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Dallie grinned. “You know what, Francie? This is sort of fun, just sitting here talking about it. I almost hate to start kissing you.”
So she started kissing him instead, because she absolutely couldn't stand to talk anymore.
This kiss was even better than the one by the side of the road. Their verbal foreplay had put them both on edge and there was a roughness about their caresses that seemed exactly right for an encounter that was absurdly foolish for both of them. As their mouths pressed together and their tongues touched, Francesca once again had the sensation that the rest of the world had drifted away.
She pushed her hands beneath his shirt. Within seconds, her sweater was off and the buttons on the front of her silk blouse opened. Her lingerie was beautiful—lace shells of oyster silk cupping her breasts. He peeled back one of the shells to find her creamy nipple and suckle it.
When she couldn't stand it anymore, she pulled his head up and began a relentless attack on his bottom lip, tracing the curve with her tongue, gently teasing it with her teeth. Finally she slipped her fingers along his spine and pushed them inside the waistband of his jeans. He groaned and pulled her to her feet, then stripped down her slacks and slipped off her shoes and stockings. “I want to see you,” he said huskily, freeing the silk blouse from her shoulders. The fabric felt like a caress as it slid down over her arms.
Dallie caught his breath. “Does all your underwear look like it belongs in a high-class strip show?”
“Every bit of it.” She rose up on tiptoe to take a nip at his ear. His fingers toyed with the two little strings on her hip that held the tiny silk triangle of her panties in place, leaving the curve of her thigh bare. Goose bumps slithered over her skin. “Carry me upstairs,” she whispered.
He slipped his arm under her knees, lifted her, and held her close to his chest. “You don't weigh as much as a full bag of clubs, honey.”
His bedroom was large and comfortable, with a fireplace at one end and a bed tucked beneath a sloping ceiling. He laid her gently down on the spread and then reached toward the delicate ties at her hips. “No, no.” She pushed his hand away and pointed toward the center of the room. “Take it off first, soldier.”
He looked at her suspiciously. “Take what off?”
“Your clothes. Entertain the troops.”
“My clothes?” He frowned. “I was sort of thinking you might want to do that for me.”
She shook her head and leaned back on one elbow, giving him her witchiest, bitchiest smile. “Strip.”
“Now, listen here, Francie—”
Lifting a languid hand, she once again pointed toward the center of the room. “Do it real slow, good-looking,” she purred. “I want to enjoy every minute.”
“Aw, Francie...” He looked longingly toward the twin shells over her breasts and then lower to the small silk triangle. She moved her legs slightly apart to inspire him.
“I feel stupid making a big show out of taking off my clothes,” he grumbled as he moved toward the center of the room.
She let her fingers trail delicately over the triangle of silk. “That's just too bad. As far as I'm concerned, men like you were put on this world to entertain women like me.”
His eyes followed her fingers. “Now, is that so?”
She toyed with the little string. “All brawn, no brain, what else are you good for?”
Lifting his gaze, he gave her a lazy grin and slowly began unbuttoning his cuffs. “Well, now, I guess you're about to find out.”
Francesca felt a surge of heat flow through her blood. The simple act of unfastening a shirt cuff suddenly struck her as the most erotic thing she had ever seen. Dallie must have noticed her breath quicken, because a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth and then disappeared as he began to play her in earnest. He took his time unfastening the rest of his shirt buttons and then let the garment hang open for a moment before he took it off. Her lips parted slightly. She studied the play of muscles in his chest as he reached down to pull off his boots and his socks. Dressed only in jeans and a wide leather belt, he straightened up and linked one thumb in his waistband.
“Slip down that bra,” he said. “Nothing more comes off here until I see something good.”
She pretended to think it over and then slowly reached behind her back to open the small clasp. The straps drifted down along her shoulders, but she held the shells in place over her breasts. “Take off your belt first,” she said, her voice deep and throaty. “And then unzip.”
He pulled the belt from the denim loops. For a moment, he let it hang at his side, the buckle curling from his fist. Then he surprised her by tossing it over to the bed, where it fell across her ankles. “In case I need to use it on you,” he said, his voice full of sexy menace.
She swallowed hard. He pulled open the top snap on his jeans and pushed the zipper down a scant few inches, revealing his flat abdomen. And then he rested his hand lightly on the slide, waiting for her. She eased the silky shells off her breasts, delicately arching her back so he could look his fill. Now he was the one who swallowed hard.
“The jeans, soldier boy,” she whispered.
He pulled the zipper down the rest of the way, then
tucked both his thumbs inside the waistband, snagging the jeans and his briefs together, and slid them off. He finally stood naked before her.
Without any pretense of shyness, she looked her fill. He was hard and proud, sleek and shiny and beautiful. She let her head drift back on the pillows, her hair spilling out in a corona around her, and watched him as he walked to the side of the bed. Reaching down with his index finger, he stroked a long line from her throat to the top of the triangle of her panties. “Open the ties,” he ordered.
