Tales of the Nightie Bundle Read online

  Tales of the Nightie

  #1-4

  Steamy Romance Bundle

  by

  Barbra Campbell

  Copyright © 2019 Barbra Campbell

  All rights reserved.

  Everything in this book is either fictional, or is used fictitiously.

  Edited by Piper Denna

  Cover design by Hans Campbell

  ISBN-13: 978-1-950166-09-1

  Alexis and Chris

  Tales of the Nightie

  #1

  Alexis and Chris

  by

  Barbra Campbell

  Dedications

  To my husband, who saw our potential from the moment I tried to pick up his friend (oops) way back in college. Thanks for stepping in, and for staying by my side.

  To my mom who reads just about everything I write, and never hesitates to tell me what she thinks. (Yes, I’ve noted your request for less steamy stories.)

  Prologue

  Hi! I’m Claire St. James, and I’m the owner of Magical Moods Boutique.

  In the seventeen years I’ve run my store, I’ve helped thousands of women use their natural beauty to tame the men (and women) in their lives. Everyone knows sex sells, but my focus has always been on helping each woman discover her identity, her confidence, and her ability to get what she wants.

  I never cease to be amazed that a matching bra and panty set can encourage a woman to feel sexy, or the right outfit can add confidence to her step. It’s my mission to make these items available to women.

  What it really comes down to is helping each woman harness the power she already has. I think of it like an island fabled to have hidden treasure. You could live on the island and never find the treasure, but if someone gives you a map and a shovel (or maybe a backhoe), things can change quickly. The right tools transform situations into opportunities.

  So that’s how I’ve always viewed my role—a tool provider.

  But, I have a little confession to make…somehow my own marriage derailed, and in the process, I lost the spark for my business. When the Mister and I weren’t happy in the bedroom, tension surged in our daily lives, or maybe it was vice versa. I can’t remember. Anyway, my life became a stress tsunami.

  When a repeat customer came in and asked me to work my magic on her, I accepted the wake-up call. I had a gift and needed to share it. Nothing better to inspire me than to think of the sexy tidbits my customers shared over the years. Thus, the idea of the Tales of the Nightie contest was born.

  Through the contest, I invited customers to share their stories of passion that involved a product from my store. Yes, I have a bit of a voyeuristic nature. How do you think I got into the industry! Whether the item helped them achieve their goal, or played a role in the pursuit of the goal, it didn’t matter. I just needed a reminder that my products made a difference in real women’s lives.

  A little financial incentive can help even the shyest customers share their juicy tidbits, so once a month I select a story to share, with permission, and the customer receives a hundred-dollar gift certificate. I hope you enjoy sneaking a peek into these customers’ lives as much as I have.

  All names are changed to protect the sexy!

  Chapter 1

  Dr. Alexis Welsh

  Would there be another gift today? Most likely, and that’s why Beverly had continued with me, past her own office. Rounding the corner, I spied the brown paper bag sitting in front of my office door. My heart raced, and I breathed deeply to keep the adrenaline surge from betraying my excitement. Under normal circumstances the mysterious bag would have been something to report to campus police, but the twelve-day track record of someone leaving gifts said secret admirer.

  Beverly stopped in her tracks, pointed down at the bag, and wore a grin much more reminiscent of a school girl than an assistant professor.

  I scooped the package up, tucked it under my arm, and unlocked my door, as if my insides weren’t jittery.

  Beverly followed me in as I entered. “Open it.” Her words nearly came out in a squeal.

  “Patience.” Exactly the opposite of the excitement I struggled to contain.

  “Good morning, ladies,” Dr. Branson offered from my doorway. Before I even looked up, I knew he’d have on his standard shined shoes, pressed slacks, starched shirt, and carefully matched tie. He mentored Beverly and me, leaving me eternally trying to exude professionalism around him. I never wanted him to have reason to question my abilities. Hopefully he hadn’t heard Beverly’s near squeal.

  “Good morning,” Beverly and I said in unison.

  “Working over lunch today?” He motioned to the bag.

  “I might.” I shoved the bag into a desk drawer. With no idea about the contents, I didn’t dare leave it in plain sight.

  “Don’t forget about the monthly Human Resources presentation this morning. I heard there’s been a change of topic. After the abuse of power scandal at University of Texas, there’s a zero-tolerance policy for professor-student relationships. Once the administration sees the fallout, and how our rival fares, they’ll pare down the new guidelines.”

  Yikes. That hit too close to home. And I’d totally forgotten about the meeting. A quick glance at the paper calendar on my desk revealed fate had kept me from scheduling anything important in conflict with the meeting, and gave me a reason to avoid letting Dr. Branson see my panic. If only fate had reminded me to put the presentation on the calendar. Our HR lady did a great job of making boring info entertaining so I didn’t mind, other than it took time away from the rest of my job: research, grant writing, teaching, office hours.

  “See you there.” I grabbed a pencil to make sure I had the meeting written on next month’s calendar.

  Dr. Branson waved and continued on.

  Beverly’s cell phone rang and her smile turned to frustration as she looked at the caller ID. “This can’t be good. The CDC.” She rushed out of my office as she took the call.

  Alone, I pushed the door shut then took the mystery bag out of my desk drawer. The daily codes, ciphers, and secret messages had been fun. How long before I could meet the guy, I presumed, who understood my love of cryptology and catered to my brain rather than asking me to play dumb? Could a real live man be as exciting as the mystery he’d established? A mystery I valued, which explained why I hesitated to open the bag. He could be anyone I wanted. Each clue risked revealing his identity. Risked me breaking some guy’s heart because he didn’t understand my career was my first love.

  The bigger issue might be how the excitement made me question my long, lonely hours. Was establishing my career more important than establishing my personal life, or could they co-exist? My Tiger Mom’s distinct opinion on that matter always elicited at least a nod of agreement from my American father. After more than a decade living on my own, it might be time to rethink her rules.

  Even if today left anonymity, the endpoint had to be tomorrow, Valentine’s Day.

  Deep breath. I smoothed my fingers over the slick texture of the brown paper, over the staple holding the folded top shut. A brown paper bag was an interesting choice, a reminder of elementary school and sack lunches. Was it part of the day’s clue?

  I considered what I already knew. He thought I was ambitious, smart, and pretty. The days he saw me were his brightest days. He had ties to the university, although I glossed over that one with Beverly. He’d never felt as drawn to a woman as he was to me. He believed fate brought our paths together. He hoped I would at least give him a chance. I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or creeped out, but the renewed excitement I felt with each clue leaned toward flattered.

  Ripping the bag over the staple, I shook the contents onto my desk. A
n apple and two tickets. An apple a day keeps the doctor away? Doctor=Dr.=professor=me, not likely to be the clue. The tickets, Romeo and Juliet, a local ballet. I hadn’t treated myself to a ballet performance in years. Too busy succeeding. If he knew I liked ballets, he would have had to do some digging. I hadn’t been to one since high school. Or maybe I was focusing on the wrong thing. The date? February twenty-first. I penciled it onto my calendar as I mused over who would be by my side, assuming I went. Nothing important came to mind about the date.

  I looked at the calendar on my phone, also blank like the vast majority of my social life. Scrolling through my contacts for possible admirers, I paused on a past boyfriend. Had I kept his contact info in case I gave into my late-night feelings? If only he knew as much about the world as he did about a woman’s body, but he wasn’t clever enough to send all these gifts.

  Leaning back in my chair, I brainstormed. A for apple, B for ballet. C for the tingly part of me, surely not what he intended. I squeezed my legs together. Moving right along...I rolled the apple in my hands. Forbidden fruit. No. Romeo and Juliet. Forbidden love. Oh no. A connection. Had I gotten my hopes up for someone forbidden? Was there some other way to interpret the clues?

  My stomach sank. The office walls seemed to mock me, trap me. He’d given no indication he was dangerous, but a chill washed over me. Not a fear of immediate physical harm, just the possibility of destroying everything I’d worked for. I didn’t have to agree with every one of my mother’s stringent expectations to keep some logic in the equation. A forbidden relationship could be the end of my career. Absolutely not. No man was worth the risk. Why did I feel more curious than ever? Why did one student come to mind?

  I took a deep breath. The university frowned on professor-student relationships, and the scandal was only going to make it worse. In light of the HR meeting, I’d have an update before the morning was over. How ironic to give that presentation right before Valentine’s Day.

  Was my secret admirer a student? Word of this couldn’t get out. I’d have to shut him down politely. Clear and concise, the way I’d covered my feelings four years ago in my first teaching position as a professor of Cryptology 101.

  Someone knocked on my door, but it flew open before I could answer. Beverly entered, tapping a message on her phone. I shoved the apple into the bag and reached into my trash can to avoid dropping them with a plunk. Why did I hide this clue from Beverly? I wasn’t going to do anything with an infatuated twenty-year-old. Or worse, eighteen.

  I put on my best smile as Beverly plopped into the seat across from me. Distraction. “What did the CDC say?”

  “E. coli outbreak, San Francisco. They asked if I’d fly in tomorrow to manage the investigation. Nothing says Happy Valentine’s Day like abdominal cramping and bloody diarrhea. More importantly, what was in the bag?”

  “Tickets, to the ballet.” I held them up to prove I wasn’t lying. Good thing Beverly’s expertise wasn’t in body language. I’m sure I gave off all the wrong vibes.

  “Nice, elegant. Why don’t you look more excited?”

  “Too many unknowns. Could be a real weirdo.”

  “Or he could be your Prince Charming. Might be the guy who gets you to trade your flats for those stilettos you bought and never wore. You have to promise to call as soon as you find out who he is.”

  “Very romantic.”

  “Okay, take a picture and text me. Anyway, I made a list of all the single male professors in the department. Why does this feel naughty?”

  “Stop.”

  “Has to be one of the other professors. An intellectual type who understands he has to stimulate your brain, not just your…”

  “Stop. There’s nothing wrong with professors dating, but we don’t know if he’s a professor.” No professors crossed my mind as potential candidates, but the student I’d had to ignore did. Was that wrong? He wasn’t a typical student, a little older, fresh out of the military. Air Force, I thought. Well, no, I was sure he’d been in the Air Force. I’d seen the Air Force emblem tattoo on his bicep. I wasn’t the tattoo type but I was jealous of anything on his bicep. I’d promised myself not to speak his name because my feelings would surely have been heard in the swoony way his name would sound.

  Beverly put her hand in front of her mouth, feigning shock. “You think he’s a student? How scandalous!”

  Had I said ‘student’ out loud? No. Bev had a knack for reading my mind. “Geez, nothing scandalous. I meant he doesn’t have to be from the university. A cop, FBI, anyone.”

  “Yeah but he’s into all your nerdy encryptions and leaves a gift every day. Has to be someone in your field.”

  “Or he uses the internet, and won’t be worth a hoot in real life.” With the downward spiral of my thoughts going back to my first Cryptology 101 class, I had to play up the possible escape route.

  “You’re lucky I have to regroup for my trip, or we’d be analyzing my list.”

  “Go save the world from the E. coli outbreak. I’ll be in touch.”

  “I should have picked a different field. Nothing romantic about bacterial epidemiology. Trace the infection back to Patient Zero. Your guy’s romantic. Can’t wait for his Valentine’s reveal tomorrow.” She felt certain I needed to expand my household companions from none to a fish, but the prospect of a boyfriend had her seriously worked up. Coming through the ranks together, we’d clawed our way into assistant professor status. Beverly had managed to get married in the mix, but I always felt like the rug would get pulled out from under me if I didn’t give my entire focus to my career. If someone could let me know when I’d feel secure in my position, I’d appreciate it.

  ***

  Chris Locke

  Thirteen days of gifts. Had Dr. Welsh understood all of the clues? Of course she had, her intelligence outshined all my puzzles; they were supposed to be more fun than challenging. I waited on a bench outside her building. My mouth was dry, my leg bounced. Her office hours had started five minutes ago but I promised myself not to rush in and appear overeager, although the last two weeks may have done that.

  I hadn’t been this nervous since getting off the bus the first day of boot camp eight years ago. I rubbed my hands on my pants then grabbed my backpack and stood. The steel and glass of the building had never looked so cold and ominous. Would she toss me out of her office when I revealed myself? What if she decided not to hold office hours today? Until this moment, it hadn’t occurred to me she might be nervous about who sent all the gifts. Was that against university policy?

  With each step, the craziness of my actions clouded my resolve. I could still talk myself out of going in, but I’d waited four years to approach her, keeping all of our encounters strictly above board. With graduation in three months, I had to see if I had a chance with the smartest, most beautiful woman I’d ever met. Get onto a first name basis with her. Alexis would be the sweetest word to ever roll off my tongue.

  Opening the door to the building, I made the left-hand turn to the elevators. I was still a student but didn’t have class with her this semester. That made attending her office hours awkward. I’d improvise.

  Giving her the ballet tickets was too pushy. I’d have to let her know it was okay to take someone else. I’d been eager and risked putting her in an inappropriate situation. What was up with the self-doubt consuming me?

  I was surprised to see a note on the closed door. Or maybe I wasn’t. She might have needed to avoid the inadvertently creepy situation I’d set up. Fuck.

  Lifting the bottom of the paper, I stroked my thumb over her words. The note was better news than I thought. She was holding office hours in the second-floor meeting room. A common area with a large conference table, dry erase boards, and a glass wall, allowing everyone to see what was going on in the room.

  My chance to back out gracefully presented itself. I’d be a fool not to take it. One last gift to her could clear up my mistake. Let her know I could reveal myself in May. The last thing I wanted to do was get h
er in trouble.

  Turning away from her door, my plan seemed rational. Dr. Welsh coming around the corner, seeing me at her door, destroyed all of the momentary rationality.

  She froze. Her gaze traveled from my eyes to my chest, to her door, then flitted between establishing eye contact and looking at the wall beside me. I stayed in place, unsure how to proceed. Crap.

  There had been few occasions where I’d been this close to her. I’d specifically avoided her because she stirred up all the wrong feelings a student was supposed to have for a teacher. Keeping my distance had been painful, but I respected her. All the anticipation and courage I’d spent two weeks rallying crashed into a brick wall. What excuse could I give for being at her office?

  “Hi, Chris, right?” She cleared her throat.

  How the hell did she remember my name? Had she figured me out? None of the clues were supposed to reveal my identity. Hearing my name on her lips felt intimate. My first name. But I wanted to hear her moan my name, beg for me. Her office hallway wasn’t the time or place. Got to keep this official. “Yes. Hello, Dr. Welsh.”

  “Were you coming to see me? I mean coming to my office hours?” Freudian slip?

  There was only one office past hers, and I couldn’t think of whose it was. Better stick as close to the truth as possible. “Yes. I wanted to thank you for everything. For inspiring me to pursue a career in Criminalistics. I graduate in May…” What did ‘everything’ mean? I forced my words to trail off for fear of outing myself.

  “I heard. Aren’t you going to Cal State for grad school?” Dr. Welsh seemed to be looking at my arm and swallowed hard before diverting her gaze to the bulletin board next to her door. Her fingers stayed clenched by her sides.

  Wow. Was she keeping tabs on me? What was up with the body language? “I am. Basically out of here.”

  “California’s a long way from Texas.” She cleared her throat and continued, but her voice weakened. “Getting experience in a new environment will be good for you.”