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But briskness had turned to confusion in a heartbeat. Did monsieur want morning dresses? Afternoon dresses? Or did he want gowns for the evening? Colors? Fabrics? And the shoes. Pumps? Sandals? Strappy sandals?
Strappy sandals? What in hell were strappy sandals?
The consultant had explained. She had also explained heel height. And, she’d added, would monsieur wish undergarments as well? Yes? Of what type? Lace? Silk
? Full bras? Demi bras? Waist cincher corsets? Thongs? Bikinis? Panty hose? Thigh-high hose?
“Thongs,” he heard himself say. “Bras to match the thongs. Lace. Silk…”
He’d fallen silent.
“Monsieur? Are you there?”
No. He wasn’t. He was in a place he wasn’t supposed to be, and he’d opened his eyes, rubbed his hand over his forehead.
“Whatever you think is appropriate,” he’d said gruffly.
Then he’d ended the call, his body one hard, endless knot of sexual frustration, his head filled with images of Emily in stilettos, a silk thong, sheer stockings.
And nothing else.
The same image was in his head now. Her bathroom adjoined his. He could hear the water in her shower beating against the marble floor. Another picture replaced the one in his head.
Emily, naked.
Beautiful.
High, tip-tilted breasts. Slender waist. Hips just right for his hands to grasp as he brought her body into hot contact with his.
And her face. That exquisite face. Blue eyes, liquid with desire as they met his. Rosy lips, parting as he brought his mouth to hers.
He saw himself draw her closer. Felt the silkiness of her nipples against his chest, the press of her pelvis against his belly.
His hands were in her hair, all that dark gold spilling over his fingers.
Her arms were around his neck as she lifted herself to him.
He groaned again, head falling back as he all but heard her cry of pleasure as he entered her, filled her, felt her heat close around him…
“Merda!”
Marco shuddered. His eyes flew open.
He had just disgraced himself in a way he had not done since he was a boy.
Shaken, he quickly turned all five shower heads to cold. Gasping, he lifted his face to the icy spray.
Tomorrow, first thing, he would make the necessary arrangements for a new assistant and then he would send Emily home. No. He would send her home, then make the calls. That way, he would not leave himself any possible reason to keep her here. He would pay her a month’s salary. Two months’.
The only thing he had to do was get through tonight.
Surely, he thought as he shut off the water and reached for a bath sheet, surely he was man enough to do that.
CHAPTER NINE
The gowns Emily found in her dressing room were… the only suitable word was stunning.
There were two, both made of silk. Long, slithery things that would skim her body, curve at her hips, follow the long line of her legs right down to her ankles.
