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“You’re crazy! I never—”
She caught her breath as he cupped her breast. His palm felt rough; when he ran his thumb over her nipple she jerked back…
And felt a tug of liquid heat low in her belly.
The cold, she thought frantically, that’s what it was. That’s what it had to be. The cold and her fear.
“The thing is, Dougie didn’t know how to handle you.” A smile angled across her captor’s hard mouth. “But I do.”
Suddenly he stepped back. Mia swayed, clutched the lapels of the robe, fought to keep her legs from buckling.
“Get dressed. Do it fast, or I’ll do it for you.”
Looking into his eyes was like looking into a glacier. No softness, no sentiment, nothing but unremitting force.
He walked to the chair and sat down. Folded his arms. Crossed his feet at the ankles.
She noticed, as if it mattered, that he was wearing scuffed Western boots.
Mia waited. So did he.
Finally Mia turned her back and let the robe slip from her shoulders.
CHAPTER THREE
THE ROBE slid down her arms, slowly revealing her back, and stopped at the base of her spine.
Even from this angle, Matthew could see that she was beautiful.
Her skin was a pale gold; her hair a fall of deepest chocolate touched with auburn by the light streaming through the window.
She might have been a painting by Monet or Renoir. Woman Getting Dressed. A canvas people would stare at on the wall of a famous museum, seeing not so much the brushstrokes and the talent of the painter but the beauty of the woman herself.
She had a small birthmark on one shoulder and another an inch or two lower. He could put his mouth to the first, kiss his way to the next.
Kiss his way down her spine to the delicate indentation at its base. How would it taste, if he put the tip of his tongue there?
What would she do if he went to her, cupped her shoulders, put his lips to her throat? Would she lean back against him? Close her eyes with pleasure as he lowered the robe, bared her buttocks, then drew her against him so she could feel the heaviness of his erection pressing against her?
Hell!
He wasn’t a voyeur. Undressing a woman was a man’s pleasure. So was watching a woman’s face as she undressed for him.
This was business. He had no choice but to watch her…
Matthew dragged a shuddering breath into his lungs.
Who was he kidding? Watching her was turning him on. How long was it since he’d had a woman? Too long, obviously, otherwise—otherwise—
She reached for something on the bed. The forward motion made her body arch. Tilted her bottom toward him.
Ah, God, he was going to turn to stone! But he had to watch her. He hadn’t done a thorough search. For all he knew, she had a weapon stashed.
Okay. She’d found whatever she’d been looking for.
She straightened, then stood on one foot. She was putting on her panties with the robe as a screen.
Clever.
