, sensuous and encased in thigh-high black nylons . . . all the way down to the burgundy high-heeled pumps. Sexy.
The laughing eyes halted him. Amber eyes. "You?"
"Well, as I mentioned, I thought I was going to meet with your grandmother. I no longer do modeling workˆ¶"
"You were a model?"
"Mostly for size twelve. Obviously not for anything less. But anyway, we had a booking conflict, so . . . " She sighed. "I was assured this would not be an issue."
He looked back at the photo, studying the very long, very sexy leg. "No. Not an issue." Right. Sure. Was getting a hard-on considered an issue?
"Should I continue?"
He nodded. "By all means."
She turned to the next photo and didn't bother with an explanation.
It didn't need one.
The body shot of a woman pushed back on the edge of a desk was graphic enough. Her plaid Becker skirt was around her hips, the photo showing just enough of her bare inner thigh to titillate. A man in pin-stripped Becker trousers stood between her legs, the belt dangling suggestively. At the point where the skirt gathered at her hips, a tiny tattoo of the Naughty Devil peeked out. Damon felt instantly transported into the picture, dry-mouthed and shocked by the rush of blood to his groin. He could practically feel the heat of her vagina against his cock.
The apt tagline, "You can have it on his desk by the end of the day" was written in red cursive.
Sweet Mother of Moses!
"Here's a shot of the lingerie," she continued.
In it, Tanika lounged in an executive chair in nothing but a Becker trench coat. She was speaking into a microrecorder in her hand and studying a thick open binder in her lap, seemingly oblivious to how the coat fell open to reveal the curve of a lace-covered breast and torso. Her mouth was parted, just inches from where her red-tipped nails held the microrecorder, the gloss on her lips inviting unscrupulous thoughts. The caption read, "Dictation method No. 5".
He forced himself not to shift in his seat.
He was tempted to bring the image closer and study that perfect mouth, but she turned to the next ad. It invited blow job fantasies. Damn . . .
And there she was again but this time in a gym shower. She stood with her back to him, naked but for a man's shirtˆ¶Becker, no doubt ˆ¶ and tight-knit fishnet stockings and garters. The cotton shirt looked deliciously translucent in the places where the shirt touched her skin, like wet icing. The damned tattoo appeared again on her thigh, just under the rippling crease of water. Was it real? The close-up shot captured the chill on her skin and made him want to run his hand over the photo and warm her, caress her . . .
"This one is for what you would refer to as kinky items."
The photo looked like it had been taken in an elevator camera. A man's broad back could be seen as he faced a corner, his long, signature Becker trench coat almost touching the ground. The only visible sign of Tanika was her hands at his neck, one clutching the coat near his collar in a desperate grip and the other cupping his head. A velvet handcuff dangled from her wrist. The coat bulged oddly at the waist, giving the impression that her legs were intimately wrapped around the man's waist. No doubt she was naked. Straining to take him in an illicit moment of fornicating passion.
The caption read, "Want to hold a captive audience?"
For the elevator camera?
Damon's erection hardened further, pushing uncomfortably in his trousers. It didn't help that the identical trench coat was draped on the arm of the empty chair next to him. Same color too.
The drumming of his pulse was deafening. This wasn't an ad to sell sophisticated clothes.
She spoke again, her voice unfailingly polite but almost bored. "And this last one targets the lotions."
In it, she sat at a mirrored vanity wearing an oversized man's shirt. White. The collar sagged enough to reveal a Becker Fine Tailoring tag in the back. The shirt was were unbuttoned halfway down to reveal a hint of her full breasts.
Behind her was the out-of-focus view of a rumpled bed . . . with a man in it. She was licking her lips while one of her hands hovered over the vast selection of lotion bottles before her, her face beaming with rushed excitement. As if the choice she had to make had to be quick. Naughty. Tasty.
The caption read "Decisions! Decisions!"
"Well?" she asked politely.
No. Absolutely, positively not!
"It's definitely . . . different," he muttered. "Our approach has always been to present fashion with a little less scandal and instead place the focus on the professional aspects, Ms. Davis."
Her eyebrows shot up. "I don't see anything truly scandalous about these ads. There's lots of implied passion, but that doesn't translate to scandal."
He pointed to the desk, elevator, and shower ads. "Our last ad had our models reading the New York Times by a warm fireplace."
"I'm sure that can be arranged," she murmured, looking entirely too innocent. "I'll pass it along."
Yeah, I'll bet. Without a doubt his forefathers were doing triple flips in their graves. "The point of a good ad is to get more customers, not alienate them or blindside them," he pointed out.
"I concur." She mimicked him by tapping her pencil in her hand, and he got the distinct impression she was mocking him. "However, we're going for a younger, more energetic demographic, Mr. Becker. We need to market ourselves to stand out. Becker Fine Tailoring and Naughty Devil. The women's line of suits and the Naughty Devil products are a match made in heaven. The best way to blend the two is with the Naughty Devil logo. We can pull it off."
He wanted to shift his erection into a more comfortable position or simply unzip and save the big fella from the strangle hold it was in, but that was not going to happen, so he decided to cut to the chase.
"Resorting to selling sex is not what Becker Fine Tailoring is about, Ms. Davis."
She gave him a cool, predatory look. "Well, Naughty Devil is all about selling the possibility of sex, Mr. Becker. That has the most lasting impression. We want to make the client feel professional yet provocative and sensual. Confidence stems from that. People love the possibility of sex, the chemistry, the foreplay, even if they are stuck in a boardroom for four hours, wearing an uncomfortable, stuffy suit with a stellar reputation."
"Stuffy?" he asked calmly. "Are you saying Becker Fine Tailoring makes stuffy suits?" The men who had served under him in the army would have recognized the warning in his voice, but she apparently didn't.
"Of course not." But her denial was mocked by her eyes. "I'm simply saying that sexual allure is a common marketing ploy that we intend to leverage to create a new image for the Becker Fine Tailoring line."
"There's nothing wrong with the old image. If anything, there is a certain nostalgic, romantic element there. We offer the finest quality, use top-of-the-line materials, and have ˆ¶"
"Zero sex appeal."
He wanted to stand, lean over, and impress on her the integrity and sacrifice of four generations of custom tailoring that demanded to be defended. But sporting a raging hard-on probably wasn't going to help him with this argument. So he stayed seated and silently fumed.
"It's as simple as this, Ms. Davis. Becker suits give people an edge in a business encounter by making a distinct professional statement."
"And that's working extremely well for your men's line. But for your women's line, not so much." Tanika started to put her inventory of lotions, edible underwear and sundry items into her briefcase. "Mr. Becker, we will see more sales if people purchase both of our products with the hope that their business ˆ¶ whether in the courtroom or the bedroom ˆ¶ involves some sensuality or even erotic pleasure. Don't you agree?"
And there, he decided, was the problem. "Business and pleasure don't mix."
Again the quick, disbelieving look. "Ideally, in theory, that may be true, but never in advertising. In any case, what's wrong with giving your customers another reason to buy your suits?"
He gave her the once-over. "Is that why you buy a suit?"
She froze in mid-motion, and he knew he'd surprised her.
"You're wearing one of our best suits," he noted. "Did you buy it to be sexy and alluring or to present a professional image at this meeting?"
Instead of showing embarrassment, a flash of sensual fire lit her eyes, mentally knocking him on his ass. Her gaze held, starting a phantom caress that swirled like satin through and around the thickness of his penis before settling in his testicles.
"Well, that goes toward my point," she said carefully. "Do you want to know what I'm wearing underneath all this? Are you curious to know which of the various Naughty Devil lotions or lingerie I decided on this morning? Does any of that matter to you or do you prefer to think of this as a dry-cleaned suit with fine tailoring."
Images of what might be under her double-breasted jacket seared his mind. Her scent was still eluding him, but was no less haunting for it.
"I'd rather avoid a sexual harassment lawsuit than answer that," he replied.
She placed a few more items into her briefcase, sighing patiently, and he felt like a child who wasn't understanding basic math. "Our customers won't have to vocalize their thoughts, Mr. Becker. It's enough to make them wonder whether I could be wearing the Pink Dahlia lotion, or whether I chose to slip on item number fifty-nine twenty under this suit today. That's our selling point."
From earlier research of the ND products, he remembered the "fifty-nine hundred" selections were satin camisole and thong combos. His imagination went into overdrive.
"And wondering what a woman wears under her suits is not completely sexist," she continued breezily. "For that matter, women will wonder whether the men who wear your suits might also use one of our many unisex lotions, or if they have on our tuxedo boxer shorts or . . . whatever else. Statistics prove sexual speculation is part of human nature."
She closed her briefcase with a definite click and a business card fluttered to the floor. She bent to retrieve it and Damon tilted his head to admire the curve of her luscious butt . . . and the way the suit molded to it.
Booty-bountiful!
And to think there was a red thong under that suit, just waiting to show off the sexy round mounds of her sweet behind andˆ¶
She straightened, smiled at him, and tucked the card into her breast pocket, her eyes gleaming victoriously.
He wanted to smack himself on the forehead.
"Are we in agreement about the marketing strategy then?" she asked sweetly.