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Mr Ambrose stepped forward, his eyes glinting coldly. ‘Don’t count on it.’
‘The weeping, or the offered virtue?’
‘Both.’
‘Dear me. You really are a skinflint. Don’t I even get a “thank you”?’
He said something in reply - but I didn’t catch it. Because in that moment, I turned away from the dead spider to face him and got my first real eye full of Mr Rikkard Ambrose in his new, much less restrictive state of apparel.
Now, as mentioned some time ago, I had seen naked men before - well, statues of them, anyway. But never, not once in my life, had I seen a real man in underwear. Especially not this one. The sight hit me like a sledgehammer, squeezing my heart into a painful pancake.
Good God…!
Why didn’t he just sell half-naked pictures of himself to young single ladies? No matter how much money he had made in other ways, it had to be a pittance in comparison to what he could make with such a business model. His figure was cast in half-shadow under the roof of the jungle, but that only accentuated the subtle, hard curving of his muscles. Slowly I dragged my eyes up from his powerful thighs, over his drawers, faded white and much too tight, to his bare abdomen and pectorals.
I nodded at his drawers.
‘Let me guess…ten years old and still in mint condition?’
‘Twelve, actually.’
‘Of course.’ My eyes were drawn back down there, enamoured by the way the cotton was stretched tightly over hard muscles and…other things. ‘And I bet you haven’t grown a bit since then.’
‘Not significantly enough to warrant a new purchase. Why are we discussing my underwear, Mr Linton?’
‘The real question,’ I murmured, taking a step closer, ‘is why we’re still discussing, and not exploring.’
Our eyes met, and for the first time he seemed to realise what I had noticed quite some time ago - that we both were alone, hot, sweaty and very nearly naked. I watched the realisation enter his eyes, spread through his body and settle in his bones. I watched as a dark storm started to whirl in the depths of his eyes, and a muscle just over his jaw began to twitch.
‘Well?’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘What are you waiting for?’
‘I can’t!’ he ground out from between clenched teeth. ‘I shouldn’t…’
‘Don’t waste time with should or shouldn’t.’ Taking another step forward, I stood up on my tiptoes and, caressing his chest with one dirty hand, whispered into his ear, ‘As a very intelligent man once said to me…I hate time-wasters.’
His arms were up and around me faster than I could blink. His bare arms, hard, smooth and unspeakably strong. Even if I’d wanted to, there wouldn’t have been a hope of resisting as he crushed me up against his bare chest, devouring my mouth.
‘Let up a bit!’ I growled against his mouth, then kissed him back voraciously.
‘Why?’
‘Because I want to feel you!’
A deep sound came from back in his throat, almost like…a chuckle? No!
‘Find something else to feel! I’m not letting go of you!’
‘Bastard!’
I tried to squeeze my hand in between him and me, tried to find my way to his chest, but you couldn’t have squeezed a knife blade in there. He was clutching me so tight it was almost hard to breathe, and - damn him! - I loved every minute of it.
Well, I’d simply have to find something else to touch.
With a slap, my hands came down on his derriere. I felt a jerk go through his whole body, smiled to myself, and squeezed.
‘Mr Linton!’
‘What?’ I enquired innocently. Well, as innocently as I could, under the circumstances.
