Enchanted Heart

By Felicia Mason

From Felicia Mason, the Blackboard bestselling author of Testimony, comes a wise, winning story of a man and a woman who play by their own rules and make no promises.  .  .
As the heir to the chain of Heart Federated department stores, twenty-eight-year-old Lance Heart Smith has his pick of a bevy of women--and takes full advantage of the situation. His playboy ways are an affront to his strict family, who soon issue an ultimatum: grow up or get cut off.
Lance doesn't take orders from anyone. He's determined to find success on his own terms. And then he meets the person who could make it all happen. Beautiful former model Vivienne la Fontaine owns and operates a lingerie boutique, Guilty Pleasures. Her store is an investment opportunity that caters to Lance's not-so-guilty pleasure. When one thing leads to another, Lance thinks Viv may be what he's been looking for not just in business, but in life. But Viv won't put her freedom in jeopardy again. She has dark secrets, secrets she's never shared--and they aren't through with her yet. Just when happiness seems close enough to touch, the past comes back with a vengeance.  .  .and forces Lance and Viv to confront the truth or risk losing it all.  .  .
  Praise For The Novels Of Felicia Mason 
    "Felicia Mason reaches new levels of excellence."  --Romantic Times on Foolish Heart 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kensington Books
• Release date: Nov 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496702616

Felicia Mason

Felicia Mason is a motivational speaker and award-winning author. She has received awards from Romantic Times, Affaire de Coeur and Midwest Fiction Writers. Glamour magazine readers named her first novel, For the Love of You, one of their all-time favorite love stories, and her novel Rhapsody was made into a television film.

Book preview

2:1

1

The red lace panties intrigued him—a lot.

Intellectually Lance Heart Smith could appreciate that the color represented passion, high drama, power and sometimes anger or a challenge. But on another level, a basic one, the scrap of red lingerie dangling in front of him stood for intrigue. In this case, the woman holding those panties piqued his curiosity like nothing else had in quite some time.

Once upon a time they’d been undergrads together at Brown. But she’d somehow escaped his attention then. He’d been juggling several complicated relationships, including ones with an heiress, a senator’s daughter and his psych professor. Now though, as sole proprietor of Guilty Pleasures, Vivienne la Fontaine had his complete attention, divided as it was between the panties and the lady herself. The savvy businesswoman appealed to him. By retail standards, her store was average size—Lance guessed no more than twelve hundred square feet. But every bit of the space was used very well, with inviting displays and cozy nooks designed for customers, probably couples, to privately consider their purchases.

A light scent—of vanilla?—danced on the air, not blatant like incense, but subtle, more like a tease of something easy and intimate, something easy and comforting. And everywhere the eye fell, a sensual feast awaited. The soft silks of slips and camisoles beckoned as did the frills of more adventurous unmentionables. Here there were sexy undergarments in muted pastels and soft pashminas designed to drape across a woman’s bare shoulders, and there a tempting display of candles, feathers and scented oils. Everything in the shop invited the touch, from the lingerie for sale to the open showcases designed to make customers pause, linger and consider. The entire store was a feast of color and textures and sensuousness.

Right now, though, it wasn’t Vivienne la Fontaine’s agile mind, her quick wit, her lingerie store or her business acumen that held Lance spellbound. Right now, he just wished he could see that wisp of red fabric slowly trailing down those long luscious legs of hers.

And from the look in her eyes, her thoughts ran parallel to his. He sensed the passion in her, and between them a soul-deep connection of like-minded people. She was earth centered, he could tell from the timeless knowledge and the touch of humor in her dark brown eyes. Those smoky depths promised just the sort of guilty pleasure that Lance loved most. He’d bet the Cartier on his wrist and the gold cuff links in his sleeves that she was high maintenance. Since he was, too, he knew they’d suit each other. Vivienne was the kind of woman who’d prefer stockings to panty hose. He sure did.

She, like he, played a teasing game that had been volleyed between men and women since Eden. They were well matched in this sport.

They understood each other.

And he liked that.

He reached for the red panties, but she shifted them just out of his reach. Lance should have looked ridiculous sprawled along the damask-covered chaise, its upholstery a succulent French vanilla. He instead looked comfortably at home, as if he made a habit of seducing tall, dark beauties in lingerie boutiques each and every day. He liked the decadent extravagance of the chaise, a piece that more aptly belonged in a lady’s boudoir.

Or, do you prefer the white ones? she asked, trailing the silky material of another pair of panties up the sleeve of his suit jacket. She leaned into him, making sure he saw all there was to see of the . . . merchandise. It was all very expensive, and Lance’s tastes ran toward quality, though he was not at all averse to quantity.

Since she obviously wanted his attention there, Lance didn’t disappoint. His mouth, however, went dry over the display so willingly offered. But he didn’t touch. Not yet. He loved this part. The thrust and parry. The slow shifting and maneuvering. The game a familiar one, he waited to see what she would do next. He’d been down this path many, many times, so by rights he should have been bored. As a matter of fact, he already had a date for the early evening with a woman he’d toyed with in a similar manner. She, too, was lovely. A beauty pageant winner. They were to meet for dinner at a new restaurant in Norfolk then have dessert and each other in a more intimate setting.

But something about Vivienne la Fontaine arrested his attention.

And so he decided to play this out, to see where it led.

Idly rich, Lance’s great purpose in life was the pursuit of pleasure, carnal and otherwise. The hint of a smile danced at his mouth. His eyes, hooded under half-closed lids, flashed at the thrill of the chase. He knew the prize would soon be his, and he’d liberally indulge with this most worthy partner.

His gaze took in all of her. It wasn’t often that he met a woman physically his equal. At six foot four, Lance frequently towered over most men and all of the women he met. But even if Vivienne kicked off the strappy sandals, or, better yet, if he untied the satin ribbons that wrapped around her ankles, she’d still be able to look him in the eye without straining up to meet his gaze. At the moment though, his mind wasn’t on her eyes. Rather, his complete attention lay riveted on those full breasts displayed so temptingly before him.

A sable-colored bustier lifted and defined her, but Mother Nature had been generous. Very generous.

Thank you, Mom.

Have you decided what you want?

Her voice trailed over him like a summer rain, soft and easy.

You know I have, he said, as his finger traced the edge of the panties she held. Her skin would be soft to the touch, much softer than the fabric.

Lance wondered if she’d remembered to lock the front door. It wouldn’t do to have a customer wander in. Then again, he thought, a smile blossoming on his face, part of the thrill lay in the possibility of getting caught. How would they explain that? His body quickened for her. But Lance was a man of infinite patience—when the occasion merited that particular skill.

She licked her lips, apparently waiting for him to voice his panty preference, the red or the white. Snagging her around the waist he pulled her toward him. But before he could do anything else, she stepped out of his reach, her soft laughter a tease. The sultry purr rippled over every nerve ending in Lance’s body. He was hard and ready. But he knew there was no need to rush. They were both consenting adults, and he planned to enjoy every moment with her.

Shifting, Lance draped an arm across the headrest of the chaise and watched her retreat. She didn’t merely walk. Mortals walked. This Amazon goddess sashayed, her full hips beckoning, tempting, wooing. She moved to a small pedestal-type counter where she placed the two pairs of panties and picked up a black mosaic fountain pen.

He rose, following her, his gaze starting at the sexy shoes and slowly working its way up past long, long legs, shapely thighs and full hips covered in a short cream-colored skirt. From there, the view extended to a slim waist and then on to those breasts. He planned to spend a lot of time worshipping there.

That’s how I do it, she said.

Reluctantly, Lance forced his attention away from her tantalizing assets and up to her mouth and then the rest of her face. Do what?

She smiled and he was lost.

He barely contained a feral growl as he watched her sift through a basket of lacy material. He didn’t pause to ascertain what garments she fondled because he imagined her hands roaming over him that way, lingering here, caressing there. He took a deep, steadying breath, marveling over the fact that she’d so quickly and effortlessly ensnared him. He took another deep breath, willing himself to maintain a slow, easy pace in this dance of seduction.

A moment later, a bra dangled in front of his face, suspended from one of her fingers, the material the color of sweet and tempting peaches on a hot summer day. Against her dark skin, the brassiere radiated sexuality.

Maybe you’d like to take a look at something like this, she said.

Lance took a deep breath, filling his nostrils with the lushly primal scent of her.

What’s the name of your perfume?

Wanton, she said.

It is. Are you?

She smiled. What do you think?

He reached for the delightful bit of lingerie, which he’d duly noted wouldn’t be nearly enough to contain her own bountiful bosom.

She smoothed the silky material of the brassiere over his left hand. His right clenched into a fist, and this time his breath exhaled on a shudder as anticipation rippled through him. When she leaned forward, Lance knew it was over.

This is why Guilty Pleasures has been a success, she said near his ear. How do you think we do our market surveys ?

Lance didn’t have a clue and didn’t give a damn. He was too full of the exotic scent of her, too tangled in her sensual web. The lessons he’d learned from his grandmother and mother about being a gentleman with a lady went by the wayside, lustily and heartily overtaken by the need ripping through him.

But something didn’t compute. What did you say?

When?

Just a moment ago. His brow furrowed as he struggled to put the pieces together, struggled as though awakening from a passion-induced delirium. Market surveys?

She smiled and tapped his chest with her fountain pen.

Welcome to Guilty Pleasures, Lance. You wanted to know how a little lingerie shop makes money. I just showed you.

Lance blinked, tried to get his bearings.

Had he just been played?

He was still on fire for her, but Vivienne was now standing behind the counter, ticking off something on a form. Her firm grip on the fountain pen was competent, businesslike, not at all distracted by desire.

He looked back at the chaise, the place where just a moment ago he’d planned to strip off the few clothes she wore and make hot, passionate love to her.

Did I miss something?

She glanced up. I don’t think so. You said you wanted to stop by to see how the shop is run. Had I known you were coming today I would have had my employees here and an information packet together for you. I took from our conversation at the reunion in Providence that you’re interested in an investment opportunity.

Investment opportunity. Is that what he’d told her? And she’d believed him?

She put her pen down. You’ve changed your mind?

He shook his head, responding both to her and to the reproach that sprouted from within. Had he become so hedonistic that he’d lost sight of everything except the things that brought him physical pleasure?

Uh, yeah.

The answer prompted a certain level of disgust at his own shallowness. But there was a beautiful woman standing in front of him, a beautiful woman he wanted.

No. Not at all, he said. I got the impression . . . He held his hand out, inviting her to step away from the counter. She placed her hand in his and walked around the pedestal until they stood mere inches apart.

What just happened between us? That had nothing to do with investing.

I don’t mix business with pleasure, Lance.

"Business is pleasure," he said. And then his mouth covered hers.

The memory of that kiss and how very easily he’d waltzed into her web of sensuality stayed with Lance through the afternoon. He’d run into Viv at their five-year class reunion. There, in Providence, Rhode Island, they’d struck up a conversation, even though their paths apparently had never crossed while at Brown, a fact that puzzled Lance since he’d majored in pretty girls and minored in good times. When they discovered that they now lived within thirty minutes of each other, they exchanged numbers and e-addresses in order to hook up back at home in Virginia.

He’d claimed to be interested in the business she ran, but he was more fascinated with the woman she’d become. He’d promised to stop by her shop in the Ghent section of Norfolk. And in doing so, his first impression of her had been more than confirmed. Viv appealed to him physically, big time. But also intellectually.

While his playmates and girlfriends weren’t known for being Rhodes scholars, Lance could think of nothing sexier than a beautiful woman with brains and business savvy. And Vivienne had been blessed with plenty of both. Thoughts of her eclipsed those of his date for the evening, a woman he was supposed to meet at a new place called Cloud 9, a restaurant she’d chosen. The connection between Cloud 9 and airhead didn’t escape him.

So now, when he should have been listening to his uncle’s plans, Lance’s attention kept wandering back to Guilty Pleasures and the sexy woman with whom he’d spent a few brief moments.

The scent of her haunted him. The ease with which she tantalized him bemused him. But most of all, her obvious rebuff when he’d been so incredibly turned on, dazed him. She’d kissed him all right. But then, while his foundation had been toppled, she’d stepped away as if his kiss didn’t faze her one bit. She’d looked and acted calm, collected, in control and not at all affected by the power and energy that thrummed all around them.

No, Lance, she’d simply said.

And he’d backed off. Backed off despite the blood pounding in his veins and the desire pumping through his body.

No woman had ever turned him down. Not. Ever. Not even once.

Who did she think she was?

Lance?

He sat up on the bar stool and focused on the here and now. Yeah, Cole.

Have you heard a word of what I just said?

Lance hadn’t. But it didn’t take a lot of guesswork to figure out what Cole had been talking about. He’d become something of a broken record. Cole wore the harried and annoyed expression that had become all too familiar to Lance, first when they’d worked together at the headquarters of Heart Federated Department Stores, and more recently in the last six months.

Something about emerging markets? Lance said dryly.

The topic was Coleman Heart III’s obsession these days. Anyone looking at the two men would know they were related—the square jaws, strong chins, broad shoulders and height a clear giveaway. While just eleven years separated them, Cole always acted and sometimes looked twice as old as his half-sister’s son. Before the buyout, Lance worked as Cole’s executive assistant. Since that time though, Lance had enjoyed doing mostly nothing while Cole immersed himself in Brazilian economics and a study of the Portuguese language.

No, Cole said, scowling. I was talking about you.

Oops. That would be the second track on Cole’s greatest hits.

Lance reached for a crystal stirrer at the wet bar in Cole’s family room—the room itself a misnomer since the last thing Coleman Heart wanted was any of their family in his house. Squeezing the juice from a lime into the tumbler Cole put in front of him, Lance poured club soda over the ice and slowly stirred the drink.

What about me? he asked.

I’m not going to be around for you forever. You need to decide what you’re going to do with your life.

Lance frowned. I’m not a child, Cole. So you can stop the patronizing paternalism.

Cole glanced up, and Lance, not for the first time, found himself on the receiving end of one of those glacial stares. It worked in the boardroom and across the bargaining table, neither of which were evident at the moment. Lance, however, remained immune from the effect, a fact that usually annoyed Cole.

This time Cole was the first to back down, but only because he reached for a small blue bottle of Maalox antacid tablets.

I thought Sonja weaned you off of those things.

She did.

Lance took the bottle away from Cole before he could twist it open. Tell me about the latest with your joint venture.

Cole took the bait and leaped right into the description of his Rio de Janeiro and Salvador da Bahia projects. The language was one of the barriers to more open trade between African-Americans and Brazilians of African descent. Cole and his partner planned to eliminate those barriers via an education program and venture capital. They’d broker some deals and make more money than either could spend in several lifetimes.

Lance paid less than half a bit of attention to Cole’s spiel. He’d heard it all before. Cole wanted Lance to join him. While the prospect of wooing Brazilian beauties held a certain appeal, Lance had his own reasons for needing to remain stateside. The less Cole and the rest of his family knew about those reasons, the better. Lance had dreams that had nothing to do with the Hearts, their retail empire or fitting into a niche assigned by Cole or anyone else. That’s where Vivienne la Fontaine came in. His physical response and desire for her notwithstanding, Vivienne had something else he wanted.

When it seemed that Cole was winding down a bit, Lance decided to send out a floater.

I met a woman today, he said.

Stop the presses, Cole said with a roll of his eyes. Then he deliberately lifted his arm, exposing the French cuff of his sleeve. He tapped the face of his watch. Have you already started the countdown to when you’ll dump her?

Ha-ha.

But Lance didn’t at all like it that his pattern in relationships had become so predictable that even one-track business-minded Cole knew he didn’t linger long with the ladies. Everyone in the family thought they knew all there was to know about him. But Lance had a few secrets, one in particular, that would set all their butts on the ground. He took a deep, cleansing breath, willing himself to bide his time. He had to remember to make his life appear like an open book, especially around Cole, who was not just his uncle, but his mentor and best friend.

Shaking his head to clear away those shadow thoughts, Lance again turned his attention to the conversation with Cole.

So, when do you leave?

I’ll head to Rio in two weeks. I’ve already set up a place to stay . . .

On which beach, Copacabana or Ipanema? Lance asked, a grin on his face.

Life is more than a party, Lance.

Lance dropped the crystal stirrer on the marble countertop. It didn’t crack, but the sound carried through the room shattering the bond between the two men.

Yeah, Lance said, stalking away. As you so eloquently illustrate every day.

Folding his arms, Cole stared at Lance’s retreating back. What do you want me to say, Lance? That I think it’s okay that you’re wasting away your life? That you bounce from woman to woman with no thought toward the future?

Lance turned. It’s my life. How I spend it is my . . .

Cole cut him off. How you spend it has a direct impact on the lives of a lot of other people.

The smirk on Lance’s face indicated what he thought of that. Give it up, Cole. Heart Federated no longer exists. There are no employees, no stockholders, no one depending on you or me.

This is not about the stores, Lance. It’s about your future.

Cole closed the distance between them. Lance stood at a window, staring out at a patio, and beyond it to the golf course at Kingsmill.

We’ve been over this a thousand times, Cole, he said, his voice quiet, resigned. It’s not your fault the stores were sold.

Yes, Cole said. It is. He was standing to the left of Lance now. Neither man looked at the other. I should have anticipated . . .

Cole, let it go. It’s been more than a year. Even Mallory has moved on. She’s opened up a boutique at the Beach, you know.

Cole didn’t say anything. That in itself told Lance that animosity still lingered between Cole and his cousin Mallory. You need to get on down to Brazil with your venture capitalist friend. The two of you can go make a gazillion dollars, then you and Sonja can live in the lap of luxury for the rest of your lives.

Cole spread out a hand, encompassing the large room in the large house in the exclusive community of large homes. I already live in the lap of luxury, he said. The seat is uncomfortable.

His house wasn’t though. Cole and his wife Sonja Pride had one of the largest estates in the gated community that was home to more than a few CEOs and celebrities. He didn’t spend much time here though. Neither did Sonja. It was as though they continually searched for something more, the next great project.

Cole and Sonja were both driven workaholics, people who lived to work. Lance, on the other hand, had an allergy to that sort of thing. And he’d always wondered what made them so dedicated. Money was no longer an object, for either of them. Yet, they both worked as if a taskmaster with whip and chain haunted every move and moment of their days. What a waste of life, which was meant to be enjoyed. With the same amount of focus that they put into their careers, Lance pursued pleasure.

Even when he worked for the family, Lance hadn’t been that motivated to excel. Steering clear of the drama that usually swirled in the family, Lance’s mother pretty much left him to his own devices, which suited him just fine.

Cole and his grandmother, Virginia, were Lance’s problems. By no means were those two a united front. They both, however, seemed to think it was a character flaw in Lance, something in him from his father’s non-Heart genes, that needed to be stamped out. And that exorcism could be best achieved with a job, a goal to make a lot of money no matter who you stepped on along the way and a big, sterile office with windows to complete the image.

None of that appealed to Lance. Never had. There was more to life than making money. And that remained the crux of the problem between Lance and Cole. They weren’t hard-wired the same way. But Heart blood did run through Lance’s veins, and he knew just what to say to get both Cole and his grandmother off his case.

The woman I met today owns a business that I’m thinking of investing in.

That hadn’t at all been his primary reason for visiting with Vivienne la Fontaine. But it would serve his purpose. For now.

Oh, really? What kind of business?

I’d rather not say right now. I’m still getting a handle on the operation.

Retail, service, food, technology or something else?

Lance smiled. Retail.

Cole slapped him on the back. That’s my boy.

Lance bristled at the boy label. At twenty-eight, he was a grown man. Now though wasn’t the time to pick a fight with Cole who remained oblivious to Lance’s reaction, but had finally gotten off the other topic.

Come on, give a little, Cole cajoled.

I will. When I’m ready.

Smiling, Cole lifted his glass in salute to Lance. I hope you make it work. You know I’m here if you need any help.

I’m fine.

Silence fell over the room as the two men stared out at a foursome on the links. Cole took a sip of his drink then stared into the liquid as he swirled it in the glass. I just want to make sure you’re set, Lance. I feel responsible for what happened to you, for what happened to our legacy.

It wasn’t your fault, Cole. It was time for change. You knew that. Heart is sold to Knight and Kraus. They’re doing a good job, and you have a lot of money to show for it.

I didn’t want the money, Cole said.

Lance blinked. Excuse me?

Cole met his gaze. It was never about the money. When I ran Heart Federated I did it because it was what I was supposed to do, what I was called to do.

Not about the money? Everything Cole did was about the money. He’d always made that abundantly clear.

Preachers talk about being called, Cole. You were running a chain of department stores, not a church.

For a long time Cole didn’t say anything. Then, Why do you think I’m so excited about this Bahia project?

Lance shrugged. I don’t know. Your latest obsession, is how I see it. Just another way to make more money.

Cole shook his head. There is that, I’ll admit. But I needed a new focus, something that was all mine. Heart Federated was all I ever wanted, for as long as I could remember. When I was a little kid I’d go into the office with my grandfather, sit in his big chair and dream of growing up and being chairman of the board. Mallory may have moved on, but it’s not that simple for me. Everywhere I go around here, there are reminders of what should have been my legacy and your legacy.

Lance hadn’t realized that Cole still harbored such bitterness over the family’s decision to sell the company. A secret deal Mallory Heart initiated with Knight and Kraus eventually led to the buyout. If Cole’s own mother hadn’t voted against him, there would still be Heart stores in Virginia and North Carolina today and Cole wouldn’t be obsessed with this Brazilian thing. But shoulda, coulda, woulda wouldn’t change the fact that they’d all had to move on. Mallory had. And now, in his own obsessive-compulsive way, Cole was trying to as well.

I didn’t know you felt so strongly about it. To me, Heart Federated was a job. But I had a life outside of work. You just worked.

Cole stared at Lance for a long moment. Then he sighed. You think my life is boring, that I’m obsessive. But one of these days, Lance, you’re going to meet someone or stumble onto something that becomes an obsession for you. You’ll be consumed by it, so consumed that you’ll wonder how you ever lived before it.

Lance frowned. He wasn’t really feeling this conversation so he shrugged off Cole’s solemn words. Don’t count on it, he said. You’ve been married to your work for as long as you or anyone else can remember. Me? I’m married to life. And I enjoy her sweet company.

Cole just shook his head. There’s so much more for you to learn.

Already tired of their talk, Lance aimed to end it. We’re two different people, Cole. People with different priorities. There’s no right or wrong. It just is.

But Cole wasn’t ready to end the discussion just yet. Lance, you have an MBA from one of the best schools in the country. You can write your ticket anywhere. Just say the word and I’ll make some calls.

I don’t want you to make any calls. You’re just not getting it, Cole.

You’re right. I’m not, he said, finally losing patience with his nephew. And neither are you at the rate you’re going. I’ve tried to help you.

Lance faced Cole, the mentor who had been more like an older brother than an uncle. The age difference between the two wasn’t great, but Cole seemed so much older, so stressed. Lance had no intention of seeing his life turn into a carbon copy of Cole’s.

While he’d never admit it to a soul, especially not to Cole, Lance was glad the family no longer had control of the stores. He’d been the heir-in-training, and Lance could think of just one thing worse than being CEO of Heart Federated: having people depend on him.

"I don’t need your help, Cole. You’re living your life, making your own choices. Let me make mine.

Every person in this family has to go his own way, Lance continued. Your plan to make a hundred billion dollars with your venture capitalist friend sounds great. It’s just not my thing.

"What is your plan? Cole said. Your so-called thing?"

Lance grinned. The same as it’s always been. I have a date tonight with a beauty queen named Rochelle. She’s Miss Hampton Roads. And I met a tall, dark and very lovely lady today. My plan is to get to know them both better. Intimately, you might say.

2

Vivienne la Fontaine sent the two salesclerks home and closed Guilty Pleasures herself. Business had been slow, and, for once, Viv was grateful for the reprieve. When Lance Heart Smith walked into the store at noon, she’d almost fainted. When he’d told her he wanted to visit her shop, she’d figured it to be just a line—well delivered, but a line nonetheless. She’d read a lot about the Hearts in the business pages of the local papers and well remembered the stories when they’d sold their Virginia and North Carolina stores to Knight and Kraus. If she recalled correctly, only one or two Heart stores in Detroit remained—they hadn’t been a part of the deal.

Viv, whose tastes ran a little more to the eclectic than department store ware, had never shopped in the Heart stores in Hampton or Virginia Beach, and she’d yet to get to one of the newly opened Knight and Kraus stores. Now that Lance had actually made an appearance, she wished that she’d at least been in one of them before the changeover. Viv didn’t dwell in regrets though or in the past. Her life was about right now. And all that mattered now was that Lance Heart Smith, a potential investor with very deep pockets, had been standing in her store. She couldn’t wait to tell her sister Vicki.

Tall, about six-four to her own five-eleven, dark, the color of sweet milk chocolate, and handsome—gorgeous actually—Lance Heart Smith was a woman’s walking fantasy. Viv tried to ignore her initial response to him and to keep her focus on her rehabilitation. Weaning herself off one-night stands had been difficult, very difficult, because Viv was a woman who liked sex. And she liked men to notice her.

She’d gotten lots of notice from Lance and she’d deliberately—Vicki would say maliciously—led him on. She enjoyed the game. If they really sold lingerie that way at the shop, every last one of the store’s employees would be hauled in on solicitation charges.

That thought sobered her quickly. She couldn’t afford to lose track of her plan. Not now that she’d come so far.

She knew Lance’s type. Viv reminded herself that she wasn’t in the market for someone obsessed with the outer package: the hair and makeup, the boobs and the legs. If she needed or wanted a man, which she didn’t, she’d only be interested in someone who looked deeper, someone whose main interest in her was the bottom line of her company, not the way her bottom rounded out her skirt or jeans.

But who was she kidding? She’d made a lot of money flaunting her outer package.

Unlike some of her colleagues who spent their salaries on cars and clothes and extended vacations in exotic locales, she’d scrupulously saved her money, eventually parlaying the financial freedom she’d earned into the launch of Guilty Pleasures. She had big dreams for her little store. And when Lance Heart Smith walked through her front door, it was as if Aphrodite, Viv’s patron saint, had answered her prayer.

A smile curved the corners of her mouth. He’d flirted outrageously; but then, she had, too, under the guise . . . well, not a guise. He’d wanted to know how she sold lingerie. The truth was men liked to be turned on by the women selling them lingerie for their wives and girlfriends. And women wanted to be assured that they’d look stunning no matter their shape or size. Each of Viv’s staff members knew how to exploit those desires and make all of their customers feel extra special. That level of service translated into sales. Big ones.

She spent the next twenty minutes trying to tally the day’s receipts, but her mind kept wandering back to Lance. He had the height and physique of a cover model, and he dressed as if he’d just stepped out of a photo shoot for GQ. The model in Viv liked that. She also liked the buffed nails and the gold-and-onyx cuff links. Details made all the difference. And by all accounts, Lance Heart Smith was a details man. He’d indolently lounged on the chaise that women loved and men found sexy. But he’d been careful of his trousers. The suit she’d tagged as Versace. And his tie Italian silk.

He was also rich and looking for a new investment.

Or so he said.

Viv, though solvent with the current operation, was ready to expand in a big way. Her attention span with the shop was waning. Despite Vicki’s warnings that she was moving too fast too soon, she wanted to shift the focus of Guilty Pleasures. That took capital. And the Hearts had more money than they knew what to do with. Viv aimed to get a part of it. Her dreams for Guilty Pleasures depended on that. First, she wanted to launch a glossy, high-end catalog and then open more stores, and then day spas that carried the la Fontaine name.

She knew better than to stake her entire future on a yes-or-no decision from Lance, someone who’d expressed merely a casual interest in her business. So the ever-resourceful Viv had a backup plan. Of course, she’d rather not be forced to use it because it would involve eating a lot of crow and enduring even more I-told-you-so’s from someone she’d rather not even deal with. But Viv was a woman who did what she had to do.

After he’d kissed her, Lance Heart Smith asked if they could have dinner together. One part of her was glad she had plans for the evening, plans that didn’t include being wined and dined by a rich playboy. The rich part suited her just fine. She’d had enough of self-absorbed playboys though. Years on the runway surrounded by gorgeous men with egos the size of the Chesapeake Bay and intellects about as developed as that of a jellyfish had cured Viv of any lingering hankering for pretty boys.

Lance Heart Smith tipped the pretty boy meter. He was the kind of man who made reasonable women drop their panties and slip their room and house keys into his large, capable hands. In other words, he was just the sort of man Viv loved.

Except she was trying to do better. How many times had Vicki urged her to focus on big-picture goals and the long-term rather than the moment? It was easy for her twin to say that; Vicki didn’t understand Viv’s needs.

Viv had to admit, the eye candy meant a pleasant diversion on a slow afternoon. But, she conceded with a sigh, the only thing Lance could do for her was agree to invest in her expansion project. Viv was great at coming up with creative ideas. She let Vicki worry about the other stuff, like details and the long-term.

The telephone rang and she reached for it and the printout from the register. Guilty Pleasures, where it’s no sin to indulge.

You know, one of these days somebody’s gonna take that the wrong way.

Viv smiled and settled back into the