this!”
“Then don’t. But at least get it on properly.” He reached over.
Before the protest could reach my lips, his fingers had slipped around my neck. All of my words dried up on my tongue. His hands were hot against the skin of my neck as he slid the shirt around to face the correct way. His touch was so possessive, so familiar. Like he touched me like this all the time. A shiver went through my whole body.
“Now the arms,” he said, smiling down at me. He could tell what he was doing to me. Dammit .
I struggled to get control of my raging libido. Awkwardly, I slid my hands through the proper places. I hadn’t felt this betrayed by my body since puberty, but when his hand touched my wrist to guide me through the armhole, my whole core twisted with desire.
When the shirt was over my head, he adjusted it at the waist. My heart leapt into my throat as his hand grazed my hip.
That’s where he had touched me before. When he kissed me.
The thought sent another barrage of electricity through my nerves. I closed my eyes and willed it to pass. I was supposed to be doing an interview. That was all this was.
Then I felt Piers put one hand on the back of my neck. It was the same as before. A fierce need surged up inside of me. Despite myself, I tilted my head back and let my lips part. At any moment, his mouth would come crashing down on mine, seizing me again in another passionate kiss. At any moment…
I opened my eyes. Piers was grinning at me from inches away. His hand yanked sharply at my neck, and then he dangled something in front of my face.
The shirt tag.
I didn’t know if spontaneous combustion was real, but if it was, I surely would have combusted right then and there. My blood pulsed in my temples as my skin turned bright red. He wasn’t going to kiss me. Of course not. I was an idiot. He turned away from me, and I could see him trying not to laugh.
“So,” he said, “ready to go to dinner?”
Chapter Seven
Tucked up on the top floor of a luxury highrise, the nice little Italian place was, bar none, the swankiest restaurant I’d ever been to. We walked in through a garden patio, where small waterfalls trickled over pebbled walls and women in jeweled cocktail dresses laughed softly over glasses of white wine. Marble bas-relief sculptures lined the corridor to the dining area.
Shirt and shoes required? I should have listened to Clarence and changed my outfit. As we walked to the hostess stand, I noticed a few heads turning to look at me. Eyes flashed up and down my body, over my overpriced blouse and too-tight skirt. I tensed under the scrutiny and focused my attention on the restaurant decor.
Wine bottles lined the shelves near the ceiling, and the lathe and plaster arches were lit with thick wax candles in iron sconces. Oil paintings hung against the plaster, showing bucolic scenes in Tuscan pastures. If it hadn’t been for all the people, I could have imagined myself back in the Italian Renaissance. My eyes fell onto the gold silk dress of a woman seated nearby. As soon as my eyes caught her gaze, she turned away and whispered something to the man she was sitting with.
“Something wrong?” Piers asked. His hand came around and touched my back. Despite my previous embarrassment, my body responded instantly, twisting inside.
“All of these women are wearing dresses,” I hissed. “And they’re all looking at me.”
Piers smiled wryly.
“They’re looking at us ,” he said.
A fierce emotion pierced my chest. Us. Just that one word was enough to wrench my heart from where it was attached. Just his hand on the small of my back was enough to make my pulse jump into nervous jitters.
“Part and parcel of the job. Don’t worry. Nobody will be crass enough to approach us. This place has a reputation for discretion.”
I gulped. That wasn’t exactly what I was worried about. As the hostess led us back through the restaurant, though, I breathed easier. We sat in the far back of the
“Then don’t. But at least get it on properly.” He reached over.
Before the protest could reach my lips, his fingers had slipped around my neck. All of my words dried up on my tongue. His hands were hot against the skin of my neck as he slid the shirt around to face the correct way. His touch was so possessive, so familiar. Like he touched me like this all the time. A shiver went through my whole body.
“Now the arms,” he said, smiling down at me. He could tell what he was doing to me. Dammit .
I struggled to get control of my raging libido. Awkwardly, I slid my hands through the proper places. I hadn’t felt this betrayed by my body since puberty, but when his hand touched my wrist to guide me through the armhole, my whole core twisted with desire.
When the shirt was over my head, he adjusted it at the waist. My heart leapt into my throat as his hand grazed my hip.
That’s where he had touched me before. When he kissed me.
The thought sent another barrage of electricity through my nerves. I closed my eyes and willed it to pass. I was supposed to be doing an interview. That was all this was.
Then I felt Piers put one hand on the back of my neck. It was the same as before. A fierce need surged up inside of me. Despite myself, I tilted my head back and let my lips part. At any moment, his mouth would come crashing down on mine, seizing me again in another passionate kiss. At any moment…
I opened my eyes. Piers was grinning at me from inches away. His hand yanked sharply at my neck, and then he dangled something in front of my face.
The shirt tag.
I didn’t know if spontaneous combustion was real, but if it was, I surely would have combusted right then and there. My blood pulsed in my temples as my skin turned bright red. He wasn’t going to kiss me. Of course not. I was an idiot. He turned away from me, and I could see him trying not to laugh.
“So,” he said, “ready to go to dinner?”
Chapter Seven
Tucked up on the top floor of a luxury highrise, the nice little Italian place was, bar none, the swankiest restaurant I’d ever been to. We walked in through a garden patio, where small waterfalls trickled over pebbled walls and women in jeweled cocktail dresses laughed softly over glasses of white wine. Marble bas-relief sculptures lined the corridor to the dining area.
Shirt and shoes required? I should have listened to Clarence and changed my outfit. As we walked to the hostess stand, I noticed a few heads turning to look at me. Eyes flashed up and down my body, over my overpriced blouse and too-tight skirt. I tensed under the scrutiny and focused my attention on the restaurant decor.
Wine bottles lined the shelves near the ceiling, and the lathe and plaster arches were lit with thick wax candles in iron sconces. Oil paintings hung against the plaster, showing bucolic scenes in Tuscan pastures. If it hadn’t been for all the people, I could have imagined myself back in the Italian Renaissance. My eyes fell onto the gold silk dress of a woman seated nearby. As soon as my eyes caught her gaze, she turned away and whispered something to the man she was sitting with.
“Something wrong?” Piers asked. His hand came around and touched my back. Despite my previous embarrassment, my body responded instantly, twisting inside.
“All of these women are wearing dresses,” I hissed. “And they’re all looking at me.”
Piers smiled wryly.
“They’re looking at us ,” he said.
A fierce emotion pierced my chest. Us. Just that one word was enough to wrench my heart from where it was attached. Just his hand on the small of my back was enough to make my pulse jump into nervous jitters.
“Part and parcel of the job. Don’t worry. Nobody will be crass enough to approach us. This place has a reputation for discretion.”
I gulped. That wasn’t exactly what I was worried about. As the hostess led us back through the restaurant, though, I breathed easier. We sat in the far back of the
Similar Books
