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“That’s cheating.” She pulled away and slipped a small diamond stud from her earlobe.
“Talk about cheats.” Another sneaker came off.
“I’ve never cheated in my life.” She removed the remaining diamond stud.
“I don’t believe you.” One sock.
“Maybe at Pictionary.” Her wedding ring.
As they removed each new item, they took turns stepping back from the grille so the other could see. Up and back…up and back…a sensual dance of reveal and conceal.
His second sock hit the carpet. “Did a man ever dribble honey down your belly and lick it off?”
“Dozens of times.” She toyed with the top button on her blouse, playing for time, still not certain how far she’d go with this private peep show. “How long since your last lover?”
“Too long.” He slipped his thumb inside the snap at the top of his waistband.
“When?” She squeezed the red plastic button between her fingers.
“Could we talk about this another time?” He popped the snap.
“I don’t think so.” Bringing up past lovers should be diminishing her desire, but that wasn’t happening.
“Later. I promise.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“If I welsh, you can walk across my bare back in stilettos.”
“If you welsh”—her top button seemed to open of its own accord—“you’ll never see these again.” She unfastened her blouse button by button, then let it slide off her arms. She wore a lacy white La Perla bra with matching panties he didn’t yet know about.
His hand went to his wrist. Slowly, he slipped off his watch—she’d forgotten about his stupid watch—leaving him only in jeans with—what?—beneath. She couldn’t catch a deep breath. She moved back and unfastened her navy slacks. Looking him squarely in the eye, she tugged them down.
Her legs had always been her best feature—long, slender, and strong—a dancer’s legs, and his gaze lingered. Endless seconds ticked by before he stepped back and pulled off his slacks. He wore a pair of gray knit End Zone boxer briefs that molded to a sizable erection. She stared at it.
“Now your panties,” he said, approaching the grille again.
She’d never been so aroused, and they hadn’t exchanged a single touch. She unfastened her bra. The straps slipped down her shoulders, but she curled her hands over the lacy cups to keep them in place and moved back to the grille. “Work for it,” she whispered.
His voice grew husky. “I’m going to have to trust you on this one.”
He tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his End Zones, worked them down, and stood in front of her magnificently naked. She grazed him with her eyes, the wide tanned shoulders, the muscular chest, the narrow hips a few shades paler than the rest of him. She barely felt her bra drifting through her fingers.
“Step back,” he said on a gruff whisper.
He was using her, and she was using him, and she didn’t care. She moved into the center of the dressing room and drew off her fragile nylon panties. He gazed at her with such intensity her skin prickled. He’d been with women far more beautiful, but she experienced none of the grinding insecurity she’d suffered with Lance. This was Bram. She didn’t care about his opinion. She only cared about his body. She tilted her head. “Stand back so I can look at you again.”
But his patience had ended. “The game’s over. We’re getting out of here. Now.”
She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay in this sensual fantasy world forever. She pulled the ice-blue petal bra from its hook. “I wonder how this will look.”
“You’re putting clothes on?”
“I need to check the fit.” She turned her naked bottom to him and donned the bra. Each cup was made up of three silky petals. She faced him again and, without a word, unfastened each petal, the sides first, and then the center. Taking forever.
His eyes glittered through the grille. “You’re killing me.”
“I know.” She snagged the matching panties from their hook and stood back so he could watch her slip them on. They were open at the crotch. “These fit well, don’t you think?”
