Hope Milton took a moment just to pause and breathe. There wasn't an aroma anywhere that could match that of her family's old and honored department store. She filled her nostrils with the scent of floral perfumes wafting from lead crystal bottles, chocolates beckoning from the candy cases and crisp new clothes hanging from shiny display stands with staunch military precision.

She wandered the aisles, surveying her domain before pausing near shoes. Hope tucked a piece of honey-colored hair behind her tortoise-shell headband and reached to take a box from a department associate. "Good morning, Doris. All ready for the Salt City Sale?"

Doris Ketchum nodded and slid the remaining box onto a shelf. She'd worked at Milton's since Hope was a child; her beehive style and tiny, half-lensed glasses were virtually unchanged. "We're ready." Doris pushed a button on the computerized register and the drawer popped open with a ping.Hope picked up a loafer, studied its impeccable state and then set it down. "Who's on today?"

"Larry and Brad." Doris cracked a roll of quarters against the drawer.

Hope swallowed and attempted to beat back the Sousa march that her heart had decided to beat. Brad Simon. The law student at the university who was working at the store part-time was the one and only employee she dreaded encountering.

It wasn't that he was difficult; he was actually extremely affable. It wasn't that he didn't match Milton's employee profile; he did. His blonde hair, forest green eyes and athlete's build gave him the appearance of a walking ad for a sporty car or refreshing soft drink. It wasn't that he was unreliable; he was always on time, one of the top sellers in the store and more than willing to switch shifts when asked.

Hope sucked in a breath when she spotted him heading her way, a stack of boxes riding on his broad shoulder. She stepped back and prayed that Doris or worse yet, Brad himself, wouldn't notice the sharp points that had become her nipples.

She'd never in her life been bowled over by a man, but Brad scored a strike each time he looked her way. He was the stuff of fantasies; the handsome prince with the chiseled face, golden hair and seductive body. But Hope was far too much of a realist to believe in fantasies. She loved the store and only the store. It was her life.

Her paternal grandparents had literally raised her here after her mother died of cancer when Hope was only two. Her playboy father had hightailed it back to upstate New York from the west coast where he'd been living with his young wife and handed over the child rearing reins to his parents not two weeks later.

Being surrounded by adults with the median age of sixty, Hope had learned the ins-and-outs of retail before she could reach the register. Her friends were the clerks and the security men, her playground the three-way mirrors and dressing room stalls. Her greatest aspiration, her only real dream, was to be Milton's leader; the one in command of the staff, the merchandise, the reputation.

She'd earned a marketing degree at an Ivy League college, but when she graduated she wasn't surprised to find herself back here in Usher, taking over many of the duties her eighty-two-year-old grandfather was tiring of. Now three years later, Hope had managed to turn the largest profit in the store's history.

She'd taken great care to preserve the oaken walls, cathedral ceilings and shiny red shopping bags while offering the latest fashions and merchandise that could rival any Madison Avenue establishment. She took pride in her work and her family's legacy.

Then Brad Simon applied for a job.

He was hired during a week last fall when Hope had been away on business. Initially she was annoyed that anyone had been given the nod while she was absent, she liked final approval on all employees, but then when she saw the new shoe associate she was down right mortified.

The few times in Hope's life that she'd attempted to have sex had proven to be nothing less than painful, dull and anti-climatic, not necessarily in that order. But ever since Brad had sauntered into shoes, flashed a smile and Midwestern charm, Hope had been distracted.

She found herself looking for him, seeking him out, running her finger down the schedule in the break room to see if it was his day. If it was, she wound up doing ridiculous things like squirting the cologne testers in cosmetics between her breasts and parading by him in snug pants and form-fitting sweaters.

She hated herself for it.

Men were a weakness. There wasn't a woman, successful or otherwise, that Hope knew of who could keep her cool or motivation when confronted with an appealing man. She damn well wouldn't be one of them.

"Good morning, Mr. Simon," Hope said when he shot her a smile as he passed."Good morning to you." He slid the boxes from his shoulder to the register island and Doris set to work organizing them. "Big stuff happening today, huh?"

Hope forced her eyes up when they began to wander toward his zipper. "Important sale today. Please keep that in mind when you two make a break schedule. We'll be busy."

Brad gave her a mock salute and Hope couldn't sprint out of shoes fast enough.

Brad adjusted his Looney Toons tie and ran a hand through his shaggy blonde hair. What the hell was it about his boss? She was pretty, but in a prissy way and he had no use for prisses. She was bitchy, and there were far too many chicks around willing to be nice to bother. Hope Milton was arrogant and closed off and Brad preferred wide open.

He didn't have time for a dalliance anyway. He was a struggling law student battling acute dyslexia and the bar exam was looming. He took all of his responsibilities seriously, you couldn't be the son of a Wisconsin dairy farmer and not. He wasn't afraid of hard work; he'd certainly done his share of it. In fact, Milton's was the first job Brad had ever had that didn't callous his hands or dampen his clothes with sweat. It was the first step to a better life.

He'd been a student at Usher University School of Law for the past four years, but he'd never ventured into the upscale store. He'd been trying his damnedest to foot his education bills all on his own. His family's size combined with an income that was considered low had earned him pretty much of a free ride through undergrad, but law school, at forty-eight-thousand a year, was another story.

Luckily he'd won a scholarship earmarked for dyslexics. It was the first time he'd ever been grateful for the disability. Since coming to Usher, he'd juggled work-study in one of the campus cafeterias and bartending in a nearby pub just to have a few bucks to do frivolous things like eat. But at the end of last summer he'd gone cold turkey, quitting both jobs to concentrate on the toughest year of all, the final one. It had taken him eight semesters when the average student mastered it in six. The additional year of rent, special textbooks and software designed specifically for his condition had left him flat out broke. He could've eeked by if balled tires and the six hundred dollar filing fee for his exam application hadn't ripped apart his already flimsy pockets. Milton's, with night and weekend hours, not too late, not too early, would be the perfect gig.

Ms. Rising in personnel had hired him on the spot without waiting for Hope Milton's approval. Brad was just glad that the schedule was flexible. He didn't know a rat's ass about shoes, but hell he wore them everyday, how hard could it be? He was charming and persuasive; he got along with most men, and women had never been a problem; he liked them, he dated them, he fucked them when he had the luxury of a free night, but most of his time was spent beating back the damn dyslexia that reared its ugly head with frequency.

He'd struggled to raise from less than stellar grades in high school to decent ones in community college, to dean's list his last two years at Wisconsin State. Spending seven years as an undergrad had been humiliating at times, but the triumph Brad had felt when he held Usher Law's acceptance letter in his hand was well worth the grief.

Then he saw Hope Milton.

He first glimpsed her seated at a desk that dwarfed what he could see was a shapely little frame. Her head was lowered and she didn't raise it as she jotted word after word on a pad. She looked up finally and just like that, Brad lost himself in her eyes. Though all guys claimed they saw it in a girl's eyes when asked, Hope's were a shade of blue that Brad had never encountered except in one of those packs of ninety-six crayons that his mother would never spring for.

In the six months since, he hadn't gone a day without a burning need to look into those eyes again. Hope was icy cool and way out of his league, but still, just to get a fix of her, more than once he'd volunteered to work an extra shift or come in on a day off when he should've been studying.

"Do we have enough bags for the day?" Doris asked, snapping him back to reality.

Brad peered under the counter and convinced himself not to watch as Hope Milton sashayed into housewares. "We're good," Brad said and stacked a pile of shiny red bags for easy retrieval.

Hope scanned the aisles on the monitor in her office. The store was brimming with customers and sales had well exceeded six figures by noon. Still, she was agitated. Brad Simon agitated her.

Hope pulled his application, tax forms and the notes she'd jotted when she'd called his references last fall. Once again the information reiterated what she already knew; Brad was annoyingly charming, handsome and bright.

A college professor who'd used him as a TA had divulged that Brad suffered from acute dyslexia, the most severe form of the disorder. Apparently he'd trained himself to adapt and clawed his way through to emerge in the top percentage of his graduating class.

Hope threw down Brad's folder and sighed. He was from Wisconsin. Wisconsin! Aside from sharp cheddar, beer and the Green Bay Packers, she knew nothing about Wisconsin, didn't care to. But in some mysterious way, she found it intriguing that Brad Simon, self-assured Brad Simon with hair the color of sunshine and eyes the color of pine, hailed from nothing short of the tundra.

Brad did all he could to fight the grumble of hunger in his gut. He'd begged off lunch, trying to make a good impression. If Hope was watching on that little screen that everyone knew was in her office, she'd see that he was busy ringing up boots and pumps and slippers. The fact that he had eighteen bucks in his pocket that needed to last until payday also contributed to his decision. He glanced at his watch. It couldn't hurt to ask for just a short break. Maybe peanut butter crackers from the vending machine in the employee lounge.

"We don't offer shopping bags unless the customer specifically asks or has purchased an enormous amount of merchandise in one department."

Brad turned to face Hope, still looking fresh, still looking sinfully tantalizing even as she stood with her arms crossed and her foot tapping. "Did you see how many bags that last customer had?" he asked.

"Yes, I did, and I probably would've done the same myself, but, for future reference, we do not give shopping bags unless--""Got it," Brad interrupted. God, she was a bitch. But he'd never encountered a bitch that smelled quite so good. Musky melon, gingered lemon, he couldn't be sure, but he wished she'd step back and leave him to his messy department and empty stomach. If there'd ever been an unapproachable woman, Hope Milton was certainly her.

Hope's arms uncrossed and she reached to straighten a pair of little girls' patent leathers. "Have you had your dinner yet?"

Brad glanced over at a large woman trying to convince Larry that she was a six and a half; he'd brought out a pair of eights. "I thought I'd just keep working. But I could use a pit stop."

Hope's breath hitched and it made him smile. He'd chipped away a tiny bit of ice. He leaned close and willed himself not to smell that heady fragrance emanating from her. "A guy has to relieve himself once in awhile."

Big time shock registered on her flawless face. "I don't take kindly to suggestive remarks, Mr. Simon."

"Do I go now or do I wait for someone to cover?"

Hope must've sucked on that lemon before she'd squeezed it into her siren's alluring perfume. Her mouth twisted and it was frightening to think of how beautiful she'd be if she'd only smile.

"Go, I'll cover for you. Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes," Brad said and backed away instead of turning just so he'd have a second more to look.

Brad would know how to navigate the curves of a woman. But why did she care? Why did she wonder if he was a tender, gentle lover complete with candlelight and soft caresses or was sleeping with him a wild biker ride that left a woman sore, tired and satisfied beyond satisfaction?

Hope grabbed a box of garish lime green pumps, size six and a half, and told herself that everyone had crushes. It was human nature and she was human after all. Men were useful in the capacity of charity escorts, models for tailored suits in the spring line and to open the isolated jar or two, but romance and orgasms were so very overrated if they existed at all. Weren't they?

Hope heard his voice from the sales floor, deep and mellow. He was back from his break right on time. Damn him. Okay, so she hadn't had a true crush since she was sixteen and surrendered her virginity to the first of her hopeless lovers right here in the store on the loading dock. She was twenty-seven now. It was understandable that another infatuation would finally grip her ten years down the road.

But she wouldn't be sideswiped. She'd dig in, carry on, persevere.

She'd simply find a reason to fire him.

Hope flipped through the printout containing the figures of the Salt City Sale. The store had done twenty thousand more than last year. The biggest percentage per department, shoes. She flipped the document over and pressed the intercom buzzer on her desk. "Rose, has Mr. Simon arrived yet?"

"He's stepping off the elevator right now.""Thank you." Hope stood up and smoothed the linen of her salmon-colored dress. She was a good businesswoman; savvy, informed. She was a good manager as well. Then why on earth was she preparing to fire the top selling sales associate of the biggest day of their fiscal year? She heard Brad's voice say something to Rose just before a rap came to the door. Hope steadied her heart and attempted to ignore the flood of wetness between her legs.

That was exactly why she was firing Mr. Studshoes.

"Hi." Brad eased the door open. "Rose said I should just come in."

He looked windblown and maybe a bit tired. Still, as he smiled and splayed those long fingers over the panel of her oaken door, Hope forced herself to fight the urge to straighten his tousled hair and give him a cup of tea.

"Please come in." Hope gestured toward the upholstered chair across from her desk.Brad eased into the room. "I'm a little late. Sorry. A storm is brewing and the traffic was insane. I really should get down to the floor so Larry can go home."

Self-confidant, responsible, unbelievably appealing. She hated him.

"I'm the manager of this establishment, Mr. Simon and I'd like you to sit down for a moment."

Brad shrugged and pushed the door shut before he ambled to the chair. "You're the boss."

Hope crossed her arms and drew in a rejuvenating breath. "Yes, I am. I'll be brief. After this evening we'll no longer need your services."

Brad's forest green eyes locked on hers. "I don't get it."

"It's simple. Despite the success of Saturday's sale, we really don't need an additional associate in shoes. After the sale, March is generally slow and I must always keep the budget of the store in mind. Being attentive about such matters has brought Milton's over one hundred years of success. You are the newest in the department so unfortunately it's you who has to be the first to go. I've instructed payroll to put an extra fifty dollars into your check to thank you for your performance during the sale."

"Wait a minute," Brad said. Hope glanced back just in time to see him run his enticing fingers through his disheveled and dangerously sexy hair.

"You're telling me that I did a great job during your busiest day of the year. I sold a shitload of shoes and you and I both know that I can do it again, but still, you're canning me?"

"It's a matter of revenue, Mr. Simon. We simply don't need another associate."

Brad bolted up and stepped toward her. "So you've said. Look, I've talked to the other people who work in that department and from what they've told me, you sure as hell do need an additional employee. Now what gives, because I don't take being lied to terribly well?"

No one had ever spoken to her like that, certainly not an employee for goodness sake. "I owe you nothing, Mr. Simon."He smirked then and it infuriated her. "Call me Brad, please. Though this isn't the most pleasant experience I've ever shared with a woman, it certainly is intimate."

Hope felt her eyes slit. "There, that's it. You are conceited and full of yourself and that is not the first inappropriate comment I've heard you make. Finish your shift and pick up the check waiting in payroll."

He reached for her then, only a light grasp of her arm, but Hope witnessed a new heat that came from his touch, his smell, the clip of his angry breathing. "I get it, you don't like me, but I need this job. I'm putting myself through Usher Law and it's tough. Really tough. This job gives me the option of piling on a lot of weekend hours and, worst case scenario, I'm done at nine during the week. I could be a waiter or bartender, I've done that before, but I'll be closing up at two a.m. when I could be studying. Now maybe you in your cushy office don't understand a guy who needs a little job like this, but I'm him and he's me and I do."

But he looked so good.

Too good.

And he looked incredibly sincere.

Hope took a step back and prayed that he didn't notice her bump the desk. "All right, Mr. Simon."

He smirked then. "Brad."

"I'll allow you to stay on. You have eased the workload of the other employees, but if I hear of any inappropriate--"

Brad raised his pointer and middle fingers. "Scout's honor," he said and, damn it, he smiled.

Brad arrived at Milton's ten minutes early the next afternoon. He'd stay one step ahead of Hope until he had her on her knees, begging his forgiveness. Wouldn't it be cool if he talked her into doing something else while she was down there? "Shit," he said out loud as he punched in at exactly four o'clock. Hope Milton was a bitch, he'd determined that, but man alive did she smolder.

He'd had a wet dream about her last night. He hadn't had one of those since he was thirteen and spending hours in the milking parlor dreaming about his brother's girlfriend, but damn if he didn't wake up this morning covered in his own juices with an extremely provocative picture of Hope on his mind. "Afternoon, Brad." Doris Ketchum passed him at the time clock.

"Hi." Brad slid his card back into the metal holder. "Busy today?"

"Steady. We have a new shipment of orthopedic shoes so we've had a lot of the rest home crowd in. What isn't sold by eight can be stocked in the back room."

"All right." Brad tried to muster up some attraction to the girl from cosmetics that winked after she stepped out of the Ladies Room, cinching her belt. When he realized he was having zilch success, he turned back to Doris. "Is Ms. Milton in her office?"

Doris wiped a tissue over her glasses. "Nope, I think she's up in the graveyard."

"The graveyard?"

"Fourth floor. It used to be the children's and maternity departments, but when the store consolidated about three years ago we closed it off. Now it's storage. Christmas decorations, old mannequins, that sort of thing. Hope wants to make a swanky restaurant out of it, but she's running into zoning ordinances, licensing problems. Every week or so she goes up and tries to figure another angle."

Brad glanced at his watch.

"You'll be alone after six. Why don't you take a few extra minutes before you head out to the floor? It'll be a long night. Get a snack or something." Doris smirked. "Or, you could check out the graveyard."

Brad found himself nodding and stepping onto the elevator as it opened.

Hope slid a box of Christmas tinsel to the side with her foot. If she could only make the city planner, Donald Jordan, see that this was the perfect place for a classy eatery.She'd gone so far as to date the boring man from city hall. His kisses were wet and unpolished and he'd practically salivated on her breasts when she'd offered them for his pleasure one night. Still, no permit and no indication that one was on the way.

Hope looked up when the elevator pinged. No one ever came up here; sales associates weren't allowed and most everyone in management found it creepy. The electricity had been disconnected and by late afternoon it was nearly impossible to see.

She reached to adjust the clip that held her hair in a twist. Then she saw Brad step off of the elevator. "What are you doing here?" She felt equal parts fear and excitement rise steadily inside. "We don't allow associates up here."

Brad shoved his hands into the pockets of his navy blue slacks and glanced around the abandoned floor littered with Santa faces, a trellis for the Easter Bunny and mannequin parts that would make a serial killer smile. "Cozy." He looked backed her way. "I just wanted to thank you for not canning me yesterday."

Hope jutted her chin, crossed her arms and did her best to look annoyed. "It's a business dealing, Mr. Simon. I reconsidered and decided that it was more to our advantage to keep you than to discard you."

"Whatever. Just accept my thanks."

She had to be dreaming. Dizziness swirled as Brad snatched her arm, pulled her in and covered her mouth with his. His lips were firm and greedy; his tongue expertly pried until it burrowed into the cavern of her mouth. Hope gasped and then eased to clear the way.

He pulled back, studied the lingerie that he most likely found surprising on a prude corporate manager, and dove back to her mouth as he peeled down her pink bra strap.

Hope heard the muffled moan she emitted as his hands wandered down and plucked at her nipples. Just as quickly he stopped and released her pulsing body.

Hope attempted to cover her ample breasts and waited for him to instruct her on what was next, what would happen next. It was all up to him. "Don't," he said in a voice far gravellier than any she'd heard him use before.

"All right." Hope slowly, sensuously, moved her hands away.

Brad stared for another long beat and then grasped her shoulders and guided her backwards toward the roll of carpeting. When Hope's shins touched the exposed stiff and coarse underbelly of the carpet, he crouched and set to work rolling down her pantyhose until they rested just beneath her hips.

"Honey, do you taste as good as you smell?"

The rough pattern of the carpet roll dug into her bare flesh, but it was more erotic than uncomfortable. Here she was, spread eagle on a carpet roll with her pantyhose bunched at her knees. Her shoes dug into the dusty floor as she attempted to brace herself.

Brad was still fully dressed. She hadn't even been exposed to an indirect feel of his cock. He balanced on his knees and traced circles around the areoles of her breasts. "These felt good." He bent to nip each of them. "You like that, don't you?"

Hope had her pride. She would hate herself later for moaning "Oh, yes."

"What else do you like, Hope? I can call you Hope, can't I?" He flicked the tips of her nipples and she squirmed in pure ecstasy. "You didn't answer me."

Hope's back arched as his fingers trailed from her breasts to her navel. "Answer me, Hope."

"Oh, yes. Yes. Call me Hope."

Brad smiled down and Hope focused on the Roadrunner darting across his tie. He kissed her then, forcing all of her tightly stitched places to unravel. His tongue imitated intercourse, in and out, and she could feel cool air at the doorway of her most sacred entrance. This was surreal.

He stopped, pulled away and reached to the floor to return with an intimidating pair of tin snips that one of the maintenance men must've left behind.Fear flashed and he obviously saw it. But Hope was alarmed to find that intrigue flashed too. Curious, naughty, intrigue.

"Scared, Hope?" Brad murmured as he bent near her ear. "After all you don't really know me, don't know what I'm capable of. You're here, exposed, vulnerable."

Startled, Hope lifted to see the legs of her pantyhose flutter to each side. Her pumps still held them to her feet and she felt like Peter Pan attached to his shadow.

"I'm going to eat you now, Hope. I hope you enjoy the treat as much as I know I will."He was still arrogant, even in his seduction, but when his expert hands spread her wide and his tongue found her clit, she forgot about his braggadocio. Hope grabbed his hair, tried to lift him away. "No one's ever--"

Brad looked up with a smile. "Then that's their loss."

"I don't think I'll like it," she muttered, but doubted that was true after what the single flick of his tongue had already accomplished.

"Oh, baby, let's try it anyway." He lowered his head and set to work lapping at her very core. He licked like a starving man, spreading her folds until she was writhing against the harsh fabric of the roll.

Brad blew a breath against her clit, then took that long middle finger and slid it inside of her dripping pussy. "Oh my!" Hope's hips bucked and begged for a harder ride, a thicker part of him and definitely more tongue.

"You do like it," he said with a haughty smirk.

"Yes," she muttered. Her eyes clenched and she allowed her body to drive for the first time in her life. "Yes."

"I knew you would." Brad's finger danced, then slid over to make room for an additional one. Two fingers catapulted as Brad bent to her clit again, lavishing it with his tongue. "You taste like Gummy Bears."

Hope's moans rattled against the empty walls. Brad's tongue circled before he applied just the slightest of suction. "And cinnamon rolls."

"Oh, God!"

He sucked the nub while his fingers plunged with a hard, steady rhythm. "And nacho cheese."

The orgasm ripped through Hope with surprise and rapture blending into ethereal colors and needs. She cried out, bucked, but saw only the eyes of dead mannequins and garish Christmas bulbs as she struggled to focus.When the wave of euphoria had quieted, Hope rested her head against the roll, closed her eyes and tried desperately to steady her breathing. He was probably removing his pants now, hopefully looking for a condom. He'd enter her with one hard fast stroke and pound for dear life.

And she was going to love it.

Her hands trailed to her breasts. She pinched her nipples just as he'd done and felt the result in her engorged clit. "Oh, Brad," she murmured, ready for the delicious assault of his cock anytime now.

He didn't answer, not even a sigh. Hope opened her eyes to see him not naked and ready, but straightening his tie! He smirked and bent down to retrieve her dress. "Thanks for the snack, but I'm on the clock."

Hope felt heat rush to her cheeks as she struggled to make sense of his words. He couldn't intend to just leave.

Relief filled her when he lowered, ran his tongue along her slit and feasted on the quarts of wetness he'd created. She squirmed to bring him closer, but he pulled away. "You were paying me ten cents above minimum for that little trip to the stars."

He got up and sauntered toward the elevator. Hope had no control over the angry cry that ripped from her throat as she kicked off her pump and hurled it at him, missing his blonde head by a fraction.

Brad scooped up the shoe and tossed it back. "Italian imports. Pricey. I wouldn't be throwing them around if I were you." Then he stepped onto the elevator that served as an accomplice to his escape.