Valentine Fantasy

“Tell me your fantasy, Cait.”

Jordan’s deep velvet voice sent a warm little shiver down her spine. “I’d like you to kiss me,” she said. When his gaze dipped to her mouth, her lips parted in invitation. When he hesitated, she leaned out of the tub to grab his tie and pulled him close.

“Now, Jordan.”

“It’s your fantasy,” he whispered, before pressing his lips seductively against hers, his hand dipping beneath the surface of the bathwater to brush against her rib cage. Her head spun, her mind whirled with sensation as he cajoled her tongue to mate with his in a kiss more erotic than anything she’d ever experienced. She moaned when he palmed her breast in the warmth of his large hand. Heat, hot and blazing, built inside her as his thumb lightly teased her nipple into a taut peak.

Suddenly, he stopped. “We can’t do this, Cait.” He stood and walked over to pick up his jacket, leaving her wanting him, needing him….

“This isn’t exactly how I envisioned my fantasy ending,” she said, her voice still husky with desire.

“This isn’t the end, sweetheart. It’s just the beginning.” He graced her with a grin guaranteed to speed up her pulse. “By the way, you might want to add a few more bubbles to your bath.”

Dear Reader,

Writing can be such a solitary existence and if it wasn’t for the support of one of my closest friends, fellow Temptation author, Janelle Denison, Cait and Jordan’s romance would never have seen the light of day. The Fantasy for Hire books are a project close to my heart because it finally gave Janelle and I the opportunity to work together. The result of this collaboration—the McBride brothers, two gorgeous, sexy men who’ve captured our hearts and hopefully, will capture yours as well.

Janelle and I have wanted to team up on a special project for years. Thanks to the encouragement of our editors, Birgit Davis-Todd and Brenda Chin, we were given the opportunity to fulfil a long-awaited fantasy of our own. I hope you enjoy both Temptation #759 Christmas Fantasy and Temptation #767 Valentine Fantasy.

I’d love to hear from you, so feel free to write to me at P.O. Box 224, Mohall, ND 58761.

Enjoy,

Jamie Denton

Valentine Fantasy

Jamie Denton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Tony,

You’re my fantasy come true.

Love, Jamie

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Prologue

“SEX FOR HIRE?” Cait Sullivan asked, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper. “Are you serious?”

With the critical eye of a reporter, Cait examined the man across her desk. The expensive suit and Italian loafers were apparel that bespoke money, and not the garb of some crackpot. If she ignored the small bandage across his nose and the fading double shiners that made him resemble a jaundiced racoon, his face didn’t look as if it belonged to a crazy, either, but maybe someone who’d had his nose broken.

“I’m perfectly serious, Ms.—” he glanced at her nameplate, then slid his pale blue gaze back to her “—Sullivan. I know for a fact that a representative of Fantasy for Hire was paid to have sex with a client. A very wealthy client.”

Cait’s instincts kicked into high gear. There was a story here, a good story that wouldn’t require her to dress up and play nice with the debutantes of San Francisco—spoiled little girls who made her feel gauche and out of place. It might even keep her away from the boring charity auctions of the rich and infamous, another assignment she found distasteful. This was a real story. And if she could pull off the exposé Louden Avery kept hinting at, it might just mean the end of the fluff she’d been writing for the past two years and push her into the type of reporting she craved—hard-hitting news. Investigative reporting. Maybe even move her out of print and into live, on-location shots with one of the networks, or even CNN.

This is Cait Sullivan reporting live…

She tucked the fantasy away and pulled out a yellow pad instead. First things first. “What proof do you have?”

“One of my former employees obtained the—shall we call them services,” he said, his voice dripping with innuendo, “of Fantasy for Hire. I have no physical proof but I did see a one-thousand-dollar receipt for services rendered. That’s a bit steep for a male exotic dancer, wouldn’t you agree?”

She’d never personally hired an exotic dancer, but she’d been to a few bachelorette parties and pretty much guessed what these guys did for a living cost nowhere near what he was suggesting.

From what Avery had told her thus far, Fantasy for Hire was a rather small, albeit successful, agency that hired out male strippers for bachelorette parties, birthday parties and the like—something he insisted was merely a front for a more lucrative business.

“I need more than your telling me you saw a receipt, Mr. Avery,” she said, making notes on the pad.

“You’re a reporter. Isn’t it your job to find out the truth behind what I’m telling you?”

“Well, yes, but…”

He stood and looked down his bandaged nose at her. “If you don’t want the story, Ms. Sullivan, I’ll go to the Examiner. I’m sure they’d be interested.” He turned to leave.

“Wait!” She stood and circled the desk, unwilling to let her chance to prove herself as a serious reporter slip away. “Give me a few days to check it out and get back to you. If I think there’s a story, we’ll talk again.”

He smiled, but it was more of a feral grin. “Oh, there’s a story, one hell of a story, and I’m giving it to you, Ms. Sullivan.”

She didn’t want to question why he’d approached her when there were dozens of other reporters on the Herald with more experience. Who was she to look a gift horse in the mouth, as her mother would say?

She took the business card he offered and promised to call him in a few days. Propping her backside against the desk, she bit her lip and watched him walk away. Her mind spun with ideas, but nothing concrete took root. She needed something, some glimmer of proof that Avery was telling her the truth, before she spent hours investigating this agency.

With a sigh, she pushed off the desk and returned to her chair to examine her notes. She read through them twice until a slow grin tugged her lips. Drumming her short nails on the desk, her smile turned into a grin and she laughed. She had it! The perfect cover. A foolproof plan. What better way to discover the truth about Fantasy for Hire than to hire the agency herself?

She made a quick call to Ardell’s Body Works and begged the receptionist to work her into the schedule. After a few pleas, Hilary relented if Cait promised to be there within the hour. She needed a trim anyway, she thought, but with luck, Pierre could at least tame her hair into a semblance of sophistication and style. Maybe she’d even get her nails done. Rich women got their nails done all the time. She needed to look pampered and bored, and if anyone in the city could achieve that look for her, it’d be the wizards at Ardell’s.

Snagging her purse and raincoat, she left the cubicle and hurried across the busy newsroom to the sign-in board. She plucked the red peg from “in” and popped it into the “out” slot under her name, then left the office, ready to set the wheels in motion for her own private fantasy for hire.

1

JORDAN MCBRIDE HAD BEEN sure the impetuousness of youth was far behind him, until he stepped in to handle his younger brother’s booming business. Of all the stupid, idiotic things he’d done in his life, agreeing to temporarily run Fantasy for Hire until his brother, Austin, returned from his honeymoon and finalized the sale of the agency topped the list.

With a self-deprecating sigh of disgust, he examined the schedule spread over the scarred mahogany desk. Somehow he’d managed to double-book two of Austin’s employees for Valentine’s weekend. Although the lovers’ holiday was still a week away, his attempt to reschedule had failed. Both customers he’d spoken to had been adamant; if Fantasy for Hire couldn’t deliver the appropriate fantasy at the scheduled time, they’d be forced to look elsewhere.

“Great,” Jordan muttered before taking a sip from the steaming mug of coffee. He’d been at the helm for less than forty-eight hours and already Austin’s customers were threatening to jump ship. If things kept up at this rate, by the time Austin and his bride returned, Fantasy for Hire would be a distant memory.

The phone, which had been ringing nonstop all morning, jangled again. He set his coffee on the blotter, picked up the phone and took an order for a fantasy fireman to perform for the thirtieth birthday of a secretary during office hours. He bet the stuffy partners of the financial-district firm were going to be less than thrilled to have a woman’s fantasy come to life in their midst.

The front doorbell rang and he waved the visitor into the house without taking his attention from the order form. At least the financial-district fireman wasn’t needed for another three weeks, well after the Valentine’s Day rush. He still couldn’t believe how many couples married on the holiday for lovers. All fourteen of Austin’s employees were booked solid for bachelorette parties, and he still hadn’t found a solution to the double booking. One thing he knew for certain, he definitely would not be filling the void. Handling the office portion of his brother’s agency was one thing, but playing the role of male exotic dancer was out of the question. A man had to draw the line somewhere, and taking off his clothes for money was a pretty solid line as far as he was concerned.

He finished the call, assured the customer the fantasy fireman would arrive as scheduled, then leaned back in the worn leather chair. He dropped the pen on the desk and turned his attention to the woman who looked nothing like the UPS delivery man he’d expected to find. She stood with her back to him, admiring the Charles Fracé wildlife print he’d given to Austin for Christmas.

He admired her.

Legs. Sweet heaven, they were long, not to mention perfectly shaped. The kind of legs that made a man take notice. Black high-heeled pumps and sexy black nylons with seams running up the back didn’t hurt either. He followed the line with his eyes until it disappeared beneath the hem of her short black skirt, wondering if lacy elastic tops held them secure, or if she wore one of those sexy little garter belts with satin and bows. Black satin. With little bows the color of ripe, summer strawberries.

He cleared his throat, more to tighten the rein on his runaway imagination than to gain her attention. She turned around anyway, and gave him a smile capable of melting the polar ice caps.

“Hi,” she said in a soft, husky voice that set his imagination into overdrive again. Eyes the color of emeralds peered at him from beneath dusky lashes. A halo of russet curls framed a girl-next-door face complete with creamy complexion and a delicate dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She looked the type more comfortable in blue jeans and sneakers ready for a hike over a mountain trail, but he appreciated those sexy, black-seamed nylons just the same.

He stood and circled the desk. “Can I help you?”

Her smile wavered slightly and her gaze darted to the door. She took a deep breath, drawing his attention to the rise and fall of very full breasts beneath a teal silk blouse. “I have a fantasy.”

Yeah, so did he!

“Then you’ve come to the right place,” he said, forcing his mind on business instead of black satin and strawberries.

He indicated the metal folding chair, then waited until she was seated before returning to his own behind Austin’s old desk. What had once been the family dining room of his youth had been transformed into a makeshift office that served as the backbone of Fantasy for Hire, the agency his brother had begun a few years ago to help pay off school debts. A pair of old file cabinets that looked as if they’d been purchased at an army-surplus store replaced the antique china hutch that had belonged to his grandmother McBride. The oak dining table had been exchanged for a scarred mahogany desk, and the Tiffany lamp that had once hung from the ceiling had been replaced by a functional ceiling fan with overhead lighting. The no-frills office wasn’t exactly the type of place appropriate for receiving visitors or conducting business in person, but the agency wasn’t exactly the type to invite clientele into its office either.

“Wait a minute. Our address isn’t listed in the phone book. How’d you find us?” Nor was the address listed on the business cards the dancers passed out at the various parties and functions they attended. Considering the type of entertainment the agency provided, only their phone number was advertised in the book.

She offered him a sheepish grin while pushing a wayward curl behind her ear with a long tapered nail. “I have a friend with the phone company, and she checked out your agency for me.”

He didn’t like the idea that just anyone could obtain the address of an unlisted private residence. “What specifically can Fantasy for Hire do for you, Ms….”

“Sullivan. Cait Sullivan,” she said in a husky feminine voice that made him think of whispered words shared between lovers beneath a starry night sky.

He wrote her name on a form, then filled in the blanks with the Pacific Heights address she provided, along with her phone number. So much for her being the girl next door. Pacific Heights kept the daughters of San Francisco’s elite closeted from mingling with the rest of everyday society. Only a pedigree to rival royalty could breach the gated walls. No doubt Ms. Cookies-and-Cream, with her black-seamed stockings, was just bored and looking for a little excitement.

“Our prices are competitive. I don’t think you’ll find a better bargain in San Francisco to fulfill your needs. Why don’t you tell me your fantasy.”

She blushed prettily, just a slight coloring that turned her creamy cheeks a soft peach. Lord, she was adorable, and for the flash of an instant, he wished she wasn’t a potential client for his brother’s business or a part of San Francisco society. But a casual fling held little appeal, and he didn’t have the time to pursue his attraction to her in any serious way since he had a career to rebuild.

She set her purse on the floor beside her, then changed her mind and hauled the bag back into her lap. “I need a Valentine for my parents’ anniversary party next weekend,” she said, twisting the strap around her hand.

Jordan hated to disappoint her, but there was no way he could help her with a Valentine stripper. “This weekend? That’s impossible.”

“I can afford your—” she cleared her throat “—agency.”

“That’s not the problem,” he said. “I have no one available.” He stood, ready to show her to the door, but something in her voice stopped him.

“I really need your help,” she said, her eyes matching the plea of her words. “It’s my parents’ fortieth anniversary and my sisters, older brother and I are having this huge party for them. I need a date for the party.”

She was mistaken. The agency wasn’t an escort service that provided fantasy dates. He wasn’t suspicious of what she had in mind, but Jordan was well aware that escort services were often a front for prostitution. Austin’s motto was fantasy equals seduction of the mind. Sure, he provided exotic dancing, but Austin had firm rules—no stripping below the waist and no touching. Most importantly, the guys who worked for his little brother’s agency knew their number-one priority was to create a fantasy capable of making a woman catch her breath.

“I wish I could help you, but it’s out of the question,” he said.

She lowered her gaze, but not before he noted the disappointment in her eyes. Why did he feel as though he’d just kicked a puppy? He didn’t even know this woman.

He circled the desk and propped his backside against the edge. Curious, he studied her for a moment. “Why would you need a date?” he asked. Better yet, why would someone as adorable as her feel she had to pay for one? This was not a woman who should need to pay anyone to take her anywhere. She was stunning. Considering she’d had the ingenuity to track down the agency’s address told him she was no wallflower. She was definitely the type to know what she wanted and had the determination and intelligence to accomplish her goals.

She bit her lip and looked up at him. After a moment, a slight grin tugged her lips. “I don’t want any entanglements, and my parents would be thrilled if they believed I was dating again, especially since it is Valentine’s Day.” She looked him up and down. Then she smiled, one of those full, bright smiles she’d flashed him when she first walked into the house. “What about you?”

He frowned. “Me?”

She shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

“I…but we…” don’t do dates, he thought. But Austin had. Not only had his brother gone on several dates with Teddy Spencer, he’d fallen head over heels in love with her. Two days ago, they’d eloped.

Maybe Fantasy for Hire did provide the type of service Cait Sullivan wanted and he just wasn’t aware of it. He wished he’d paid more attention to his brother’s business venture, but he’d been too busy building his own career as an architect to take more than a cursory interest and then issue a string of warnings. He’d always been protective of Austin, and when their parents died unexpectedly when he was eighteen and Austin only sixteen, he’d been left to raise his brother. Though he’d lived in Los Angeles for the past eight years, looking out for Austin was a habit he’d never relinquished, much to his younger brother’s irritation.

“Money is no object,” she blurted out. To express her point, she fished through her bag and pulled out a small stack of hundred-dollar bills.

He stared at the wad of cash, held securely by her long, red, tapered nails. Austin might be in the process of selling the business, but how could Jordan in good conscience turn down such a hefty commission, even though Cait obviously misunderstood the purpose of the agency? Fantasy for Hire wasn’t an escort service, but neither could he walk away from that kind of cash. Money was money and he and Austin had too many lean years behind them for him to ignore what she was practically throwing in his lap.

She wasn’t asking him to take off his clothes. He didn’t have any plans for next Saturday night anyway, unless it involved an action video and a bowl of popcorn. He’d only been back in San Francisco for a few months and his social calendar was remarkably clear. What harm could there be in standing in as a Valentine for a beautiful woman who piqued his interest?

He sighed. Damn, Austin. His brother was going to get an earful when he returned. “All right,” he said, his voice filled with resignation. “You’ve got yourself a Valentine.”

Her smile never wavered, and her eyes brightened considerably as she handed him the cash. “I…uh…I want the full treatment.”

He quickly counted the cash, then set the bills on the desk next to the order form. Two thousand dollars! “Full treatment?” he posed tentatively, almost afraid to ask. For two grand, anything was possible.

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.

“Jen, it’s really not important. What’s important is—”

“Cait, how much?”

Cait sighed. She adored Jen, but sometimes her friend was just a little too pushy. She thought about evading the question, but the other woman wasn’t a reporter for nothing. “Two thousand dollars,” Cait admitted quietly.

“Two thousand! Are you crazy? Cait, what if the story doesn’t fly? Then you’re out that money.”

“Shh, lower your voice.” She looked around and was relieved to find no one paying them any attention. “It’s okay. I’ll get it back.”

“Look, kiddo, I know where you work, okay? We’re not at the Herald because the pay is stellar. The Chronicle or Examiner we’re not.”