Northpointe paid a mint in security fees, as did the individual stores many of which used his services. The large anchor stores, Nordstrom’s and Macy’s, had their own interior teams and security systems, as did Tiffany and Co. on the second floor. The upscale clientele and the shop owners would be livid to learn they had pot smokers lurking in dark corridors or anywhere on the extensive grounds. Trent knew he had to crack down on this pretty damn quick. Now, one camera stayed fixed on the location, and his circulating guards put eyes on the spot hourly.

  Rubbing his face with both hands, Trent sighed. He was tired from being spread too thin lately. The mall wasn’t his only contract; he had at least three dozen more, but it was his largest, accounting for half his annual revenue. It was also his biggest pain in the ass because it required running 24/7 guard shifts with four men on days, half as many on nights, plus one in the surveillance room round the clock. That’s why he made a point of being at Northpointe regularly.

  With men out, the frequency had increased drastically in the past several weeks putting him here almost daily. But Curt was back tonight, and he’d hired a couple new guys. Yet here he sat.

  He grabbed his coffee, took a sizable swig, and grimaced; it was stone cold. Even the power of the Yeti couldn’t keep it hot after a long eight-hour day. He glanced at the clock. Benson was five minutes late.

  Trent went back to scanning the screens, paying close attention to the two other stores under surveillance: a boutique targeted to tweens and teens, and a video game store. Both were high risk for shoplifting, and each had incidents recently. He’d added them to the primary eight under near-constant monitoring, but it was a Monday night, cold outside, and there wasn’t much happening for early February.

  He toggled through the other feeds until he got to the second-floor shops. The cameras operated remotely, and he was able to adjust the angle to see through the wide entrance of Sweet Nothings. Zooming in, he spotted tonight’s worker. A brunette, not the other evening-shift girl with the thick, shiny, red-gold hair, the one he tried telling himself he wasn’t looking for.

  Carly, an uncommon name, short for something, maybe, but it suited her. The girl was cute, definitely on the sexy side, but shy no matter that she seemed to chat comfortably with Curt on a regular basis. Trent got the impression he made her uncomfortable. Her cheeks turned pink every time he saw her. They deepened to a pretty rose if he spoke to her in passing or during check-in, something he did at many of the shops when he made his rounds. It was mostly friendly banter, nothing personal, but Carly seemed prone to blush whenever he was around.

  He’d noticed her curves during those encounters but tried not to spend time dwelling on the pretty shop girl who was much too young for him. But she seemed to be working a lot lately and was more visible than usual. She’d often be doing something out front or in their display window when he passed. Seeing her there reminded him of two weeks ago, and the horrified expression on her face when she realized she was holding the naked mannequin by the boobs. Her expression had been priceless, as was the sight of her face flaming to crimson before she’d whirled and made a mad dash out of the three-sided fishbowl display.

  He couldn’t deny it had added fuel to his fantasies later. Girl-on-girl, an idea which passed through every man’s mind at least once. Okay, probably a heck of a lot more than once, but few were able to make fantasy a reality and put it into practice. If they said they did, Trent would bet big money they were lying.

  In his case, he’d seen plenty of action, especially while in uniform and stationed abroad, but a threesome had never been in the cards. Not that he’d wanted one. He appreciated adventurous sex partners but satisfying a pair of women was added pressure he didn’t need. He’d rather concentrate on one woman at a time, bring her to the heights of passion, and make her scream with pleasure.

  Lately, there hadn’t been much passion or screaming. He’d had offers and opportunity, but he was tired of the constant pursuit and let down. He enjoyed sex as much as the next man, but bed-hopping, when it was quantity over quality, had lost its allure in his twenties. As he got older, Trent realized he wanted more than indiscriminate sex and to satisfy an urge. He wanted a connection and the more profound emotions that came from being with the right woman. And he wanted lasting commitment, like his parents, who were still in love after forty years of marriage.

  Curt was right in one respect; he wasn’t getting any younger. And he sure didn’t want to be so old a father he had trouble teaching his son how to throw a football. With his days of travel and sowing wild oats behind him, he was ready to settle down with a wife and start a family. Seeing his friend practically glowing with joy over his newborn son, his family now complete, made Trent a bit jealous especially since he didn’t see the same happening for himself anytime soon.

  For some reason, he attracted party girls and players. Why couldn’t he find a good girl? He’d settle for one who was slightly naughty but on board with him turning her into his good girl. In fact, he’d prefer it.

  The idea immediately brought to mind a recurrent fantasy, of a woman lying naked over his lap, her round ass in his hands. She squirmed as he stroked her skin lightly, letting his fingers dip between her parted thighs. Discovering her wet, he’d explore farther, delving deeper until she wriggled over his lap tossing her head, sending a mass of red-gold spiral curls in a wave of incredible color to the floor. The thickness covered her splayed fingers where they pressed flat on the hardwood, steadying herself while she waited, trembling with eager anticipation of what he’d do next.

  When awake he managed to push thoughts of Carly out of his head. While asleep she invaded his dreams and now, evidently, his fantasies. It made sense, after she’d been the subject of his recent conversation. Although Curt hadn’t told him anything new; he’d taken note of her sweet round bottom many times before. How could any red-blooded man not notice? Often, he’d dreamt of his hands on those perfectly proportioned curves, squeezing, rubbing, and kissing her glorious ass, and, yes, spanking it—especially spanking it—all before he bent her over and watched it, as he fucked her from behind.

  Trent couldn’t deny he was an ass man—absolutely—though high round tits, a wet pussy, and a skilled mouth were also extremely high on his list.

  What was the old saying, about having the best of both worlds; a lady on the streets, but a freak between the sheets? Or something along those lines.

  He laughed, shaking his head.

  Damn, Jacobs, if a woman got in your head and heard some of this shit, she’d slap you silly.

  Russell Jacobs would frown on it, too. Still fit, even well into his sixties, his father seemed ageless, appearing at least a decade younger. Trent had inherited his looks and build from his dad and hoped he could expect the same as he aged. And he took after him in demeanor, as well.

  He always preached being respectful of women. Trent had tried to be. Acting the gentleman by opening doors for his date, picking up the tab, and letting her set the pace for sex in the relationship. As for the spanking, he’d learned to tread carefully with his approach. Other than a swat or two at the height of passion, which most women didn’t seem to mind. The few times he’d taken it further and turned a woman over his knee for more had been when she’d was absolutely, and without a doubt, into it, and most often, had suggested it.

  What were the odds he’d come across a woman who wanted marriage, family, to grow old and turn gray, and in between carve a full, happy life full of love with him? A woman who also suited him in bed, who liked what he did—beyond humdrum missionary but stopping well short of extreme. One who would understand his need for control in the bedroom and get off on it too. A woman who would not only enjoy being over his lap for play but if she was naughty and needed it, let him put her there for discipline as well.

  “No wonder you’re still single,” he grumbled aloud. “That woman does not exist.”He was about to change the live feeds back to the usual settings when Carly walked into the shot. She chatted with the other girl, showing a great deal more animation than she ever did with him. The camera zoomed in, Trent’s finger on the switch doing so without his conscious knowledge. It captured her eyes bright with laughter, her face glowing, and she quickly went past pretty, to fucking gorgeous.

  When she turned and moved away, her long hair swept across her back, the thick glossy waves falling almost to her waist. The ends seemed to dance above her gloriously pert bottom in a short sexy skirt which hugged her hips and thighs to perfection. Damn.

  His body reacted. All of a sudden, he wasn’t so tired after all and found himself eager to check out the sticking keypad. But where was Benson?

  As if his thoughts conjured his evening shift relief, the outside door slammed shut followed by the sound of boots clomping down the hall.

  Chapter Three

  SWEET NOTHINGS WASN’T on his usual way out, but he added it to his route tonight. As he walked up, the Valentine’s display in the window reminded him of Carly and a red panty-clad mannequin. He didn't laugh along with the others, a feat which required biting the inside of his lip hard, but he hadn’t wanted to increase her obvious embarrassment. Unable to keep it contained, a grin had slipped out, which repeated every time he recalled the incident since that day.

  Trent had stopped by to check on her twice that night, but she hadn’t been around. Afraid he’d only make matters worse, he let it go. She avoided him, afterward, for about a week. He’d seen her a few times in the past few days, and she smiled, blushing as usual, but she also waved so he figured—much to his relief since he enjoyed talking to her—she was past it.

  Now, as he entered the potent feminine environment, moving amid racks of lacy bras and tables piled high with panties in bright colors but also with lots of black, he pictured her small hands folding the delicate underthings and started to get hard. It got worse when the image grew more vivid and featured Carly wearing one of these skimpy garments. In black—his favorite—her fair skin would shine through the sheer fabric, her long hair, tumbled around her shoulders, would spill down over her round, what he imagined were pink-tipped breasts the same pretty shade as her full lips. None of this helped diminish the uncomfortable erection pressed against his zipper. He averted his eyes from temptation.

  He scanned the shop for Monica, the owner, or Sherry, her assistant manager. When he didn’t see either but spied the woman from the live feed earlier, he veered her way. The abrupt change in direction put him in the path of the woman who popped out of the room at the back of the shop. He hadn’t expected it, and neither had she because her head came up, mouth open as if to say something, an instant before they slammed into one another.

  “Whoa,” he said, grabbing her by the upper her arms to keep her from hitting the floor.

  “I’m so sorry,” she gushed.

  He steadied her before releasing her, and then stared in rapt fascination as she took her hand and swept the thick mass of curls which had fallen all around her during their collision, back from her face. When she glanced up, her eyes went wide behind dark-framed glasses.

  “Trent.” She gasped, while twin stains of scarlet appeared on her cheeks. “I was, uh... in a hurry. I’m so sorry,” she repeated, amidst her stammer. “I should have watched where I was going.”

  “It’s not your fault, Carly. I should have been more careful when passing the door.” She was off balance in more than the obvious way, and he couldn’t get over how cute she looked in her glasses. Behind the lenses, her blue eyes had never seemed so luminous. And her hair—what could he say about it other than it captivated him.

  Usually neat and bound in a clip or band at the back of her head, it was even more stunning in disarray. There was so much of it, and he was close enough to pick up a hint of strawberries. If she were his, he’d throw out every clasp and band she owned, so she’d have to wear it long, always.

  His gaze swept over her face and the high color still there, and not for the first time, he took in her creamy complexion. It was flawless, without a single freckle, which he thought unusual for a redhead. This close, if she used makeup to conceal them, he’d be able to tell, but other than a sheer gloss on her lips, her skin had been scrubbed clean and had a healthy glow to it, which he liked. Trent wondered, if in the summer, when kissed by the sun, a few would appear across the bridge of her nose, and perhaps the upper swells of her breasts. He kind of hoped they did because, on her, it would be as sweet as it was sexy.

  “Are you all right, Carly?” he asked, after a long silence. “You hit hard.”

  “Uh... yeah. I’m fine.” Her gaze dropped to his chest, and she stared at the logo on his shirt a moment, then swallowed, before her eyes shifted up again. “What are you doing here? I just saw Curt.” She glanced around, then asked, as if appalled, “Are you shopping?”

  He grinned. “I don’t think you carry my size, sweetheart.”

  “Oh... I... you know. I didn’t mean...” She stammered, clearly flustered. “I meant with a girlfriend.”

  He thought her pretty all the times he’d seen her before, but standing here, this close, clearly flustered, wearing those overstated, too-harsh-for-her-features black frames, he saw true beauty.

  Curious, he asked, “Are the glasses new?”

  She stiffened, a look of horror crossing her face, then, quickly, as if they were scalding her skin, she reached up and yanked them off. Next, she wrapped them in a fist, which she tucked behind her back. This time, when she peered up at him, it was with a little squint.

  “I only wear them for computer work.”

  He didn’t call her on her fib, too struck by seeing her in a new light. Curt had said she was legal, in college, which still felt wrong to him, but she was gorgeous, all of her, from her delicate facial features to her trim little body made perfect with stunning curves. Her breasts would fit just right in his palms, and her ass would be a very nice handful.

  He hadn’t seen it yet today, but the image of its firm, roundness in tight jeans or fitted slacks had imprinted on his memory. He could imagine her curves in the snug-fitting denim skirt and leggings she had on today, and topping it all, her fucking glorious hair.

  And there was so much more that appealed to him. In the flats she wore, the top of her head didn’t quite reach his shoulder, and with her becoming blushes, endearing shy manner, and the way she grew nervous around him, she gave off a vibe of vulnerability which stirred his protective instincts.

  Everything about Carly Mackenzie he liked, and everything he liked made him hard. If he didn’t redirect his thoughts soon, how much he liked what he saw would be all too noticeable.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m here on business,” he told her. “Is one of your managers in?”

  “Not tonight,” she said with a head shake that set the loose springy curls bouncing. “I guess you’d say I’m in charge since I’m closing and making the bank deposit.”

  “I dropped by to check your security system. Curt told me there have been problems.”

  She bit her lip as her color heightened.

  Christ, she was cute.

  “I’m sorry he mentioned it. I think it’s user error because it’s mostly me who has trouble.”

  “Mostly?”

  Her eyes darted away. “Okay, only me. As far as I know.”

  “Since I’m here, how about I take a look?”

  “Okay, come on back.”

  She led the way, and he determinedly kept his gaze on the back of her head, not allowing it to dip to the sway of her hips. As they entered the storage room at the rear of the store where the control panel was located, the brunette working with her called for help.

  “Jana’s at the register with a customer. She’s new. I’ll see what she needs and be right back. Okay, Trent?”

  “Sure. I’ll get started with a diagnostic.”

  When she left him alone, he set down his tools on the corner of the nearby desk, careful not to disturb the stacks of invoices and bank statements. At the control panel, he keyed in the code to run a system check. It took only a few minutes to confirm everything was in working order.

  He’d need Carly to show him what the problem was.

  When he stuck his head out of the storage room, he spotted her standing at a display table in the middle of the floor folding a pair of black lace panties.

  Fuck, it was the same as in his fantasy.

  He willed his hard-on away, but his head only had so much control over his dick. Since there wasn’t a cold shower around, he did the next best thing and imagined jumping buck naked into nearby frigid Norris Lake in what the locals called a polar bear plunge.

  The unpleasant notion lessened his uncooperative prick not one iota. Turning away, he adjusted himself before calling for her. “Carly?”

  Now holding a scrap of pale pink lace in her hands, she turned to him. “Yes?”

  “Can you come back here? I want to watch while you arm the system, so I can see what it’s doing.”

  “Okay.” She moved forward but stopped after only a step and stared for a moment at the panties in her hands as if confused how they had gotten there. At a loss over what to do with them, she subtly tried to shove them into her skirt pocket but had trouble locating it. Looking down after several tries, she flushed crimson with the realization she didn’t have any pockets, at least not in the front. This time, Trent tried clenching his jaw to keep from laughing.

  The same as she’d done with her glasses, she palmed the panties and put her hands behind her back. Next, while still facing him, she tossed them onto the table. Only one thing went wrong—she missed, though not entirely. They landed half-on, half-off and dangled over the table edge. And if this wasn’t enough since they were resting on something smooth and shiny—he guessed satin—they promptly slid onto the floor.

  Trent tried not to, but he glanced at her feet, and nearly busted a gut when he saw the disobliging pink undies landed next to her shoe.

  “I’ll be in the back with Mr. Jacobs for a few minutes, Jana.” This was an obvious ploy to distract him while she kicked them under the table, as was the way she moved toward him, quickly.

 

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