Brief Encounters. Suzanne Forster

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      She braced her legs and rotated her hips, only to see his brows flatten skeptically. “Come on,” she coaxed. “You can do it.”

      She began to sing along with the music and shake her shoulders, but still nothing. What? Was he practicing to be a palace guard?

      With a sigh, she placed her hands on his hips and began rocking them back and forth, encouraging him to rotate. This was exactly what Lynne would have done, but it was so not Swan McKenna. Her heart was pounding as fast as the music.

      “Yes, that’s it!” she said, thinking she’d felt him move. “Work with me. That’s right, work with me, baby.”

      Work with me, baby?

      She didn’t dare look up, or he would have seen the flush creeping up her neck. She gripped him harder, rotating wider. “Shake it one time for me,” she croaked.

      What was happening to her voice?

      “Ma’am?”

      “No, keep moving,” she insisted. “I think you’re getting the idea.”

      Swan was staring at the man’s rotating pelvis so hard she could have counted the teeth on his zipper. It didn’t take X-ray vision to know what was lovingly cradled inside those beautifully worn jeans. She could see the tell-tale bulge. It ran nearly the length of his fly, and as much as she didn’t want to be guilty of ogling him, there was nowhere else to look.

      “You are so hired,” she said under her breath.

      She wasn’t quite sure what happened next. Either her hands slipped or he suddenly mastered Bump and Grind 101, because his rotating pelvis came into brief heated contact with her thigh.

      “You mean, like that?” he asked.

      Swan gave out a little squeal and jumped back. She sounded like Gerard, but the unexpected contact had startled her. Had he actually brushed her leg with his crotch? Obviously this guy didn’t need any more help. He had the idea.

      “Oookay,” she said, “that was progress.”

      Swan was now red to her scalp. Nevertheless she ordered herself to meet his gaze and to hold it until she’d calmed down. He still looked a little perplexed, rather like a stag in headlights, but she wasn’t buying the innocent act. This was a business and she had a show to put on. Her entire future was riding on it and the futures of others, as well. She’d had to let their seamstresses go until things picked up, and that had been far harder to do than this. Besides, Lynne would never have been playing coy games with one of these guys. She might have coaxed him along with a few dancing lessons, but if he hadn’t caught on, he would have been sent on his way.

      “Nice move,” she said, trying to sound faintly sardonic. “Now drop those jeans and show me what you got.”

      Her partner would have been proud.

      But the repairman was still hesitant and something in Swan took over again. This was where all the other models had balked, too. Not that she blamed them. She couldn’t have stripped for an audience, either. With her nerves she would have had to wear diapers!

      Business, she reminded herself. You’re not asking him to expose state secrets, just the underwear you designed. All the models were supposed to be wearing Brief Encounters under their costumes.

      “All right, I’ll help,” she told him, “but this is the last time.”

      She walked back to him, snappily undid the tool belt that hung around his trim waist and let it drop. It landed on the floor with a heavy metallic thud.

      Whoa. The ladies were going to scream when that happened. Swan could guarantee it. If he had anywhere near the effect on them he was having on her, Brief Encounters was going to sell out their stock at the first show.

      “Disco Inferno” blared into its chorus and the repairman lifted his hands as if he were either surrendering the fort or waiting for her to do the honors. Swan quickly obliged, wondering what alien organism had taken control of her brain. She undid the brass button on his jeans and lowered his zipper.

      “I can’t do this for you on the runway,” she said.

      But then again, maybe she could. What a video clip that would be. It’s the middle of the fashion show and one of the models can’t get his costume off, so the designer goes up to help him? That could be a showstopper. Oh, my God, Lynne, come back. I’ve either had a flash of brilliance or I’m losing my mind.

      His jeans were undone, but she still had the challenge of getting them over his tightly locked gluts. It took some tugging, but finally the denim material gave way and dropped to the floor. Unfortunately the stubborn jeans took her with them. Suddenly she found herself squatting right in front of him, staring at the bulge in person. But there was just one problem.

      He wasn’t wearing her underwear. He wasn’t wearing anyone’s underwear!

      It was a penis, Swan realized to her horror. The very thing she was trying to cover with her designs. No one should ever see a penis in one of her shows, especially one that looked suspiciously…alert?

      Swan was just inches away from said organ, but she was still too shocked to do much of anything but gape. Worse, much worse, for some inexplicable reason, she was intrigued. Her whole body vibrated with a wild, unfamiliar emotion and for one crazy second in time she fought off a terrible impulse to touch it. Only to see how it felt. She wasn’t going to run a finger up and down the entire length of it or fondle it, for heaven’s sake. She was just curious.

      The object of Swan’s fantasy suddenly twitched and a strangled sound slipped from her throat. Worse, her valiant attempts to speak resulted in nothing but helpless gurgles and groans. At that very moment the music room door opened and as if summoned by the Devil himself, Gerard poked his head in.

      “Are you finished? Oh, I guess not!” He swiftly shut the door.

      Swan knew how it must have looked. And sounded, given the obscene noises she’d been making. She would never hear the end of this. At least the music had stopped. She wasn’t sure when that had happened. Now she needed to get up off her knees so she could climb to the top floor of the mansion and jump out the window.

      The model offered a hand, but Swan didn’t dare. He was bottomless and parts of him were still winking at her. What in the world was wrong with him? Did his privates have some neurological disorder?

      “Ma’am? Are you all right?”

      “I’m fine,” she said, turning away from him to get to her feet. Once she’d managed that, she slapped smooth her bunched-up capris and straightened her top.

      Without turning around she said, “I guess there’s no point in getting you some underwear and starting this audition over?”

      “No, probably not. I don’t dance.”

      “You don’t wear underwear, either. So then, why exactly are you here?”

      “To fix the phone?”

      She glanced over her shoulder at the decidedly virile specimen with his jeans around his ankles. “You really are a telephone repairman?”

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