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He steered her through the door, flipped on a light switch, then dimmed it to a golden glow. Like everything else in the house, this room was furnished elegantly. Eggshell white set off shades of deep navy and forest green. All the furnishings seemed to be pieces of art—the sleekly designed bureau, a towering armoire finished in silverleaf, an art deco bed with a silverleaf headboa
rd.
She gazed at the bed and thought, That’s where it’s going to happen. There, beneath a headboard designed for a museum, with a man she was paying to do the job, she would finally lose her virginity. It suddenly seemed like the saddest thing that had ever happened to her.
“I—I need to use the w.c.”
“You go right ahead.” He removed the wine glass from her hand. “There’s a black silk robe hanging on the back of the door. Why don’t you slip your clothes off and put that on before you come back out?”
Just like a doctor’s office, she thought.
“Or . . . I can undress you.” His hand reached toward the small pearl fastening at the neck of her sweater.
She fled into the bathroom.
As the door slammed shut, Kenny smiled to himself. Lady Emma might be all tied up in knots, but he was having one heck of a good time. “That robe feels real good against bare skin,” he called out.
Nothing but silence from the other side of the door.
He’d already noticed that Lady Emma liked his chest, so he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. After he’d rid himself of his shoes and socks—but not his pants, because he wanted to build the anticipation—he opened the armoire to get to his stereo system and pulled out a Michael Bolton CD. He didn’t care much for Michael Bolton himself, but it was good make-out music, and, despite what he’d said earlier, he could perform just fine with music playing. As a romantic ballad filled the room, he decided the best part of making out with her would be the fact that she couldn’t kiss and give orders at the same time.
Thinking about that mouth sent heat shooting right through him. It was funny that Lady Emma didn’t seem to have a clue what kind of ammunition the Good Lord had armed her with. Her lovers must have kept that secret to themselves.
He sank back into one of the room’s comfortable chairs to finish her wine. It was a real nice 1995 white burgundy. He sipped it leisurely as he stared at the door, willing it to open.
It didn’t, and he finally realized he was going to have to go in after her.
He also realized the waiting was having a dangerous effect on his libido. Instead of calming him down, he was hotter than his short game at last year’s Western Open. If he didn’t get himself under control, he wouldn’t be worth a plugged nickel, let alone the thirty dollars she thought she was paying him. And it was all because of that mouth, not to mention the curvy little body that he hadn’t gotten to see nearly enough of.
He set her glass on the carpet and made his way to the bathroom door, which he rapped once with his knuckles, then eased open.
“Lady Emma?”
She stood frozen in the middle of the bathroom floor, dressed in his black silk robe with her clothes folded in a neat pile on the counter.
Oh, man.
His robe clung like hot water to every one of her curves. As he watched, two luscious buds appeared, disturbing the smooth curl of silk over her breasts. Right there, he nearly lost it.
Then he noticed that her hands were clutching the robe at her side, and he saw how truly nervous she was. As he took in her tousled butterscotch curls and those fearful warm-brandy eyes, what was left of his honor reared its unwelcome head, and he was ashamed of himself. “You know, Lady Emma, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
Her little chin shot up, her shoulders levered back, and those full lips set in a stubborn line. “Nonsense.”
She pushed past him into the bedroom, nearly knocking him over as she swept by, and his sympathy changed to irritation. She had a way about her that riled him right down to his toes.
He followed her into the bedroom.
Her fingers clutched the sash of her robe. “You may proceed.”
He’d proceed, all right. He’d proceed to drive her right out of her bossy little mind.
He unfastened his leather belt, and her eyes locked on the buckle as if she were watching a bomb getting ready to detonate. He let it hang open instead of pulling it from the loops. “Before we go any farther, I need to get the shape of you in my mind.” He tucked his thumb in the waistband, right above the zipper, and wandered over to her. Then he made a big show out of closing his eyes and setting his hands on her shoulders.
She jumped, but he was expecting that, and he didn’t let it stop him. Instead, he simply allowed his hands to stay there until he felt the barest easing in her muscles. Then he slid his palms along her arms.
After that, he began going where he wanted. Over the slope of her back. Along her ribs. Lingering on the outer curve of her hips.
She stood there as he stroked her through the silk. The brave little soldier. Until he got to her breasts. They slipped into his hands, warm and full and round. She caught her breath as he caressed them. Made a soft, breathy sigh. Her arms came up, and her palms settled on his bare chest in a way that rattled his senses.
