Читать книгу About That Night... - Jeanie London - Страница 9

Today

AFTER TAKING a deep breath to steel her nerves for what was possibly the most outrageous—and potentially disastrous—decision she’d ever made, Julienne pushed through the etched-glass front door of Casa de Ramón, plunging herself into a frenetic world of bright lights, whirring blow dryers and pungent chemical smells.

Chic Art Deco furnishings incorporated the hydraulic chairs, rows of shampoo bowls and otherworldly hood dryers in an upscale salon that brought to mind images of grooming beautiful people who didn’t mind looking at themselves in walls and walls of mirrors.

Julienne hoped she could cultivate that particular skill, because when she caught sight of herself walking into the reception area, French-braided hair and dove-gray business suit unassuming amid the surrounding grandeur, she could only pray Ramón was up for a challenge.

Come on, girl. Think beautiful. Naughty girls come in all shapes and sizes.

“Jules, sweetheart.” Owner and stylist extraordinaire, Ramón, hurried down the aisle between the stylists’ booths, long black overcoat whipping out behind him like Batman’s cape. “I saw you on my book and I’m marked off for hours. Tell me, tell me. What are we doing today?”

Clients peered up from beneath wet bangs and foil strips that made their heads resemble shiny antennae. Now that she had everyone’s undivided attention…

Naughty girls enjoy being noticed.

“We’re doing something different today,” she said, not quite as enthusiastically as someone who enjoyed being noticed might say it, but reasonably self-possessed all the same.

“Not the usual ‘just put a new line in the bottom but don’t take off much length’?” Ramón didn’t give her a chance to reply as he waved at the receptionist, a beautiful young girl who sat behind a desk, completely unflustered by her boss’s theatrics. “Don’t put any calls through. And for God’s sake don’t let anyone back to bother us. I don’t care if Elvis himself shows up crooning. Jules and I have business.”

With that he latched a long-fingered hand around her upper arm and practically frog-marched her back to his semiprivate station past the rows of booths where his stylists waved, smiled and eyed her with interest.

“What is it, Jules? You finally want some shape in this mop? Or curl?”

Julienne allowed herself to be guided into the hydraulic chair and spun to face another unforgiving mirror with such speed her already fluttering stomach gave a decided lurch.

“No curl.”

“Color?” A tall, lean man, Ramón bent over her and peered myopically at her reflection in the mirror. “Don’t tell me you found a gray.”

“No. You don’t see any, do you?”

He surveyed the top of her head. “No grays. So why are you finally letting me do something to bring out the beauty of this exquisite color God gave you?”

Naughty girls look the part.

“I just want something different.”

“Be more specific, please.”

“I’m not exactly sure what,” she admitted. “That’s why I’m placing myself in your capable hands. I want a new look.”

Julienne expected exultation, or enthusiasm at the very least. After all, Ramón had been after her for the entire five years of their acquaintance to do something…anything with her hair.

But he only eyed her skeptically above the slices of black eyeglass frames resting low on his nose.

“How new?”

“New-new. Just not anything too short or too crazy.”

He circled her slowly, assessing, reminding her of Uncle Thad whenever he stepped inside an old building to assess the construction of walls and decorative moldings for restoration.

“What prompted this sudden need for a new you?”

“I just turned thirty.”

“Okay, a milestone birthday. What else?”

“What do you mean ‘what else’?”

He frowned.

“I’m just ready for a change.” She wasn’t about to tell him the truth.

“Does this sudden inspiration have anything to do with Dr. Whiteside?”

“Ramón, what kind of question is that?”

“A personal one I need an answer to, before I’ll touch my scissors to this mop you’ve been growing forever.” He sniffed haughtily. “Once I cut into the length, it’ll take decades to grow back out if you don’t like it. I don’t have the patience to listen to you sob the whole time.”

“Oh.”

She could understand caution. She’d lived a whole life filled with it. And she really had no reason to be uncomfortable about fessing up to Ramón. He’d been styling her hair ever since Ethan had insisted she make an appointment with his stylist. Besides…

Naughty girls feel good about feeling naughty.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Ethan does factor in a little. We called off our engagement six months ago and I’m ready to move on with my life. I’m ready to head in a new direction.”

Curiosity finally sparked in Ramón’s expression, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the back of the chair, his face so close she could smell the spicy scent of his aftershave mingling with powerful traces of permanent wave solution from an earlier client. “A new direction, hmm? How new?”

“New-new. I plan to enjoy myself.”

There, you said it and you didn’t even blush. See, girl, twenty-one days of self-hypnosis are paying off.

“You’re booked in for the whole day,” Ramón said. “You want more than just a new hairstyle, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Facial, makeup and image consultation? The works?”

She nodded again.

Ramón bolted upright as if he’d been shot from a gun, making Julienne jump in the chair.

“Celeste, round up the troops,” he bellowed toward the front of the salon. “Jules’ll be leaving here a new woman.”

A new woman! That’s exactly what you want to be. Now sit back and enjoy the transformation.

Julienne didn’t have a chance to sit back and enjoy anything before being herded into a dressing room, instructed to strip out of her suit and don a black salon overcoat.

The troops arrived. Kathy the skincare specialist and makeup artist. Stephanie with the body spa. Judith, the salon’s colorist, though Ramón assured her he’d be doing her color himself. She already knew Katriona, the six-foot-two manicurist, who dripped gold spandex and flaunted her cake makeup and razor-stubbled cheeks proudly.

“Well, hey, sister,” she said. “What’s this Ramón said about real nails? Tell me you’re finally giving up that modish farmhand look you’ve been sporting since the dawn of time.”

To Katriona real nails meant acrylic and lots of it, along with sparkly gems, traffic-stopping colors and gold jewelry that resembled Barbie-doll sized nose rings.

“Just something feminine for tonight. I can’t wear them too long or I won’t be able to work. I’ve got my interns taking samples at a one hundred and thirty-six-year-old church this week.”

“Fascinating, I’m sure,” Katriona said in a decidedly bored drawl. “But what’s happening tonight? Something more lively than scraping paint chips off rotting floorboards, I hope.”

“The closing performance at the Risqué Theatre.”

“The Risqué?” Ramón asked, his fingers coming to a sudden halt in her braid. “You’re joking.”

“No,” she said, unsure why he was so surprised. “The Risqué Theatre is a building of architectural and historical significance. I’ve been there lots of times.”

“With your uncle?”

The subject matter performed at the Risqué was on the racy side for her sweet, but whole-other-generation uncle. “Ah, no.”

“I know you didn’t go with Dr. Whiteside.” Ramón frowned. “I can’t imagine him stepping foot inside the place no matter how architecturally or historically significant it is. The Risquéisan erotic theater, Jules. I’ve seen performances there that made my hair curl.”

A feat in itself, given that as far as she could tell his perfectly coiffed hair looked as smooth as a pin. While Julienne had never attended any hair-curling performances herself, she’d seen some very provocative ones. “Well, um, I usually go by myself.”

Ramón relinquished his grip on her braid and motioned to his crew with a smug smile. “Jules, sweetheart, that man was the root of all your troubles. I am so happy you’ve finally broken free. Once we get you a new look, we’re going to have to work on getting you a new guy.”

Julienne had a new guy in mind, but she didn’t intend to share that with Ramón and company. Which was just as well since Ramón began conferring with his crew again in a rush of instructions that made her head spin.

They circled her. They freed her almost waist-length hair from its braid. They held swatches to her cheeks and discussed color choices. They generally consulted on her new look.

Ramón reassured her with a smile but Julienne mentally chanted her key phrases and breathed like she’d sprinted a quick mile by the time they’d arrived back at his station. He issued orders like a drill sergeant to an assistant, who opened tubes of haircolor and mixed various thick pastes in bowls.

“I’m going to do a little highlighting and lowlighting to frame your face.”

She wasn’t sure what lowlighting was, but she knew highlighting well enough to ask, “You’re not making me blond, are you?”

“Perish the thought.” He rolled his eyes. “You’re a natural auburn, Jules. Way too red to ever lift you through all the brass. And I don’t do brassy blondes, thank you. Think subtle strands of deeper and lighter red woven around your face. Think naturally enhancing this incredible color. Think everyone who sees you will ask what genius did your hair and you’ll give her one of my cards.” He winked and reached for a thin sheet of foil. “I’ll make sure Celeste sends you home with a stack.”

Julienne laughed, all nervousness about her hair fading away, but in its wake came an unsettling thought. “Ramón, does Ethan still get his hair cut here?”

“Mmm, hmm,” he replied around the long-tailed comb he currently clamped between pursed lips.

Julienne took that to mean yes. “You’d never… I mean, you wouldn’t repeat anything we discussed—”

He flipped the comb out of his mouth and speared it into her hair with a ruthlessness that made her wince. “I’m quieter than your confessor. Trust me. Just because I take the man’s money doesn’t mean I like him. It’s business, and he’s a good tipper, especially at Christmas. Did you know he books his next appointment before he even walks out the door?”

“Organization was always one of his strengths.”

“I’m all for a little chaos myself, but I’m glad he referred you to me. I’m tremendously fond of you, and Uncle Thad. I knew one day you’d come to your senses….”

Julienne wasn’t exactly sure dabbling in self-hypnosis and letting Ramón renovate her from the ground up could be classified as sensible, but she’d spent the past twenty-one days preparing to put her plan into action. Tonight was the big night, her debut as a woman daring, beautiful and confident enough to catch a hot-blooded man’s attention.

The Naughty Handbook called it starting off with a bang, jumping feetfirst into her future as a woman who enjoyed her sensuality and made no apologies for it. A healthy sexual appetite was a natural, healthy thing.

Naughty girls have the courage to explore their desires.

But no matter how often she chanted key phrases and practiced suggestibility techniques, Julienne knew she could never start off with a bang by flirting with a total stranger. Uncle Thad was a very noble gentleman from another era and Julienne had lived with him since she’d been barely six years old. He’d raised her to be a moral, upstanding, good girl, and while she appreciated his efforts in shaping the woman she’d become, she had some work to do putting good into perspective.

She’d flirt tonight, but within comfortable parameters. Nicholas Fairfax wasn’t a stranger. Not exactly. Though she’d never met the man, she’d read every article and treatise he’d ever written. She’d studied his work so much that she could identify his subtle, yet aggressive technique on any building at a glance. She knew his credentials as a nationally recognized expert in the historic preservation field, every board he’d ever served on—and he’d served on many—and every lecture he’d ever given.

But she hadn’t known a thing about his personal life until his appointment last year to the President’s Advisory Council, a federal agency that oversaw and advised on all national historic preservation matters.

His presidential appointment had placed him under the media’s scrutiny and she’d learned that the founder of the renowned Architectural Design Firm, one of the largest preservation organizations on the West Coast, was not only a brilliant and ambitious architect, but an incredibly virile man.

If she could believe one-tenth of what the papers reported, the man she’d revered for his architectural brilliance was a naughty boy personified. And lucky for her, this naughty boy had accepted the commission to renovate the Risqué Theatre and would arrive for the closing performance tonight.

To her knowledge—and Julienne believed herself very knowledgeable about Nicholas Fairfax’s work—he’d never renovated any buildings in Savannah, which meant his black book might not be all filled up when he got off the plane.

She wanted her phone number to be his first entry.

Julienne knew she’d never catch a naughty boy’s attention looking the way she did now. Not that there was anything wrong with her looks. She’d always been very grateful for her natural, easily maintained appearance. But she’d never exactly been a fashion plate. Once she and Uncle Thad had settled in Savannah, she’d led the life of a busy student and an academic. She’d always leaned toward the conservative and hadn’t had the impetus to change.

Until now.

She clung to that thought through the color and shampoo process, a facial, a manicure and pedicure.

But when the first strands of hair to hit the floor were well over a foot long, Julienne’s anticipation veered sharply toward worry. “You won’t make it too short, will you?”

“Of course not.” Ramón exhaled sharply with impatience, spinning her chair so she faced away from the mirrors. “Don’t wig on me now, Jules, because you’ll look ridiculous if I stop. I’m only layering your hair to put some shape around your face. You won’t miss what I take off, trust me.”

Relax, girl. He’s brilliant and you know it, otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting in his chair.

Julienne tried not to cringe as the next chunk of hair hit the floor with a wet plop. She closed her eyes to shut out the stimuli of the busy salon. After all, her one-length hair had never been as much a styling preference as it had been a necessity.

Working in the field with Uncle Thad had taken them to some pretty remote parts of the globe, where regularly scheduled haircuts hadn’t been available. More often than not, schools hadn’t been available and as a result, her uncle and his crew had tutored her until she’d entered college. She’d only worn her hair one length because the style had been easy to pull back into a presentable ponytail. A comfortable style and since Julienne was officially done with comfortable…

“What kind of product do you have at home?” Ramón asked.

“I buy whatever you tell me to buy.” Eager-to-please Julienne. But no more. Opening her eyes, she resisted the urge to turn her head and peek in the mirrors.

“Shampoo, finishing rinse and an ends’ conditioner. That’s not enough. You need gel, mousse and spray now that you have shape, sweetheart. Celeste,” he called out and the tolerant receptionist hurried through the salon to join them. “Put a care package together for Jules. Basic styling products. Oh, and throw in some of the hair glitter, too. Pearlescent.”

“Pearlescent hair glitter?” Julienne asked.

“New-new, remember?” Shooing Celeste off, he poured a glob of what she presumed to be styling gel into his palm. “If you’re inhabiting places like the Risqué, you’ll need hair glitter, trust me. Now tell me what you’re wearing tonight.”

“I figured I’d decide after I saw the new me.”

“Tell me about the choices.”

As Ramón styled, Julienne told him about her formal-length black sheath and green velvet taffeta.

“I don’t like those,” he yelled over the roar of the blow dryer, motioning her to lean forward and put her head between her legs while he flipped the—gratefully—still considerable mass of hair over her head. “What else do you have?”

“A caviar-beaded skirt set.”

“What color?”

“Black.”

He snorted. “I thought you said you’d attended performances at the Risqué before. Sounds like all you do is go to funerals.”

Julienne might have scowled if she’d stood a chance of being seen, but as she was buried beneath damp hair with the blood rushing to her head, she could only correct him. “Black is a classic color for formal functions, not the only color I own. I have a pale-pink sequined ball gown I wore to a New Year’s party, but I think it would be too much for tonight.”

The blow dryer abruptly cut off and suddenly the curtain of hair parted to reveal Ramón peering at her upside down.

“Can you make time to visit Leona’s Boutique next door? She’ll have something that won’t make you look like Cinderella on her way to the ball.”

Julienne nodded. Cinderella in a ball gown was not a look to start her off with a bang. The time had apparently come to expand her wardrobe.

Naughty girls dress the part.

She’d read that in The Naughty Handbook, too, and tried to imagine what types of styles would be suitable for the new her, but as she hadn’t actually seen the new her yet…

“I’m a bloody genius.”

Ramón spun her chair around to face the mirrors with a triumphant laugh, and for a split second, Julienne didn’t recognize the woman staring back.

A cloud of hair, incredible hair, floated around her face, tumbled down her shoulders and reached halfway down her back in a mane of tousled waves. The subtle color change gave her hair a sunlight glint, which cast her skin with a creamy glow that couldn’t possibly be natural. And her face. Suddenly her cheekbones seemed less austere, her features not quite so sharp. She looked somehow softer…and a whole lot sexier with all that hair waving around her face.

“You are a bloody genius,” was all she could say.

He actually bowed with a grand sweep of his arm. “Remember that when Celeste gives you my bill. But the best is…” he lifted some of the fringy pieces around her face to reveal her scalp. “The foil technique I used means your regrowth will be so natural you’ll barely notice.”

Julienne supposed she’d be suitably grateful a month or two from now, but at the moment she couldn’t think that far ahead. Not when her hair, her hair, looked so…wild.

“Did you curl it?”

Ramón shook his head. “Didn’t need to. Once I cut into the bulk your natural wave sprang up. Who knew?”

Julienne didn’t and wasn’t about to complain. Not when each glance in the mirror caused her to do a double take.

Looking good, girl.

She held that thought through Kathy’s makeup application and the short walk to Leona’s Boutique.

“None of Leona’s things are off the rack,” Katriona whispered when Ramón rushed through the boutique calling for the owner. “She only deals with New York designers. We’ll find something for you to wear tonight.”

Julienne refused to think about what the minimum payment on her credit card would be next month.

What are you working for anyway? Life’s short. Live.

And live she would. Even if it meant shrugging off a lifetime of reasonable budgeting. Her smile came easily as a svelte older woman appeared and Ramón performed the introductions.

Leona was a sharp-eyed woman who pegged her correct size with one glance. Leona’s Boutique was the type of upscale up-to-the-minute fashion establishment Julienne had simply never considered shopping in before.

With everything from elaborate formal wear to accompanying undergarments in colors like innocently white, perfectly nude and temptress black, Leona’s Boutique catered to women in the mood to indulge themselves.

Julienne allowed herself to be herded into yet another dressing room, and gave in to the excitement of silk shantung skirt sets with plunging scoop necks, sequined sheaths with bare-tie backs and tube dresses that reached the floor in a sweep of clingy satin.

And leather, lots and lots of leather in a rainbow of shades, which seemed to be what everyone thought she should wear to the Risqué tonight.

Julienne pirouetted in the full-length tri-mirror yet again, the red leather slip dress clinging to her body in a way that would have made her blush twenty-one days ago. Right now she only trembled with excitement and blessed Uncle Thad for sharing his low-cost solution to exercising in the field—running. An exercise that kept her toned.

“Yow. Do that again.” Ramón circled his hand in the air, motioning her around once more. “Look at that hair move, sweetheart. God, I’m good.”

“Yes, Ramón, you are. Thank you so much for renovating me with such brilliance and enthusiasm today.” Meeting his gaze reflected in the mirror, she smiled.

“The enthusiasm’s on the house, but I’m charging you for every drop of brilliance,” he said dryly, but when he stepped onto the raised platform to kiss her cheek, Julienne knew he’d been pleased by her praise.

“No problem. I still can’t believe this is me.” She pirouetted again, hair flying around her and earning his smile. “Look at all this skin. I’ll freeze tonight.”

“Leona, shawl, jacket, duster, something. Goose bumps aren’t sexy.”

Katriona reappeared. “All that hair should keep you warm.”

She was right. Julienne’s hair looked almost hedonistic in sheer volume, in the heavy, untamed way it fringed around her face then tumbled over her bare shoulders. And the dress. The leather hugged her from bodice to thigh—accentuating curves she hadn’t realized she’d had—before the leather fanned out to the floor, leaving her knee and calf bared through a sexy slit.

Katriona surveyed her critically. “Needs more cleavage.”

“Cleavage?” Julienne glanced into the mirror again, very pleased with the effect of the leather molding and shaping her breasts into noticeable fullness.

The Naughty Handbook had certainly been right about one thing—sexy clothes definitely affected attitude. This body-hugging red leather transformed her into a stranger.

“Leona,” Katriona said to the owner, who had just stepped through the dressing room door. “Jules needs a Miracle Bra to turn her 34-B into something memorable.”

“I’ve got just the thing.” Handing Ramón a short bolero jacket designed from matching red leather, Leona disappeared from the dressing room only to reappear again a few minutes later with an armful of undergarments Julienne had only seen before on the pages of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue. “That’s more than a Miracle Bra.”

The older woman smiled. “Corset bra with garters, a thong and silk stockings to match that exquisite dress.”

“Oh.” Seemed a bit extravagant when she had no intention of letting anyone see beneath her new sexy leather dress—not tonight at any rate. Tonight was for flirting and catching the attention of a very hot-blooded man.

Then again, The Naughty Handbook said that naughty girls dressed the part, both in public and private, and she couldn’t wear those sexy undies without feeling sexy. To prove the point, she held the erotic corset in front of her.

“That’ll do the trick. Trust me, sister.” Katriona spun sideways and struck a pose that emphasized the amazing shape of her own silicone bustline, molded in gold spandex. “It’ll lift and separate those puppies. You’ll kill tonight.”

“Go try them on.” Ramón motioned her toward the booth. “Let’s get the whole effect.”

Julienne lifted her hair to allow Leona to unzip the red leather creation, then hurried inside the small, plush interior of the dressing booth. Peeling the dress away, she stepped into the lace corset, shimmied it up her body. The lace hugged her snugly, made her aware of the way the under-wires forced her breasts high, the way the wispy lace caressed her skin.

The matching thong was no more than a scrap of bright fabric around her hips, decadent beneath the garter straps dangling toward her thighs, awaiting the stockings she’d tossed carelessly onto the upholstered bench.

Catching a glimpse of her bare bottom and the strip of red silk disappearing between her cheeks, Julienne trembled in an unfamiliar wave of feminine satisfaction.

Well, well, look at you, girl. You’re downright sexy in your new finery.

Twirling in a slow circle, she absorbed the sight of lace molding her curves, familiar, yet provocatively unfamiliar.

Naughty girls feel sexy.

Julienne looked the part. She felt the part.

Taking a deep excited breath, she smiled into the mirror. “Nicholas Fairfax, here I come.”