Maggie Shayne - Leather And Lace.pdf

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Sinful (2000)
-- Leather and Lace --
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
SINFUL
A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the authors
PRINTING HISTORY
Jove edition / January 2000
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2000 by Penguin Putnam Inc.
"Leather and Lace" copyright © 2000 by Margaret Benson.
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This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. For information
address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New
York, New York 10014.
The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is http://www.penguinputnam.com
ISBN: 0-515-12725-6
A JOVE BOOK® Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin
Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
JOVE and the "J" design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3
Chapter One
“Granted, Kayla, I do need the money. But there is no way I’d do that for it.”
“No?”
Hands firmly planted on her hips, Martha Jane Biswell shook her head. “No.”
“It pays one thousand dollars. Cash. In your hand, the second you finish.”
Martha Jane’s mouth was already opening to refuse by the time her roommate’s words registered. She
snapped it closed so fast she nearly bit her tongue. “Don’t be ridiculous, Kayla. I know you don’t have
that kind of money, and I couldn’t take it from you even if you did. I’ve got almost as much invested in
this business as you do, you know. I want to see it succeed.”
“Hey, you’re the one who helped me set the budget. One thousand is what we set aside to pay the
model. It’s already earmarked for that. And besides, if this doesn’t work ... well, we’re finished. It’s all
or nothing.”
Martha Jane shook her head. “ You’re modeling, and you aren’t taking any money for it.”
Kayla tossed her head. “Okay, what if I do? Say we split it. Five hundred each. Cash.”
Biting her lip and battling a desperate need and a heavy-duty guilt trip, Martha Jane waited for a sign to
tell her what to do.
“And you could have it in your hands tonight,” Kayla went on. “Before you even put your old-maid
clothes back on, if you want.”
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Lowering her head, pacing the apartment they shared, Martha Jane eyed the headless mannequins and
the scandalous scraps they wore. Silken teddies. Lacy bustiers. Leather panties. Each piece of lingerie
had one thing in common with all the others—a tag that read “Leather and Lace Designs.”
Martha Jane’s roommate and best friend, Kayla, was Leather and Lace. She’d been working her tail off
to design this line of lingerie. She was a creative genius. But she’d needed help on the organizational
end
of things, and that was where Martha Jane had come in. She’d devoted countless hours and long nights
and weekends to the cause. In return, Kayla gave her a one-third ownership of this roomful of lingerie.
It
could become more, someday— maybe—if they could sell the line.
Tonight was their big chance—maybe their only chance—to get this company off the ground. To make
Kayla’s dream come true.
“You know I’d do anything for Leather and Lace, Kayla,” Martha Jane began. “But having me parade
around in this stuff isn’t going to sell it, and I think you know that. Can’t we find a real model?”
“Are you kidding me? This is the biggest lingerie show of the season, Martha Jane. They’re all booked
solid. I hired one girl, because you said she was all we could afford, and now she has the flu.”
“Everyone in the city has the flu,” Martha Jane protested.
“ You don’t,” Kayla shot back.
Martha Jane bit her lower lip, opened her mouth, closed it again.
Kayla jumped on the silence like a wolf on a rabbit. “Look, I’ll be there with you. We’ll parade down
the runway wearing next to nothing together .” She turned Martha Jane around, positioning her in front
of
the mirror. “Besides,” she said, “you’ve been dying to play dress-up in some of these things.”
“I have not.”
“Have so. I watch your eyes, girl. I can see what you’re thinking.”
“Oh, don’t be—”
“You’re a knockout, you know. You just hide it.”
“I’m as plain as a brown paper bag.”
“Bull.” Kayla pulled the pins out of Martha Jane’s hair and shook it loose, letting it spill around her
shoulders. “Your hair is incredible. Oh, what I could do with a little mousse and a blow-dryer.”
“It’s brown. It’s plain, straight, and brown, and you couldn’t do anything with it even if you had a whole
moose.”
Kayle scowled at the bad pun. “It’s not plain or brown. It’s mink ,” Kayla said. Then, reaching up, she
took off Martha Jane’s glasses. “And your eyes are so blue they make the sky jealous.”
“But pretty much sightless without my glasses,” Martha Jane said.
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“Lucky for you the runway is straight and free of obstacles.”
“I’m too short to be a model.”
“You’re petite. That’s sexy.”
“And not nearly skinny enough.”
“What, are you kidding me? You got curves, girl!”
“And I’m not exactly... perky.” Martha Jane looked down at her chest.
“My Dream Bra will take care of that, sweets. That little number is going to be the most talked-about
miracle of the twenty-first century! Every woman in the country will want to own a dozen.”
Martha Jane sighed. “I just don’t know ...”
“Look, hon, you’ve been out of work for almost a month, thanks to Mister Wonderful. They’re gonna
repossess your car if you don’t make a payment pretty soon, and the rent’s already late. You have to do
something .”
Licking her lips, Martha Jane glanced again at the revealing wardrobe she’d be required to wear. To
model. In front of strangers. “And you’re sure no one from Gable Brothers will be there?”
“Look, I saw the guest list. I swear, no one from Gable Brothers Department Stores was on it. This
thing is exclusive, invitation only.”
Martha Jane frowned at her friend. “I can’t believe they weren’t invited. They’re one of the biggest
chains in the state.”
Kayla shrugged. “Even if someone from Gable Brothers did come, it wouldn’t be good ol‘ Clark.”
“Richard,” Martha Jane said. “My boss’s name is Richard, and you know it.”
“Hmmph. Couldn’t tell it from the way you go on about him.” Kayla tipped her head back and fluttered
her eyelashes. Then she grinned. “But back to the point. If the Gables did send someone to the show, it
would be their lingerie buyer. And she’s a female, and besides that, you’ve never even met her.” Then
Kayla reached out to run her fingertips over the red satin that barely covered a mannequin. “But to tell
you the truth, I’d give my right arm to see Richard Gable eating his heart out in the crowd when you
took
to the runway wearing something like this. The jerk. Firing the best secretary he ever had just so he
could
hire his latest bimbo of the month.”
Martha Jane sighed heavily. She had been devastated when Richard—Mr. Gable—had told her he had
to let her go. It had hurt all the more when she’d seen her replacement, a twenty-year-old big-haired
blonde with vacant eyes and a D-cup, gravity-resistant chest. The truth was, Martha Jane had been
secretly falling head over heels for her boss since her first day on the job. But he would never give a
girl
like her a second glance. She was smart, efficient, and cool. She didn’t bounce or wiggle or giggle, and
she supposed it was just as well she was out of there. She’d never had such a foolish, self-destructive
urge in her life as when she’d first set eyes on Richard Gable. And she hoped she never would again.
He was something, though. Those dark, smoky eyes, that smile. No wonder women were practically
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falling at his feet. “He wasn’t completely heartless about the whole thing,” she said softly, automatically
defending her former boss, though she knew she shouldn’t. “He did offer me another position in the
company.”
“And thank goodness you had enough self-respect to tell him where to stick that offer,” Kayla snapped.
It wasn’t so much self-respect, Martha Jane thought, as it was wounded pride. Wounded ... everything.
She’d been deeply hurt by Richard’s treatment of her. Too hurt to be practical. And now she was
suffering for it. She should have taken the offer. Sure, maybe she’d have had to see him fawning over
his
new secretary every day, but at least she would be able to pay her bills.
Sighing again, she tried not to acknowledge the slight stinging sensation behind her eyes.
“I promise you, no one you know will be at this lingerie show,“ Kayla was saying. ”And the total
amount
of time you’re going to spend on the runway will amount to only minutes when you add it up. It’s so
simple, Martha Jane. You walk to the end, turn, and walk back. Change your clothes backstage and do
it again. You won’t even be out there long enough to work up a decent blush! ”
“If I could be sure of that, then maybe I’d consider it,” Martha Jane finally said.
“Wait! I have an idea!” Kayla dashed off into the bedroom, and emerged a second later with a scrap of
black leather that looked like ... like a mask. Oh, God, it was a mask. She quickly wrapped it around
Martha Jane’s face, the black silk ties going beneath her hair and then knotting in the back. The two
almond-shaped eyeholes fit right over her eyes.
“My God,” she whispered, squinting into the mirror. “I look like somebody’s bondage fetish come to
life.”
“I’ve been working on a few different mask designs just to set off the clothes. Come on, now, give it a
chance,” Kayla cajoled. “When you put these things on, Martha Jane, you’re gonna feel like a different
woman. Like a ... like a love goddess. And with the mask ... well, that just makes the illusion
complete.”
She fluffed Martha Jane’s hair. “You can keep the mask on all night— No, no, wait! I have some
others,
in different colors, one with a feather. We can pair them up, a mask to go with each outfit!”
“I... I couldn’t...”
“Oh, come on, Martha Jane, you have to! Honey, when I get through with you, there’ll be no way
anyone could possibly recognize you! You won’t recognize yourself.” She tilted her head. “In fact, it’ll
be
good for you. You’ll be surprised how freeing it can be to be totally unrecognizable. You might learn a
little something you didn’t know about yourself.” She shrugged. “Either way, to my way of thinking,
this
means there’s not one single reason left why you should turn up your nose at a quick five hundred
bucks.”
There was a knock on the apartment door and a shout from the hall beyond. “Martha Jane! Come
quick!”
Recognizing the voice of Mrs. Crump from upstairs, Martha Jane tugged free of Kayla, pulled off the
silly mask, and yanked the door open.
“Someone appears to be stealing your car, dear!” Mrs. Crump said.
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“What?” Whirling, Martha Jane raced to the window, grabbing her glasses on the way. She put them on
fast and looked at the street below. Sure enough, a white tow truck with BERNIE”S REPO SERVICE
painted on the side in fat 1970s-style lettering was backing up to her car.
Something tickled her hand. She looked down to see five crisp hundred-dollar bills sliding into her
palm.
“Tell you what,” Kayla said, closing Martha Jane’s hand around the wad of money and her own hand
around Martha Jane’s. ‘Take your share of the pay in advance. Go down there and pay Bernie so he’ll
leave your car alone.“
Licking her lips and feeling backed into a corner, Martha Jane closed her eyes, and nodded. “Deal.”
Richard Gable looked across the desk at his brother and shook his head. “No way in hell, bro. It’s
Valentine’s Day weekend. I have two dates with two gorgeous models. Both at the same time, of
course,
thanks to the secretarial skills of our niece, Babs the airhead. But frankly, despite the effort it’s going to
take, I plan to find some way to make the most of each of them.”
Michael Gable crooked an eyebrow in the disapproving way that only an older brother could manage.
“Since when does your secretary’s job include managing your social calendar?”
Richard shrugged. “Martha Jane never had a problem with it. Hell, my life ran like clockwork when she
was around. Now I’ve got Babs and I’m swimming in chaos.”
Michael gave him a “serves you right” sort of look. “Luckily, the women you date make our Babs look
like a female Einstein, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to lie your way out of the situation.”
“Exactly,” Richard said with a grin, not bothering to defend his women to his brother. He knew what
they were and what they were not. He wasn’t in denial about any of that.
“But now, you see, you don’t have to lie your way out of it,” Michael said quickly. “You have a
legitimate excuse to cancel both dates, Richard. You have to haul your big brother’s butt out of the
fire.”
“Being happily married, you may not remember it, Mike, but Valentine’s Day sex is usually the best
sex
of the year.”
“Oh, I remember it, all right. I’m living it, most of the time. When you find the right woman, every day is
Valentine’s Day.” Michael grinned and gazed at some distant spot in space. Hell, he’d only been
married
six months, Richard thought. The guy was practically still on his honeymoon. But Michael’s dreamy
expression turned serious as he spoke again. “Problem is, I won’t be getting anything except divorce
papers for Valentine’s Day this year if I attend the lingerie show as planned.”
Richard sighed, shook his head. “How the hell did Cindy find out you were going, anyway? It’s not like
you went home and told her about it.” His brother averted his eyes. “Is it?” Richard asked.
“What, you thought I was going to lie to her?” Michael seemed stunned by the very thought.
“Jesus, Michael, you didn’t go to your wife and tell her that you had to attend a lingerie show on
Valentine’s Day, did you?”
Michael avoided his brother’s gaze. “Of course not. Well. . . not exactly. I, um, I asked her.”
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“You asked her,” Richard repeated, his tone flat.
“I thought she’d understand. I mean, with Hannah Mandrake sick with this damn flu bug, someone has
to take her place at the show. Do you realize how important it is? She practically had to jump through
hoops to get the ticket. She runs the lingerie department almost single-handedly, and she’s doing a
fabulous job for us, Richard. So it’s fairly obvious that one of us has to stand in for her at this thing. It’s
important to her, to her department, and to Gable Brothers.” He shrugged. “I just thought Cindy would
understand. It’s business.”
“Right,” Richard said. “You thought Cindy would agree to let you go watch a gaggle of gorgeous
models
parade around in their underwear for you on Valentine’s Day while she stayed home watching videos,
alone.”
Michael sighed. “I guess it wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had. But Richard, one of us has to go. And,
hey, come on. These are the kind of women you like best here. Models. Underwear models, for
heaven’s sake. I can’t believe you’re not wrestling me to the floor to get that ticket away from me.”
Richard lowered his head. Oh, yeah, they were his type of women all right. Tall, leggy, lean, gorgeous,
vain, and well informed on the latest hot colors, fabrics, vacation spots, and advances in laser surgery,
even if they couldn’t name the capitals of their own states. Frankly, since he’d been forced to let the
best
secretary he’d ever had go so he could give his bubbleheaded niece a job, he’d had his fill of that kind
of
woman. Babs was that kind of woman. She ought to be modeling underwear.
He wanted his efficient, myopic, conservative Miss Bis-well back.
“Uncle Riiii-charrd,” came the singsong voice that could set his teeth on edge in a single note.
Richard reached across his desk and pushed the button on the intercom. “You’re supposed to call me
‘Mr. Gable’ at work, Babs.”
A high-pitched titter came back. “Sorry. I thought I’d tell you that you just had a message from Fate.”
“I did?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Richard looked across the office at his brother, who was biting his lip to keep from grinning. “Babs,
um,
do you think perhaps it might have been ... Kate?”
There was a long silence. “Well, I guess it might have been.”
“Well, now, let’s see. Did she call to tell you my reason for living, Babs, or did she just want to say
hello?”
He could almost see his sister’s youngest child searching her empty head for the answer. “She wanted
to
know if you were planning anything special for Valentine’s Day.”
His throat went dry. It was Kate. Would have been better, though, if it had been Fate, calling to say he
was going to hell in a handbasket. “And what did you tell her?” he forced himself to ask.
Her voice came back, brighter than ever. “Same thing I told Heidi and Fawn,” she chirped. “That you’d
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be at the Valentine’s Day Ball at the Westcott Room at eight o’clock sharp.”
She sounded as if she thought she deserved a raise and a promotion for being so efficient. Ending the

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