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That got a small smile. “Maybe not that. But I need…something to move the needle. I don’t know what.”
So she was feeling a little stuck, too. That was news, and as headlines went, he was a fan of this one. It meant she was equally frustrated. Neither was she telling him to back off. More like, “come and get me.” But that hadn’t worked so well for them before, which put them right back where they started—dancing around each other.
It was killing him.
And not just because he genuinely cared about getting Tilda to a better place. She was slowly coming out of her uptight shell, and the woman who was emerging could tie a man in knots.
One who would let a woman do that to him, of course. Not Warren.
“Tell me what happens. In your fantasy where I see your underwear,” he prompted.
A guard snapped over her expression and Warren nearly cursed, but he kept his mouth shut because they had to do something different. Also, he was wildly curious about what she’d say.
“I wouldn’t call it a fantasy—”
“I would.” And he was definitely an expert at them. “If you’re thinking about it, some scenario came to mind. Where are we? What’s happening? Don’t pull punches with me. I’m not judge and jury in the trial of Tilda’s imagination. I’m just the poor guy you’re teasing.”
A tinge of pink swept along her skin and he really shouldn’t be so pleased to see it, but odds were high the images in her head were very, very naughty given the sheer volume of color in her face, and he desperately wanted to hear what she fantasized about.
“Tell me, Tilda,” he murmured, dinner completely forgotten. “You’re safe with me.”
“I think about coming to your room. With my robe on,” she said, her voice growing steadier as she spun out the scene. “You’re on the bed. Watching me. And I take off the robe, then climb—”
“Whoa. You’re going way too fast.” He held up a hand, thrilled his muscles still worked as the erotic images spilled through his own mind’s eye. “Give me a moment to catch up.”
“What, are you fantasizing about that now?” she whispered, glancing around as if someone might overhear them in the cavernous dining room that could fit a basketball team or the erection she’d given him, but not both. No way.
Holy crap. How hot was the thought of her climbing anything while wearing skimpy lingerie? Very.
“You bet.” He hummed a little in his throat as he let that last bit play out in his imagination as she climbed him and straddled him with her thighs wide—wait. She comes to his room, she takes off the robe, she climbs onto the bed, she’s on top.
It was all so bafflingly simple. How the hell could he have missed that she needed to be in control?
The only excuse he had was that all the blood in his body pooled in his lap anytime he was around Tilda lately.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he growled, so incredibly peeved with himself at having wasted all this time that he couldn’t find the wherewithal to be civil. “You go to your room, put on the most daring thing you own under your robe and come find me. I’ll be the one on the bed.”
* * *
Oh, God. She was really doing this.
But not in this outfit. Tilda stripped off the black lace mesh bralette that left little to the imagination and the thong that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. It was too…dirty, or something.
Sunshine yellow satin bra and panties. Total antithesis of black naughtiness. She posed in front of the full-length mirror that comprised half a wall in the walk-in closet. Nope. Too…yellow.
Tilda changed her outfit five more times, only to end up back in the rose-colored baby doll with matching thong that she’d first selected and then discarded in favor of the black outfit. It was the only thing she owned that she’d ever imagined wearing for a man. It wasn’t the slightest bit utilitarian, like a bra and panties. Those she wore every day, could reasonably argue that she was wearing them for herself.
But this outfit…the baby doll bisected her breasts, revealing a healthy slice that almost—but didn’t quite—let her nipples peek over the edge. The thong dipped so low that it looked like she was naked under the flirty, floaty fabric of the top. There was no way a man could see her in this and not know she’d worn it for him.
Which was why she wasn’t doing this.
What was she thinking? She worked with Warren. Getting this personal was a very bad idea.
Stripping off the baby doll, she threw it in the drawer and leaned on it so she couldn’t open it again. She couldn’t follow through. It was too big a thing, with too many pitfalls.
