How To Pleasure A Playboy(2)

     



 

"Have you figured out what you'll say to him?"

"That's the easy part. Even if I can't change his mind, at least he'll know I won't go quietly."

"Put these on." Ally handed her a pair of red high heels.

Lacey slipped them on and winced. "How do you even walk?"

"They're not that high. Besides, I don't actually go out in them.  They're for …  special occasions." Ally flushed, and Lacey rolled her  eyes. Her friend had gotten married a month ago and had a permanent pink  glow on her cheeks.

"Please don't tell me about your sex life." She bent to peer at the shoes. "At least they don't have visible stains."

"You look gorgeous. Just need one final tweak." Ally adjusted Lacey's  dress, tugging the neckline lower so her cleavage - and her tattoo -  jumped out. Then she slipped off Lacey's glasses. Without them,  everything was blurry. "There. Now you're a sex bomb."

Lacey grimaced. "Not sure about the sex part, but I don't mind being a  bomb. Hopefully I'll get to blow up at Bronson Reyne." She picked up her  phone and typed a quick tweet, squinting at the screen.

Going to meet #PamperedPlayboy tonight and Save #TheBaxter. Leaving sharp objects at home! Wish me luck.

"Now I'm ready."

Ally held up one hand. "Wait a minute. You're not taking that bag."

"Why not?" Lacey looked at her trusty leather hold-all. It wasn't that bad, was it?

"Don't you have a little purse?"

"I don't see the point of owning a bag that won't hold everything I  need, and I can't go out without my phone, keys, money, glasses, and  lipstick. And I'm taking a hairbrush in case it rains and my hair goes  frizzy. After all that effort to straighten it, be a shame if it springs  back into a bird's nest."

Ally sighed. "Doesn't go with the dress, but fair enough." She grabbed  her own bag and headed to the door. "You know I'd come if I didn't have  plans with Max. But it'll be easier for you to ambush Bronson if I'm not  there."

"He won't know what hit him," promised Lacey, wobbling behind her in the red high heels. "If I don't break my legs on the way."





Two





Bronson Reyne went to the opening of his new Sydney nightclub with not  one, but two women. Tina and Ellie were beautiful, and so what if their  conversation made his eyes glaze over? The important thing was that they  looked good getting out of his limo. He had a reputation to keep up.

He offered the women an arm each to escort them inside his club, and  stopped to exchange a few pleasantries with the bouncers before going  in. There were plenty of well-wishers who wanted to congratulate him, so  it took a while to get to his private table.

The three of them had settled in with their drinks when he noticed the  brunette in the red dress. She was carrying a ridiculously large bag and  squinting over at his table as though there was something wrong with  her eyes. But her breasts were spectacular.

"You know her?" Tina nodded toward the woman.

"Not yet." Bronson took a sip of whisky, admiring the way her red dress  skimmed the woman's curves. She looked like she was plucking up the  courage to come over, and he'd like to get a closer view of the tattoo  peeking above her neckline.

Ellie leaned over to get Tina's attention. "Did you hear about the casting for that new movie … ?"

Bronson tuned their conversation out. The club was at capacity, and he  was busy watching the bar, making sure the new staff were coping with  the crowd. No doubt there'd be a few teething problems, especially  because he hadn't been able to move as many of his regular staff in as  he would have liked. He'd also had to hire a new manager, but so far  everything seemed to be running well enough. Profits should be  substantial.

His table was in the perfect position. To the reporters covering the  club opening, it would look like Bronson was sitting back enjoying  himself. But from here he had a good view of everything, and was ready  to step in if anything went wrong.

The song changed to one with a faster beat, and Bronson frowned. What  was the DJ doing? This early, he should play a few favorites to get the  crowd warmed up. He could slip into the heavier stuff later. Dammit,  he'd have to go over and have a quiet word to the man.

"Hi." The brunette in the red dress stopped in front of their table,  shouting to be heard over the music. "You're Bronson Reyne, aren't you?  Do you mind if I sit down?"         

     



 

She sat without waiting for an answer, dropping her bag onto the floor  next to her. Then she leaned forward to give Bronson an excellent view  of what he could now see was a crescent moon tattoo with the word  Moonstruck written inside it. When his gaze went back up to her face,  she was frowning, probably assuming he'd been admiring her breasts.  Which, to be fair, he had.

She glanced sideways at Ellie and Tina. "I'm not here to join your  harem." Her tone was sweet. "I want to talk to you about something  serious."

"Drink?" He raised his hand and the waitress almost tripped over her  feet in her rush to get to their table. She was one of his brand new  hires, and understandably nervous.

"No, thanks." Red dress said. But the waitress put a glass in front of  her anyway and filled it from the bottle of Champagne already on their  table.

Red dress waited until the waitress had gone, then picked up the glass  and took a sip. "Do you give expensive French Champagne to everyone who  comes by?" She had lovely light brown eyes and full lips, and her hair  hung in a glossy curtain he wouldn't mind running his fingers through.  But there was a hint of scorn in her expression, as though she didn't  like him and was trying not to show it. Interesting. Men usually came  over to tell him how great a night they were having. Women usually hit  on him. So far, she'd done neither.

"I only offer it to my most beautiful guests," he said to test her reaction.

She gave him a narrow-eyed look. "What about the women you're already with?"

Tina and Ellie had gone back to their conversation about the movie they  were planning to audition for. They were happy enough to be sitting with  him, the publicity being as good for their careers as it was for his  business.

"Why don't we start with your name?" he asked.

"I'm Lacey Gibson. And I'm here to ask for a favor." She gave him a  forced smile. "If I ask nicely, will you listen to what I have to say?"

"I can hardly wait."

"It's about the Baxter. I'm one of your tenants."

Now her dislike of him made sense. Some of the building's tenants had  accepted his generous offer right away. Some were still thinking about  it. A few were insisting that Bronson repair the old ruin. He didn't  need a crystal ball to tell which side red dress was on. Pity. He'd been  hoping she'd be more interesting than that.

"Mr Reyne, please don't pull down the Baxter. Repair it instead."

"I can't help you."

"Have you even been inside to take a look? It's a beautiful building."

Another song started and it was even faster than the last one. Time to  do something about it and change the conversation at the same time.

He got to his feet and held out one hand. "Dance with me."

"What?"

"I want to dance. So either we talk on the dance floor, or not at all.  Your choice." He waited, watching her make up her mind before she rose  to her feet.

"I can't dance in these." She kicked her shoes off. Without them, she  came up to his shoulder. Her gaze was full of defiance, daring him to  object. Maybe thinking because this was a swanky club with a dress code,  the owner wouldn't want to dance with a barefoot woman. If so, she  couldn't be more wrong. Anything that gave the gossip columnists more to  talk about was fine by him.

"Come on." He put his hand to the small of her back to lead her onto the  dance floor, heading toward the DJ. After a discreet word with the man,  he turned to see Lacey was already dancing to the frenetic song without  a trace of self-consciousness. Watching her red dress cling to her  curves as she moved made Bronson regret being so quick to request a  slower beat.

Then the record changed. He recognized the song. ‘The Lady In Red', by Chris De Burgh.

Bronson chuckled, giving the grinning DJ an appreciative wave. And  although he didn't want to talk about the Baxter, he pulled Lacey  against him, slipping his arms around her waist and inhaling the sweet,  floral scent of her hair. Beneath the silky dress, her body was lean and  efficient in places, and nicely rounded in others. She felt every bit  as good as she looked.

But instead of dancing with him, she pushed against his chest and angled  her head back. "You think it's okay to throw people out of their  homes?"

"The Baxter's falling down. It needs too much work to repair."

"Better to fix a beautiful building than replace it with an ugly modern eyesore."