The Business of Sex Read online

  The Business of Sex

  by Rhonda Leah

  Back Cover Copy

  With Lee in her life, Laurel doesn’t need the props she peddles.

  Laurel Delacroix owns and operates The Rubber Tree, a sexual necessities shop, on Bourbon Street. She’s spirited and independent, but when the man by whom she measures all others reappears in her life, she can’t resist tempting fate. She might not do relationships, but she craves sex. And sex with her inspiration for The Rubber Tree is the best she’s ever had.

  Lee Carter is used to women dropping at his feet, but Laurel is different. She’s a challenge in every way. When he finds out about the threats she’s receiving, along with her store being vandalized and her condo torn to shreds, he’ll do anything to protect her...and make her see they belong together permanently.

  Content warning: This story contains explicitly fun sex and strong language.

  Highlight

  “The key is on me. Find it.” She dropped her arms to her sides. She was wearing a simple black dress, no pockets, sheer stockings and low-heeled black mules. Not many options for a hiding place.

  “Well, are we going to stand out here all night or what?” she teased.

  “Laurel, let’s go inside.”

  He was too aroused to play games; he burned for her. What he should do was to see her inside safely, return to his hotel and have a very long, very cold shower.

  “Sure. Find the key, and we can.” She lowered her eyelids. “Come’ere and I’ll help.”

  He stalked closer, letting her make the decision about where he’d spend the night. She took his hands in hers, bringing them to her chest until he was cupping the weight of her breasts. His palms nearly burned through the damned dress. He pinned her with his eyes, trying to figure out what was going on inside that pretty head.

  She leaned in and kissed his tense jaw. “Loosen up,” she whispered.

  The Business of Sex

  Copyright © 2009, Rhonda Leah

  Edited by Emma Wayne Porter

  Book design by Emma Wayne Porter and Brian Hunter

  Cover Art by Renee Rocco

  First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: October, 2009

  Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  17 Ludlow Street

  Staten Island, New York 10312

  http://www.lyricalpress.com

  eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission.

  PUBLISHER'S NOTE:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  Dedication

  To my family for their support and understanding

  Acknowledgements

  The Business of Sex is a work of fiction. Please be aware I have taken a few liberties with some specifics in reference to post-Katrina New Orleans to suit the story.

  Thanks to everyone at Lyrical Press, Inc., especially Emma Porter. I’d also like to extend a special thank you to Renee Rocco for the wonderful cover art.

  To Jeri for providing me with much needed inspiration at the right time. I don’t think I would have stayed on track without you.

  In addition, I’d like to extend a very special thank you to a wonderful group of writing friends who have supported me for years—to the ladies of FY—each one of you holds a special place in my heart. Thank you for the continued support through it all.

  Chapter 1

  “Let’s mark these down for quick sale.” Laurel handed a box of candy cane condoms to Amanda, her assistant and best friend.

  “You don’t think they’ll fly off the shelves with Valentine’s Day around the corner?” Amanda asked.

  “Those might, but the Rudolph ones won’t. Slash the price and put them by the register.” She pointed to the antique oak sales counter. A modern cash register sat on one end, and beside it, a stack of new mail.

  “Drat, I missed the hunk-a-luscious mail guy,” Amanda said, tossing the condoms into a white wicker clearance basket. She picked up the mail and flipped through the stack, stopping at a card-sized envelope. “Cherry Laurel? Is this for you?”

  Hearing her childhood nickname for the first time in years, Laurel looked up. Her cousin Beau had tagged her with that name back in Madison Creek, the small town where she’d spent summers with her grandparents.

  She took the envelope from Amanda to examine the postmark. Local New Orleans sender, but no return address. It could be from Beau, though she didn’t think he’d been in town recently.

  “Must be from someone I know.” She shrugged. “If you’re finished with the mail I’ll take it to my office. I’ve got to get some paperwork done this afternoon. I want a free weekend.”

  Laurel went to tackle her least favorite part of business ownership: the paperwork. The phone rang as soon as she sat down, and a half hour passed before she turned her attention back to the mail.

  She examined the envelope again. The computer-generated black text looked generic, and gave no hint of who might have sent it. Her curiosity piqued, she slipped a letter opener under the seal and sliced it open.

  Inside, she found a note on plain beige cardstock.

  The Rubber Tree is hung full of protection. Can it protect you?

  The eerie words were in the same generic font, centered on the card. A shiver snaked down Laurel’s spine. Taking a deep breath, she pushed away from the desk.

  As she stalked to the sales floor, her temperature rose. Cripes. She thought the lewd comments had ceased. Granted, when The Rubber Tree opened two years ago it had stirred remarks from all types. Even a French Quarter location couldn’t guarantee acceptance for some business ventures.

  Finding Amanda still straightening displays, she handed the card over. “Get a load of this.”

  Amanda read, pursing her lips. “Uh... That’s original. Any idea who might have sent it?”

  “No. It’s odd, though. No one calls me Cherry Laurel except for people in Madison Creek.”

  “Weird nickname. How’d you get it?”

  “My cousin nicknamed me Cherry Laurel as a kid. I love cherries, and the Cherry Laurel is a type of tree. It sort of stuck. But not many people know.”

  “Maybe it’s a coincidence. Have any customers been hitting on you lately?”

  She thought a minute. “No more than usual.”

  “Are you sure? We get all types in here,” Amanda said, examining the card again. “Maybe you should call the police. You know, to be safe.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. Don’t you remember how supportive they were when we opened?”

  Amanda snorted, but the phone interrupted what promised to be a spectacularly sarcastic comment.

  Laurel grabbed the card from her hand and stepped behind the counter to answer the phone, a supplier calling with questions about an order. Knowing she’d never get out of here until he was dealt with, she slid a long file box from beneath the sales counter and settled herself on the floor to dig through purchase orders.

/>   With February quickly approaching, they would need the extra massage oils, body butters and the assortment of sex games she’d ordered. She was still digging for her copy when the bell chimed over the door, signaling a new arrival.

  A moment later, she heard Amanda ask, “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so.”

  Laurel frowned. There was something familiar about the voice. The tone. She was just about to have a peek at the customer when her caller began spewing out the numbers she needed. Laurel finished the call and was stowing away the purchase order box when Amanda came behind the counter, almost stepping on her.

  She swatted Amanda’s leg as the customer with the familiar voice said, “I’m looking for someone. Maybe you can help?”

  “Possibly. Big city,” Amanda said.

  “Look, I’m trying to find an old friend. Laurel Delacroix. Do you know her?”

  She exhaled. She would know that voice anywhere. He was the man she’d been head over heels in love with, the man she had wanted above all others. And the man who was serious about everything in life...except her. What the hell was Lee Carter doing here? In New Orleans? In her shop?

  Laurel scrambled to her feet. He looked good, better than he had the right to. His dark hair was longer, his tan darker, and those sexy eyes as serious as ever. “Lee, what are you doing here?”

  “Laurel.” His green gaze swung to hers and she could feel her body heat from the intensity. “I uh... We’ve had some staffing problems at the office here, and I transferred to deal with it,” he explained. “When I talked to Beau, he suggested I look you up.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. The crown price of Madison Creek, in the flesh. She rolled her shoulders and walked around the counter, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing a kiss on his cheek.

  His slightly stunned look told her he was still as uptight as he’d always been.

  Damn, she’d missed him. “I’m glad you did. You plan to be in town long?”

  “Yeah. Permanently. But I’m looking for a place to live.”

  “Ah. Well, great,” she said. “God, it’s good to see you.”

  She let him go and stepped back to the counter, grateful for its support. Her stomach dropped to her toes as she drank in the sight of the man she’d spent too many nights fantasizing about—the man she’d used as a measuring guide for all others.

  A crazy curl of thick, almost black hair fell onto his forehead. It triggered memories of their last summer together, threatening her concentration. They were no longer in the shelter of Madison Creek. They were in a city where anything was possible. When his lips slid into a familiar long-line smile, her shoulders relaxed.

  A movement by the door caught her eye as Tom, one of their regulars, stepped inside. He was dressed in a white button down shirt and black slacks, his normal work-wear as maitre d’ at one of her favorite restaurants.

  “Hello, lovelies,” Tom said.

  “Hi, Tom. What can we do for you today?” Laurel asked automatically. She had not built her business by ignoring her customers. While Lee’s appearance had her off kilter, she still had a job to do.

  Tom’s hand closed on her shoulder, and squeezed. She tried not to cringe. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but he regularly invaded her personal space. She shifted positions, gently knocking off his hand.

  “Big night, must gather supplies,” he said, and winked. He knew his way around the store and left her side to collect his loot.

  When he returned with an armload, she asked, “Are you on your way to work?”

  “I am,” he said, dropping everything onto the counter. She didn’t ask what her customers did with what they bought, and in all honestly she didn’t really care. But some regulars almost frightened her with their never-ending need to restock. These people were certainly having more sex than she was.

  “The new night chef does magical things with shrimp. You should drop in. I’ve always got a table with your name on it, sweet Laurel.”

  “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll be by soon,” she said, and left Amanda to ring him up.

  She rejoined Lee, who was studying a piece of modern art she’d hung above a display case. After taking a deep breath, she asked him, “Would you like to have dinner?”

  Lee’s easy smile sent her pulse racing. “Magical shrimp?”

  She laughed. “Sounds good, yes?”

  “Yes. It’ll give us a chance to catch up. I’d like that.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek and nodded. “Me too. I’ll be right back. You’ve got this covered?” she asked Amanda, who nodded, looking high and mighty.

  “I’ll be right here, boss.”

  Laurel walked into her office and closed the door.

  Lee. The deep baritone of his voice still turned her insides to mush. His spicy scent, mixed with the various smells of her store, was soothing, which managed to annoy and put her on edge at the same time. She clenched her legs together in response to the quivering of her feminine muscles. He still had the power to make her dizzy, and that scared the hell out of her.

  She jotted a few instructions for Amanda about opening the store in the morning. With plans for a weekend off already in place, having Lee in town would make it more interesting. As a life-long resident of New Orleans, she knew tons of people in the city, but few felt like true friends. Lee was from a small town, a place where people formed friendships that lasted a lifetime, where her family and his went back generations. Having him around would be a little like going back to the place she thought of as her true home.

  “Ready?” she asked, emerging from the hallway which led to her office.

  “Sure,” he said, pulling his attention from the boxed sex toys next to where he stood.

  He stopped, letting her exit the narrow doorway ahead of him. She paused on the sidewalk, waiting for him reach her side. “How long have you been in New Orleans?”

  “A week, ten days or so.”

  She realized she was at a loss, not sure what to talk about. A sales bag swung beside his leg, distracting her. She looked from the bag to his eyes, which were focused on the scenery. Maybe he didn’t know what to say, either.

  There were lots of people milling around, as many places had shift changes about this time of day.

  “Left next block, first place on the right,” she said loud enough to be heard over the crowd filling the sidewalk.

  He nodded and continued at a steady pace, shortening his stride so she could keep up. It was a beautiful evening. Cool air blew off the river as they turned toward the restaurant.

  Tom greeted them at the door. “Ah. That was quick.”

  “Yes. I must try one of the new shrimp dishes,” she said, watching the two men size each other up. “Tom, this is Lee, an old friend.” The men shook hands.

  She could only imagine what they thought of one another. They were completely different, not only in appearance, but in background. Lee was raised in a proper two-parent home. A home his prim and proper mother—who never had a hair out of place— reigned, while Tom’s single mother—also a regular customer—looked more like an aged hippie than Susie Homemaker. She lived in the French Quarter and as far as Laurel knew, her only source of income was tarot reading and fortune telling in Jackson Square.

  Tom waved over one of the best servers, and they were seated quickly.

  Once their drink orders were placed, Lee said, “The Rubber Tree? I’d have never guessed.”

  “Yeah.” She smiled. She loved owning her own store, especially now it was starting to turn a good profit. “What about it?”

  A low laugh escaped him. “I’m surprised. Not exactly what I’d envisioned when your grandfather said, ‘Laurel’s got this interesting little shop in the French Quarter.’”

  She shifted and settled in her seat. Lee, the king of uptight, didn’t seem to be judging her. “Grandpa said that? Really?”

  “Yeah, and needless to say, Beau didn’t offer much information either.”

  “He’
s probably still in shock over the whole thing. It’s been a couple of years, but I think it’s still hard for him to swallow. We don’t discuss it.”

  “I know he’s proud of you, but maybe it’s just hard for him to see his sweet little cousin doing something so bold.”

  Laurel hid her smirk. Beau would also be shocked over what his best friend Lee Carter and his sweet little cousin had done ten years ago. But as far as Laurel was concerned, that was none of Beau’s business.

  The drinks arrived and Lee ordered a dozen raw oysters. When the waiter was gone she felt more settled than she had since Lee’s surprise appearance. She was on her turf, and had him to herself for the first time in years. Being a curious person, there were so many things she wanted to know, but she wasn’t sure where to start, since she had no idea where any of this might lead.

  “So are you moving here? To stay? I guess I find it hard to believe.”

  He paused with his water glass halfway to his lips. “I was offered a position I couldn’t pass up. Why is that so hard to believe?”

  “I just... You just... New Orleans isn’t where I pictured you. But it’s great. Beau’s mentioned how much you like your work.”

  “I do. And right now, New Orleans is looking better and better.”

  They fell into an easy banter. Talking had never been a problem for them. He teased her about the store and offered a few lewd comments, but she knew he was only trying to work her nerves.

  When the oysters arrived, Lee offered her a sample, but she refused. Watching him expertly devour the delicacy was aphrodisiac enough.

  Laurel excused herself and headed to the ladies room. She splashed cool water on her flushed face. Sitting across from Lee already had her wet and needy. How could she have forgotten the way she craved him physically?

  Watching her own eyes in the mirror, she admitted she hadn’t forgotten. In fact, last year she’d broken up with her boyfriend Paul because he had nothing like Lee’s potency. Maybe she should have tried harder to make things work with Paul, but if Lee had taught her anything, it was that she sucked at relationships. And now, here she was after a year’s celibacy, flushed to the core just watching the man eat.