by Mora Early
He cocked a brow. “So you want me for my body?” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun flirting with a woman. Madame Butterfly gave as good as she got, bantering confidently. She was verbally jousting with him, playful and sexy at once. It was so tempting.
She arched a dark brow at him. “Well, I can hardly lick champagne off your dazzling personality, now can I?”
It was Josh’s turn to laugh, though the sound came out low and husky. He twirled her into a turn, flaring the dramatic skirt of her dress. “Is that a proposition, Madame Butterfly?” He’d been enjoying his ball well enough before he’d seen her. The games were a hit. He’d played a round of Hide-and-Seek himself, and jacks, as well. But neither was half as fun as dancing and sparring with this mystery woman. There was something to be said for adult entertainments, too, after all.
“What would you say if it was?” she asked, her fingers twining in his hair. He inclined his head just a little, bringing his mouth closer to hers.
“I’d say the other men here were out of luck. Because no matter what they might offer to steal you away, I’d top it.”
The music faded to a close, and she stepped suddenly out of his arms. The sensual smile had faded from her full lips and her eyes snapped with fire. “Now you’re just being insulting, Joshua. For one thing, I can’t be bought. And for another, I wouldn’t want you or these other cretins to waste your money on me. Though lord knows you’ll all find a way to squander it on something as equally pointless as trying to buy a woman’s affections, regardless.”
For a moment she pressed her mouth together in a disapproving moue. Josh felt a small niggle of familiarity at the expression. He watched her smooth her expression to careful haughtiness and lost the thought almost as soon as he’d found it.
He held up his hands as the first faint strains of another waltz began. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to insinuate you were for sale, only that you were worth a wealth of riches.”
She started pushing through the crowd away from him, but he caught her elbow. “Please, believe me. It was a poorly worded joke, that’s all.”
Her bare shoulders were still tense, but she allowed him to draw her back into his arms. Her mouth softened from its firm line. “Just. . . . This isn’t about money. Please, don’t ever think that.” She raised her eyes to his. He was struck again by that odd feeling of acquaintance at her quiet tone and the somewhat prickly look in her eyes. He frowned, trying to catch it, but she lowered her lashes over her eyes, and it faded too quickly for him to grasp.
“I believe you,” he said. His instincts told him there was something more to her fierce reaction, but she hadn’t even told him her name. He was unlikely to get a personal confession from her. “I didn’t mean to ruin our dance. Please, let me make it up to you.”
He had meant with another dance, but she curled her fingers around his lapels, biting her lower lip. “Not here.”
“What?” Despite their heretofore passionate flirtation, he was startled by her words. Especially after her volatile response to his last comment. He glanced around, momentarily unsure how to reply. She decided for him by spinning away and disappearing into the crowd. Josh found he couldn’t resist following her.
It was his ball. He really should be mingling and schmoozing, pressing the flesh and encouraging people to open their checkbooks. But his mystery woman was far too intriguing to let escape. So he strode after her, nodding and shaking hands with the people who greeted him, but not stopping. He murmured a few words about a catering emergency and slipped out of the ballroom.
She was waiting for him by the door, just off to the side, with her back to him. Josh momentarily fought the urge to drop to his knees and press his mouth to the groove of her spine. She turned her head, looking back over her shoulder at him. Her earrings swung back and forth with the motion, brushing the bare skin of her shoulders. Josh suddenly wished he were a painter or photographer, maybe a sculptor, so he could in some way capture the vision of beauty and desire she embodied it in just that moment.
Madame Butterfly completed her turn toward him, extending her hand. He took it, and she drew him into the hall leading toward the billiard room. And his bedroom. Did she know?
“No one’s come this way since I came out of the ballroom. We can have some privacy.” Her mouth ticked up at one corner. Josh’s heart pounded. He wanted to grab her, throw her over his shoulder and carry her to his bedroom. She conjured something very primal in him.
As soon as she had him in the dimmer shadow of the hallway, she pulled him against her and slid her arms back up around his neck. Her fingers twisted in his hair as she tugged his mouth toward hers. “Kiss me, Joshua.”
He knew the hallway wasn’t completely deserted. They were only a few feet from the ballroom. They could be discovered at any moment. But he wasn’t about to argue with the lady. Josh wrapped his arms around her back, pressing her slight body into his, and angled his head. He brushed his mouth back and forth over her lips once, twice, three times, teasing her, before he covered her mouth with his own. She gasped, lips parting. Josh groaned, unable to keep his tongue from tracing the entrance to the moist cavern of her mouth.
Her own tongue emerged to tease his, coaxing him into her mouth, where they rubbed sensuously together. She tasted of white wine and thyme honey, sweet and heady. Her teeth nipped at his lower lip, sucking it into her mouth briefly. Josh growled, walking her backward until he felt the cool wood of his bedroom door. He pinned her against it, returning to her mouth to plunder it further. The kiss was explosive, hotter than anything he’d ever experienced. Nuclear levels of desire detonated inside him.
She clung to him, her breath soft on his cheek, her mask rasping slightly against his jaw. He’d have that off her soon enough, he vowed. The dress too, if he was lucky. He tried to picture the long, lithe body beneath the ruby silk and was instantly and almost painfully hard. His left hand dropped to her thigh, curling around her leg, sliding down. He stroked the silky skin behind her knee before hitching it up, pulling her leg around his hip. The action parted her thighs and Josh wasted no time stepping between them, pressing himself into the warm V of her body.
“Oh God,” she whispered brokenly against his mouth, voice slightly higher than it had been. Josh paused; another tiny flare of recognition sparked in his brain. Then it was lost amid the fog of lust as she arched her hips into him, fingernails scratching through his hair. Josh kissed her hard, their tongues dancing as he ground himself against her. She answered his frantic movements with her own, hooking her heel over his ass and pulling him harder into her.
He dug frantically in his pants pocket with his right hand, cursing the thought process that had led to him locking all the doors. He yanked the key free the minute his fingers curled around it and fumbled it into the lock without lifting his head. He slid his left hand over her hip and up to palm her breast, rolling the taut bud of her nipple between his fingers. At the same time, he twisted the key in the lock and heard the click when it opened.
He twisted the knob, shoved the door open and caught her as she stumbled backward. He felt her mask shift against his cheek, and he pulled back, anxious to see her face. But his mystery woman, Madame Butterfly, spun away. Her shoulders rose and fell with her panting breaths as her hands flew to her face. She pressed the mask firmly back into place before turning to him once more.
He tugged his own mask off, tossing it aside. “Are you going to keep that on the whole time?” he asked, his voice gruff. She grinned broadly, lifting one hand to the knot that held the dress tied behind her neck. Her slender fingers tugged at the bow.
“Uh huh.” She smirked. “Only the mask.”
Josh’s hands clenched and unclenched as she slowly pulled the bow apart. She extended that long, golden skinned leg toward him, cherry red toenails peeping out from her strappy black heels.
“And the heels too, I think.”
Josh groaned. “You’re killing me.”
She
’d undone the tie, but clapped her hand to her collarbone, holding the sliding straps up. “Do you want me to stop?”
“God, no.”
She chuckled that deep velvet chuckle and turned her back to him again, dropping the straps and lifting her arms to pluck at the elaborate coils of her hair. The dress caught on her hips and sagged there, barely a breath away from falling to her feet. She glanced back over her shoulder at him. “Well, are you just going to stand there?”
He crossed the room in two strides, before she’d even completed the sentence. She laughed again. With her arms up like they were, Josh couldn’t reach her lush mouth. He settled for pressing his lips to her naked shoulders, stroking his hands over the satin expanse of her back. It was hardly any barer than it had been in the dress, but knowing she was half-undressed made it hotter.
Josh kissed his way down her spine, lowering himself to his knees the way he’d wanted to earlier. He slid his hands around to her front, stroking up over the soft plane of her belly. As his mouth continued its journey down to the small of her back and the upper swells of her buttocks, he stretched his arms upward, fingers tracing the delicate undersides of his mystery woman’s breasts.
Her hands came down, catching his as they covered her. She pressed his palms hard against her, pinning his hands. When she spoke, her voice wavered high and low.
“Josh, wait.”
He pressed his forehead against her back, his breathing harsh. “What?”
“We. . . .” Her voice cracked again. She stopped, cleared her throat, then started over. “We forgot the champagne.”
Josh groaned. “You’re kidding, right?” He ran his tongue briefly along her spine. “I promise I don’t need you to be covered in champagne to lick every inch of you. And I don’t mind if you only concentrate on a few key parts of me,” he added with a rough chuckle.
She shuddered, but didn’t release his hands. “Please?”
He closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly, and took several long, deep breaths. If he was quick and quiet, he could slip down the back stairs, sneak into the kitchen, snatch a bottle of champagne from the cooler and be back in less than five minutes. He took another deep breath, sighed, and tugged his hands free.
She let out a long sigh of her own. He was pleased she at least sounded somewhat regretful at the loss of his touch. “You’re sure?” he asked. But he was already rising to his feet.
She nodded. “I need you to get me that champagne. And when you get back. . . .” Her voice trailed off. Josh’s heart, already thundering, nearly stopped as he filled in the rest of her sentence himself.
“I’ll be just a minute. Don’t move.”
Her back was still to him, her hands still clasped to her breasts. Her brown eyes were intense and dark as she inclined her head toward the bed. “I’m going to move,” she said, voice soft, low and steady now. “But I promise, you won’t mind.”
Josh took another deep breath, gripped her chin in his hand, and crushed his mouth against hers. One of her arms flew up, curling around his neck. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him tightly as she kissed him back, moaning. When he drew back, she brushed a closed-mouth butterfly kiss across his lips in parting.
“Champagne,” he said firmly, stepping back.
“Champagne,” she whispered. Josh gritted his teeth, spun on his heel, and strode out the door.
Ignoring the sting in her eyes, Emma began to pull the straps of her dress back into place the second she heard the click of the door latching. Her hands were shaking so badly that it took her several attempts to retie the halter behind her neck. Her whole body was trembling, heat burning in her cheeks, her belly, and between her thighs. Blood pulsed in her veins like molten lava. She had thought she was up to the task of almost-seducing Josh Owens. She’d expected to kiss him. She’d anticipated she might have to go a bit further, maybe some light fondling. Just enough to get into his bedroom, so she could access the watch.
She was wrong. She had not been prepared at all. That kiss in the hallway had immediately melted her synapses with its sensual heat. The feel of his firm, warm lips and the wet glide of his tongue had chased every coherent thought from her mind. How could she possibly think, pressed into his bedroom door while he simultaneously ravished her mouth and rocked the hard length of his impressive erection against her quickly moistening cleft? Her mind had very little say when her body was so desperately clamoring for something. And at the moment, that something was Joshua Owens.
If her mask hadn’t begun to slip when he pushed open the door. . . . She shivered, finally tugging the knot of her dress tight. It didn’t matter what would have happened. Her mask had slipped, and she’d taken the moment to regain a sliver of self-control. She’d nearly lost it again, when he kissed his way down her spine. The touch of his big, hard hands on her breasts had felt divine.
It had been so long since she’d felt anything like the erotic heat of Josh’s kisses and caresses. In fact, if she were honest, nothing she’d ever experienced before had come close to matching the volcanic fervor she’d felt in those few minutes in his arms. Sending him away had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
But she had a job. She was here for a reason, and it wasn’t to fall into bed with a gorgeous millionaire Hollywood producer whose kisses set her on fire, no matter how much she might wish that were so. Emma took a deep breath and hurried to the side door, which opened, into the office. She gripped the knob with one shaking hand and twisted it slowly, listening for the sound of approaching footsteps.
She found herself almost wishing Josh would return sooner. She could keep her mask on the whole time. He’d never know it was her. She could wait until he was deep in a post-coital slumber and then sneak into the office.
“That’s just your hormones talking,” she chastised herself under her breath. “Apparently, you really need to get laid.”
Her hormones responded with a resounding ‘Yes! Now, let’s just wait for Josh to get back with the champagne, and we can take care of that!’ Emma did her best to ignore them, biting her lip and pushing open the office door.
The light was off. She flicked it on, hurrying now. She didn’t know how long Josh would be gone, or how long she had stood in the doorway arguing with her libido. She scanned the room quickly, absently noting that the furniture was masculine, but not heavy or overpowering. Last time she’d been in here, she’d hardly noticed; she’d been trying not to stare at her father’s watch.
She made her way toward it now, in the glass trophy case behind Josh’s desk. She perused the shelves of sports trophies and awards until her eyes rested on the mellow gold of an antique pocket watch. If the case was locked, she was screwed—and not in a pleasant, champagne-soaked kind of way. Her fingers trembled as she grasped the small brass knob and tugged. It didn’t budge. Emma’s breath caught, and her heart climbed into her throat.
“No, no, no. Come on,” she whispered at it, as if she could persuade it to open. She pulled harder. Her blood pounded in her ears so loudly, she wasn’t sure she’d hear Josh coming back. Tears stung her eyes. She was so close. To be thwarted now. . . . Her gaze fell on the lock, and she choked on a hiccupping laugh.
The silver of the key gleamed in the overhead light, shining like a sign from Heaven. With her free hand, Emma turned the key and tugged the small knob again. The door opened with a soft click. Muted light glinted off the polished gold case of her father’s pocket watch. She wrapped her fingers around it, drew it out and clenched it in her hand. She couldn’t waste any more time. She had to get out of this room and out of the house before Josh started looking for her. She could only pray he wouldn’t discover the theft until later.
She turned off the light in the office and scanned the bedroom. She didn’t want to leave anything behind that could be traced back to her, no matter how unlikely that might seem. The only thing in the room was Josh’s bright red half-mask, lying on the floor. She stared at if for a second, remembering how he’d loo
ked when she first saw him tonight. Like a superhero in disguise. A smile curved her mouth.
She bent and picked up the mask without thinking, tucking it beneath her arm. She opened the bedroom door slowly, peeking out to make sure no one was coming. Although coming out of the host’s bedroom would probably not seem so much suspicious as somewhat risqué, she didn’t want to be remembered leaving. Luckily, the hall was empty.
She slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind herself, and hurried down the hall toward the ballroom. The doors opened just as she reached them, spilling out a group of giggling, chattering guests, most of whom were clearly several sheets to the wind. With her heart in her mouth, Emma slipped in among them, wrapping her hand around one very drunken gentleman’s arm and smiling demurely up at him. He blinked down at her, then grinned woozily.
“’Lo there, sweetheart. What’s your name?”
She steadied him as they moved down the stairs in the crowd, watching for Josh from the corner of her eye. “You already asked me that.”