2

New Orleans, afternoon . . .

“Think about the Rabbit. That’s become the rare product that’s known by one word now. Say the Rabbit and everyone knows it means the world’s best kind of vibrator,” she said, as Grant Abbot wrapped his long fingers around a glass of bourbon, knocking back a swallow of the amber liquid. Casey loved that his eyes were on her the whole time. The man was focused—he was interested in what she brought to him. “And I believe the same can be true of the LolaRing.”

He took a beat before responding. He liked to take his time, it seemed. He wasn’t in a rush.

“Interesting,” he said, his smooth voice a perfect complement to the jazz music that piped through the bar from the overhead speakers, as a handful of waiters and bartenders refilled the drinks of nearby patrons. It was only four in the afternoon, but Happy Hour had started early, and Grant had insisted they take their meeting to his favorite watering hole. “Such a better location for the conversations we’ll have about silk, satin and vibration, don’t you think?” he’d said with a flirty wink when his receptionist had shown her to his office, a corner suite in a nearby building with a view of downtown through its floor-to-ceiling windows. But she’d barely caught a glimpse of his 9-to-5 habitat because he’d placed a hand on the small of her back, and guided her down the elevator, around the block, and through the cranberry-red wooden doors of Velvet. The establishment was bathed in low lights and cool music, and had an upscale ambiance with its couches that were stitched from the same material as the name.

Casey hadn’t let the switch in venue throw her off. Nor had she let herself be affected by her long-simmering attraction to the man. He was only a few years older than her thirty-two, and ever since she’d met him at a conference a year ago, she’d let her mind wander from his crystal blue eyes to his dark, close-dropped hair, to the way he wore a suit so damn well. Not to mention that accent. That Big Easy, Southern drawl that would likely sound delicious if he spoke low and sexy in her ear. Then there was the way he wore a shade of mystery, and chased it with a dash of intrigue.

But she pushed all those other thoughts of him into the far corners of her mind. Because business was business. They’d been talking about the “synergies” between their two companies since they’d met—they were both purveyors of pleasure, after all. They were a natural fit, she reasoned, especially since she’d been guiding Joy Delivered down an expansion road in the last year and a half since her brother Jack had stepped down as CEO. Though she and Jack had founded the company together several years ago after she’d graduated from business school, he’d run the ship until the woman he fell in love with was offered a job in Paris. The romantic that her older brother was, he’d given up his post and moved overseas to be with Michelle. Their wedding was at the end of the month.