Yours In Black Lace. Mia Zachary
so—”
“So I’m not really a client and you have no more excuses.” She batted her eyelashes and grinned at him.
A myriad of reactions hurtled across his face, too swiftly for her to interpret any of them, but she could tell he was vacillating. Stevie turned, heading toward the opposite end of the passageway, noting a full bath and an office as she walked by. The last door opened onto a master-bedroom suite. A large side window looked out at the lanai and a set of French doors opened onto a brick-walled patio with a hot tub in the center.
Then she focused on the room and realized there was only a king-size four-poster with an elaborately carved mahogany headboard, no other furniture. Hoo yah. The “cottage” had only one real bedroom. And only one bed.
Though the carpeting muffled his steps, she knew instantly that Emelio had walked up behind her. The air was suddenly charged with a restless energy, and the faint citrus and spice of his cologne drifted to her senses.
Gazing at the paintings on the walls, large abstract pImages** of brightly swirling colors, she wondered why Emelio kept this other, boldly sensual part of his personality hidden. Obviously his art was his emotional outlet, the only way he could really express himself.
Well, she’d just have to show him another method….
4
STEVIE TURNED AND SAUNTERED toward him, a purposeful gleam in her slate-blue eyes. The sexual heat in her gaze hit him hard and he knew he was in trouble.
She raised her arms, draping them behind his neck. He could feel her hardened nipples through the material of her sweater, and the heat of her body underneath. His heart knocked crazily in his chest. Her lush mouth slowly parted, moist and inviting. He had an instant to take a shuddering breath.
And then he was lost.
He reached for her, tracing his tongue over the fullness of her broad lower lip. She opened to him, deepening the kiss. Emelio slanted his mouth over hers, drinking in her sweetness as she wound her arms tighter about his neck. The taste of her was like liquid fire in his veins. Until he heard the sound.
Either Stevie’s stomach was growling again or a late-season hurricane was rumbling toward the coast.
Some of the sexual tension eased, but a current still crackled between them. He gently stroked her upper arm, oddly grateful that her protesting belly had broken the mood. Whether or not to sleep…have sex with Stevie was a decision he couldn’t make lightly, but lust was overshadowing logic. Despite the reasons and protests he’d just offered, he was tempted, very tempted.
They stood facing each other, both intently aware that the bed was only a few steps away. Pulse thudding, his resolve wavered dangerously as he met her aggressive look. She was so beautiful, so sure of herself, and he definitely wanted—
Her belly rumbled again. She laughed, ducking her chin, and pressed one hand against her abdomen. “I told you I was starving.”
“Guess I’d better start cooking, then. Those tuna steaks won’t take long, so dinner should be ready in about twenty-five minutes.”
“Thanks. If you don’t mind, I’d like to freshen up. I feel all…hot and sticky.”
She smiled innocently at him, but the invitation in her eyes was as bad as could be. Difficult as it was, he ignored the bait. It wasn’t her stomach’s moans he wanted to hear when he finally took her to bed.
“I’ll get your bag so you can change.”
Not until he stepped out the front door, achingly conscious of the erection pressing against his zipper, did Emelio realize his choice had already been made. Just now, he’d thought “when,” not “if,” he should take Stevie to bed.
He paused in the courtyard, his distracted gaze turned inward. His primary mission was to guard Stevie against Braga. He was supposed to consider her both an employee and a client. The trouble was, right now, he could only think of her as a beautiful and enticing siren.
Emelio opened the door to the Jeep and saw black-lace letter number nine still resting on the console between the front seats. Hell, who was he kidding? The decision to get involved with her had been made, at least subconsciously, when he found out she was his secret seductress.
Her provocative words had occupied both his dreams and waking thoughts for months. A sharp pang of pure lust gripped him as he added Stevie’s face and body to the erotic scenes in his head…. He grabbed the letter, pulled her travel bag and his gun case out of the cargo area and headed back to the house.
After dropping his Ruger Mark II in the office, he strode down the hall to give Stevie her clothes. He’d just remembered there were no clean towels in the master bath. On his way to the bedroom, he grabbed some from the linen closet. Hopefully, he could catch her before—
Her sandals had been kicked off near the bed. Her sweater was in a puddle on the carpet, a lace bra and her blue-and-white skirt nearby. And her panties, her black-lace thong panties, lay just outside the bathroom door.
Emelio set the suitcase by the walk-in closet while he debated what to do with the towels tucked under his arm. Bound by the cardinal rules of sharing a house with three sisters, he rapped lightly on the door before turning the knob. He’d just drop the towels on the chair for her.
He started to speak but the words caught in his throat. Late-afternoon sun glimmered softly through the window behind the shower, highlighting Stevie’s profile against the frosted-glass door. He could only stare, his eyes burning from the effort to focus her body into more than a long silhouette of tantalizing curves.
The words from black-lace letter number three came back to taunt him.
I love the way you watch me, the way your eyes slowly roam over my body. It makes me hot…and so very wet. Come closer and feel for yourself.
“Temptation” ought to be her middle name. His heart pounded erratically as he continued to look his fill and, in that instant, Emelio was no longer her employer or her protector. He was simply a man who wanted a woman.
STEVIE STOOD BENEATH the spray so that the three separate showerheads pulsated against the base of her skull, between her shoulder blades and over her lower back.
She let her mind empty of all thoughts except the feel of the shower cascading down her body, imagining the last of her fear and emotional stress washing away with the hot water. She was safe; she was with Emelio. Nothing else mattered right now.
Then she felt it, the slightest hint of cool air brushing her skin. Subtly tilting her head, Stevie opened her eyes, squinting through the steamy frosted glass until she could just make out a shadowy figure in the doorway. Listening intently, she tried to make out the click of the door closing back into place—or better yet the thump of denim jeans hitting the floor. But she only heard the water splashing against the glass blocks.
How long had Emelio been standing there? Her heart stuttered as a combination of embarrassment and mischief zinged through her veins. The third note she’d written to him involved the idea of him watching her. A wild and wicked impulse overcame her, urging her to bring that fantasy to life.
She reached for the massaging showerhead at the top of the pole, pulling it down by the metal coil. Positioning herself directly in front of the opaque glass window so the golden-orange sunshine backlit her body, she turned the dial from gentle throb to jet propulsion.
Holding the sprayer in one hand, she slid the other over her chest to cup her right breast, then played the hot pulsating water across it. A gasp escaped her throat when she directed the stream to drum against the sensitive peak, causing a tugging contraction deep in her belly.
From beneath half-closed lids, she made sure that Emelio was still watching from the doorway. She couldn’t be certain, but she thought she’d heard his footsteps edging closer. Bracing her back on the wall, her head resting against the window, Stevie slowly lowered the sprayer. As silky hot water hammered her body, the ripple and clutch of sexual