Page 12 of Tempt Her

And did he just suck the air from my lungs?

My pussy pulses at the kind of sex he’s implying, but with who? Me? And his men? Or the hundreds of women I’m sure he’s fucked like a boss?

Fine.Maybe I will be his naughty secretary because I don’t care if Ford’s a dick. He’s a big one, raging hard with sex appeal.

And one asshole in this house controlling me is enough. I’m not letting another one do it, too.

“Yes,” I brave, “I like anything creamy in my mouth.”

What image in his mind makes his eyes blaze like that? I don’t know, but the picture in mine is obscene. It involves a lot of glazing of my flesh by these three men.

Funny, with Gentry, one drop is vile. But these men? Or just Ford, losing his control while my sex dominates him until he comes—yes, I want him to paint me with it.

So does he.

My reply captivates him, making his nostrils flare before he flicks his eyes toward the camera and shakes his head, remembering where he is and who I am.

And so do I.

What the hell was that?

I’m married. To an evil man. And the way he would punish me, using my dad? I swallow the sudden rocks in my throat.

But Ford’s dark tease thrilled me. Taunting him turned me on.

Sweet shivers still raise my flesh as he clears his throat. Ice falls over his eyes again as he turns around, ignores me, and resumes securing the drop cloth over the floors while I stand on weak knees. My heart is racing; my mind is dizzy, and my mouth is empty with nothing to say.

“Thank you for the muffins, Mrs. Evans.” Luke breaks the silence. Like Ford’s sexy menace doesn’t faze him. Picking up the empty tray, Luke walks toward the kitchen.

I follow his steps. “I got that.”

“If you’re sweet enough to serveus,” he says over his hulking shoulders, “we’re gentlemen enough to serve you too.”

We leave Ford and Mateo in the pile of sexual tension served in the dining room.

“Thank you,” I tell Luke as he sets the tray on the kitchen island. “That’s sweet of you.”

“Not a problem.” His hands brush across his white painter’s overalls. They’re all wearing them, and yes, they make them look like man-lingerie. “And don’t let my boss ruffle your feathers. Something’s bothering him today. He’s usually a good guy.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“We’re all more than we seem.” Luke’s so much taller than me, smelling like cedar and vanilla wrapping around me with his smile. “Like… you seem to be much more than a beauty queen.”

His dare is gentle, and for one moment, I feel safe. “How do you know?”

“About you being a beauty queen? I saw your Miss South Carolina photo and trophy in the parlor.”

My eyes roll. That’s Gentry’s doing, not mine.

The picture I don’t mind; I was happy when it was taken. My dad was with me, and we’d treated ourselves to Big Macs that day.

It’s the trophy I can’t stand. It’s Gentry’s wicked joke. He literally calls me that sometimes in front of his friends.

“No.” I ask Luke, “How can you tell that’s not all I am? Just someone’s trophy?”

“Because,” he pauses, suddenly looking older than his young-buck youth, “there’s no victory in your eyes, ma’am.”

The rocks return to my throat. Luke cants his head like he’s spotted me in a crowd. Like he sees me, not my mask. Gently, he holds my stare before he drops his chin and returns to work.

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