Page 58 of Live a Little!

“Don’t know until I find it. That’s why it has to be such a thorough search. Best we do a dry run now, so you’ve still got time to backout.”

Dry? Was he kidding? She was wet just thinking about what he might do to her once he had her naked, and from the wicked expression that tilted the corners of his mouth, he knewit.

How had he turned the tables on her again? She determined not to give in too easily. She stuck her chin up once more. “But I’m not wearing awire.”

“You sure?” He ran his index finger beneath her breasts, following the line where the underwire lifted hercleavage.

Her breath sucked in with a little whoosh and her nipples beaded, hard and yearning for histouch.

If she’d learned one thing about this man’s lovemaking technique, it was that basically he never gave her what she wanted when she wanted it. True to form, he ignored the breasts that were knocking themselves out to get his attention, and traced his fingers up the buttons on her dress. Oh, he was pushing her buttons, all right. All of them, except the ones on her chest that most wanted to bepushed.

“When you’re wearing a wire, it’s important not to get too nervous or excited.” He flicked open her top button, and she swallowed noisily. “You’re not, areyou?”

“Hmm?”

“Nervous…or excited?” He settled his hand over her heart, which was beating so hard it almost bounced him off. “A little fast,” he murmured with deep amusement. “Maybe you should liedown.”

“Oh, yes.” That sounded like a very goodidea.

Linking her hand with his, he led her up the stairs. The old wooden steps creaked and popped as they made their way up. She wanted him so badly, she felt like sprinting up, ripping her clothes off at the same time. But a kind of shyness stopped her—that, and knowing they were acting out his fantasy. She had to face facts; the man liked to play by his ownrules.

Not that she wouldn’t do her level best to bend them, maybe even break a few. But whatever game they played, she trusted him to make sure she had a whole lot of fun. And that, after all, was the point of this game—to make sure they both hadfun.

The master bedroom still bore Mrs. Jorgensen’s Scandinavian influence in the blue walls and bare floorboards, but Jake had taken a rather prim room and made it masculine and very much his. A Viking would have felt right at home here, jumping his lusty Viking wench after months at sea. For one thing, he’d replaced Mrs. Jorgensen’s prim doublebed.

“That bed is huge,” she said. It dominated theroom.

“It’s a king. I’m a restless sleeper. I move around a lot inbed.”

“I’venoticed.”

The head and footboards were light pine, not as fancy as her four-poster, but solid enough to tie– Where had her mind spun off to? She forced her attention to the navy-and-white duvet that covered the enormous bed, then to the pine side table, which held a lamp, a pair of reading glasses and a well-thumbed paperback copy ofHamlet.She squinted; maybe she needed a stronger prescription for her contact lenses. “Shakespeare?”

“Sure. Nobody gets the women on their backs like oldWill.”

“Really?” What was he thinking of,Shakespeare in Love?“Hamlet is atragedy.”

Jake had snapped on the bedside lamp. Now he shut off the overhead light, dimming the whole room, and stepped forward until he was standing in her space, close enough that she could smell him. He cupped the back of her head with one hand and with the other slipped the straps over her shoulders so he could trace the lacy edge that cupped her breasts. His lips skimmed her mouth, cheek, temple, then buried themselves in herhair.

He whispered, “Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, thaw and resolve itself into a dew…” The damp breath swirled into her ear and seemed to channel right down to the core of her, which was, in fact, thawing andmelting.

She loved poetry, but she wasn’t a simpleton. She remembered her college Shakespeare course pretty well. “Hamlet refers to suicide in that soliloquy,” she told him primly, although the effect was somewhat marred when he rolled her nipple between his fingers and shemoaned.

“It’s open to interpretation,” he insisted, slipping his hand under her dress and between her legs in a really sneaky ploy to prove hispoint.

She sucked in her breath as he cupped her, knowing she was as dewy as he could wish, then smiled as his hand stilled and went rigid. “Where are yourunderpants?”

“I’m not wearingany.”

His hand was warm and leather-tough against the soft flesh of her inner thighs where they rose above the garter-snapped silk stockings. This whole ridiculous getup might be uncomfortable for everyday wear, but it was deliciously feminine and sexy in situations likethis.

“Proves my point aboutamateurs.”

“Who are you calling an amateur?” She tried to sound indignant, but his hand had started moving and she was losing her train ofthought.

“Bureau regulations specify that anyone wearing a wire has to wear underpants. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to search this whole areathoroughly.”

She settled her feet farther apart to give him better access, and whispered, “I promise tocooperate.”

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