Valentine Fantasy

She stood and slowly moved toward him. “Yes, Mr. Valentine,” she said in that husky voice that made him take notice. The tip of her tongue darted out and she moistened her lower lip.

He swallowed. Hard.

“I want the works.” She extended her hand toward him. “Do we have a deal?”

He looked at her outstretched hand, and those long, red nails he imagined wrapped around some very interesting places, then over at the cold, hard cash. Regardless of the fact that Austin’s wife worked, getting married meant additional financial demands on his brother, and Jordan was certain he’d end up being Uncle Jordan to some adorable kids within a few years. Austin was a family man now. There was no way Jordan could turn down Cait’s offer, or ignore the crisp one-hundred dollar bills she’d just handed him.

He took her hand, surprised by the firmness of her grip. “Jordan McBride, valentine for hire at your service. I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

She pulled her hand from his and gave him a look filled with sexy promise. “I’m sure you won’t,” she said, hiking his temperature a notch or two.

She left after promising to phone him later in the week with the details for Saturday night.

A valentine!

Why would a woman pay him two grand to be her valentine? And what on earth did she mean by the works? Was she expecting the traditional candy and flowers? Certainly she expected much more, considering the cash she’d paid him.

The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. He took another order, this time for a fantasy pirate, for the following month. By the time he finished the call, he still hadn’t a clue as to what Cait had meant by the works.

Austin’s business was fantasies. Women used the services of Fantasy for Hire to fulfill a particular fantasy, whether it was a cowboy, fireman or even an uptight executive type. The business that had been started to help Austin and a few of his buddies pay off their college loans had grown. Its success was due in particular to his brother’s vision of a class act, a rule he insisted be followed to the letter.

He went to the kitchen to pour himself another cup of coffee and looked out the bay windows of the breakfast nook to the backyard, still racking his brain about Cait’s reference to “the works.” When Austin had been hired for Teddy’s birthday celebration, he’d given her a Stetson to complete her cowboy fantasy. Maybe that’s what Cait wanted. Maybe she was paying him to really be her valentine. Maybe she expected candy, flowers and an entire range of small gifts and surprises designed to live up to the agency’s motto of the ultimate fantasy, the ultimate mental seduction.

He sipped his coffee, constructing and discarding a variety of ideas worthy of the sum of money he’d been paid. If Cait Sullivan’s fantasy was to have herself a valentine, and she was willing to pay for it, then he’d just have do his part in making certain the customer’s satisfaction was guaranteed.

“HOW DOES ANYONE do anything with these blasted nails?” Cait muttered as she corrected another typo. She was going to have to do something about them. She could barely function, let alone type.

“Okay, so who is he?”

Cait looked up from her computer to the smiling face peeking over the wall of her cubicle. “What are you talking about?” She frowned at Jennifer Harding, the Herald’s entertainment reporter and her closest friend.

Jen hurried around the three-quarter wall and dropped into the chair opposite Cait’s desk. “The hair, the new makeup, and those god-awful dragon-lady nails. Has to be a man.”

“It’s not a man.” Well, maybe it was, but not the way Jen meant. She hit the Save button on the computer and closed the file with her notes on her first meeting with Jordan McBride. She was unsure whether to share with Jen the news about her sideline as an investigative reporter. Not that she questioned Jen’s loyalty, but her longtime friend had a tendency toward being overprotective—and extremely nosy.

Jen drummed her nails on the arm of the gray cloth chair. “What’s with the getup?”

Cait shrugged. “I wanted a change.”

“Ha! The only time a woman wants a change is when she’s been dumped or there’s a new man in her life. Since you haven’t had a steady boyfriend in over a year, that leaves only one other option. Who is he?”

Cait sighed and ignored the gleam in her friend’s dark brown eyes. “There’s no one. Can we change the subject, please?”

“Okay, so you’re not ready to share,” Jen teased, adjusting her thick raven hair over her shoulder with a gentle flick of the wrist. “I can respect that.”

Cait rolled her eyes, then reached for the folder with her notes on a fund-raiser being held in two weeks. She winced when her clawlike nails caught the end of the plastic in-box. She really had to have these things shaved down to a workable length before she hurt someone. “Did you want something specific, or were you in the mood to harass someone and I’m your unfortunate target?”

“There’s a new play in town opening this weekend and I’m reviewing it. Wanna tag along?”

“I can’t.”

“Ah-ha!” Jen laughed. “I knew it was a man.”

Cait set the file on the desk in front of her. Carefully, so she didn’t stab herself, she clasped her hands together. “It’s my parents’ fortieth anniversary this weekend and we’re throwing a party for them, or did you forget?”

Jen sighed dramatically. “No. I didn’t forget. I’ll try to stop by after the play, but I can’t promise anything. Do you have a date for the party?”

She thought of Jordan McBride, his rich sable hair and those pale hazel eyes that had swept over her, along with the shiver she’d had a hard time suppressing when he’d looked at her. He could definitely be filed in the drop-dead-gorgeous category with his wide shoulders, lean hips and athletic body. But his eyes drew her attention and held her. Lordy, they were the kind of eyes that could hold a woman spellbound for hours. If Fantasy for Hire really was in the business of seducing wealthy women out of their fortunes as Louden Avery had implied, then Jordan McBride was no doubt a success at his chosen profession. All the man had to do was smile and flash his sexier-than-sin eyes and women would blissfully hand over their wealth.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” she admitted.

Jen crossed her arms over her chest and gave her an I-told-you-so look. “I knew it was a man.”

“It’s not what you think.” Cait stood and pulled her raincoat from the peg behind her desk. “It’s strictly business. Let’s get some cappuccino. My treat.”

“This must be good if you’re buying.”

Cait glared at her friend. It wasn’t that she was cheap, but she’d been taught the value of a dollar by her parents. Spending the money for her new look and the money to hire McBride hadn’t been an impulse. She thought of it more as an investment in her future. Her future as a real reporter.

By the time they crossed the street to the Higher Grounds coffee shop, placed their order and found a table in the back, Jen was prodding Cait with more questions. “Tell me about him,” she demanded, dipping the edge of her biscotti in her cup of latte.

Cait sipped her cappuccino, then set the cup aside. “I told you. It’s business.”

“Business? On Valentine’s Day?” Jen shook her head with mock dismay. “Honey, we need to have a little talk. You know what they say, all work and no play…”

“Will help me reach my goals sooner?” Cait finished.

Jen set the cookie aside and leaned forward. “Tell me about this business date. Is he gorgeous?”

Cait bit her lip. She knew she could trust Jen, and she was dying to talk to someone about her discovery, even if it meant a well-meaning lecture. Gorgeous didn’t begin to explain Jordan McBride. “Gorgeous has nothing to do with this. He’s a story.”

“Borrrrringgg. More tales of the rich and famous.”

Cait shook her head. “Not this time.” This time, she had a lead on a real story, a story that would have her editor, Edmund Davidson, stand up and take notice. She was convinced if she broke the story on Jordan McBride, Edmund would seriously consider moving her into investigative reporting. He continually told her she was too young, she needed more life experiences. How on earth did he expect her to gain experience if he kept sending her to debutante balls and fund-raisers? Last week she’d been assigned the opening of another art gallery funded by a bored housewife of some Montgomery Street financial wizard. Not exactly hard-hitting news as far as she was concerned.

“Oh?” Interested, Jen propped her chin in the palm of her hand. “Tell me more.”

Cait looked around the coffeehouse, making sure they wouldn’t be overheard, then very quickly explained her meeting with Louden Avery the previous afternoon and his claims against Fantasy for Hire.

“So, I hired myself a date for my parents’ party,” she finished, raising her cappuccino in mock salute. “I need the inside scoop and what better way to accomplish that than hiring my own fantasy?”

Jen sipped her latte then set the cup back on the Formica table. “How much did this fantasy date cost the paper?”

“Nothing. I took the money out of my savings account. If the story pans out like I think it’s going to, I’ll put it on my expense account.”

“How much?” Jen asked again, frowning.

Cait knew her friend had only been half teasing about her springing for coffee. They’d been roommates in college and Cait was used to Jen’s lighthearted badgering about her ability to squeeze a dollar.