Page 18 of Mr. Scandalous

What if the erotic little exercise turned into a best-case scenario and led back to his apartment? What if she got what she wanted only to discover too late she wasn’t the kind of woman who could separate love and sex?

Eden hesitated.

Go on. It’s your job. Just do it.

He gave her a friendly wink and a lopsided grin.

Whatever happened, whichever way it went down, at least she’d have fun with this guy. Besides, there was only one way to break out of her rut—jump in feet first.

Bolstering her courage, Eden made her move. “Close your eyes.”

“Hmm,” Alec’s eyes drifted closed. “I like the sounds of this.”

“Now, give me your hand and don’t say anything until I ask for your opinion.”

* * *

Obediently Alec held out his hand and almost groaned aloud when her skin seared his. The pure charge of electrical passion that raged up his arm turned his world topsy-turvy.

She used his fingers to trace the material. The soft brush of velvet sent a bolt of desire blasting through his hard body.

“Now,” she said. “Your impression.’

“Velvety.”

“Imagine your naked skin covered in this.”

Dear God, did the woman have even a remote idea what she was doing to him?

She guided his fingertips over the material, one by one—lithe silk, smooth satin, plush faux mink, glossy taffeta, nubby corduroy, scratchy tweed. She took his fingers on a trip around the world with luxurious chenille, stiff Irish lace and sumptuous angora. Together, they stroked rich cashmere, supple suede and stonewashed denim.

And with each touch, each journey, easy smooth glide, he grew more and more aroused. He would feel the imprint of her hand on his for days. He had to bite down on his tongue to keep from moaning. He was dying to open his eyes and gaze into her face. He wanted to see if she was as deeply affected as he.

He wanted more. To see more of her, touch more, taste more, hear more, smell more. He wanted to rip off her clothes and ravish her right here on the restaurant table while he licked and sucked, savoring every inch of her. What would you call that fantasy? The Caveman and the Epicurean?

“So which material will your friends like best?” she murmured.

“Who?” he asked, opening his eyes and blinking away the dazed fog of sexual fantasies clogging his brain. Thank heavens Eden had no idea what he’d just been thinking.

“Randy and Jill.”

Oh yeah, them. “Too many choices.”

“Focus on our theme. The Bon Vivant and the Virgin.”

“If the champagne bucket represents the bon vivant, then the liner should represent the virgin.”

“Exactly!” She sounded pleased and her approval took his smile up a notch. “We need something soft and pure and delicate.”

“Cashmere,” they said in unison.

“Hey.” Eden laughed. “You’re pretty good at this.”

“Line the champagne bucket with a cashmere sweater. Jill’s favorite color is blue, and she wears a size six dress,” he said. “I talked to Randy about her this morning.”

“Next,” Eden said, chuckling huskily and flipping the page, “come the sex toys.”

Lord, help him. The page was filled with every erotic gadget known to man and Alec had just thought he was stiff before, as he imagined a dozen diverse ways of trying out those gadgets with Eden.

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