Molly (11 page)

Samuel tried not to smile.

“Do you need some help, Molly?”

Her eyes were wide as they swung up toward
his.

“No. I can handle this myself.” Her hands
fumbled and she dropped a stud on the floor.

“I can see that.”

She ignored the barb and the stud on the
floor. She’d show him who was boss. Taking a slow, ragged breath,
she reached for the next stud. She could do it. It was just a
matter of pretending.

A trickle of sweat rolled between her breasts
as she unfastened Samuel’s shirt. He was ominously silent. Why
didn’t he say something? Why wasn’t he doing anything? She wanted
to peek up to see if she could read his intentions on his face, but
she dared not. Now that she was set on her course, she didn’t need
anything to distract her.

When all the studs were removed, she set them
on the bedside table. Putting that small distance between herself
and Samuel gave her time to recover.

The room was silent except for the metallic
sound of tuxedo studs pinging against wood. Molly took her time,
gathering her courage to face Samuel again.

“Your back presents a lovely view, Molly. Do
you intend to stand beside my bed for the rest of the evening?”

She whirled around to face him. He wasn’t
laughing, but she could see the amusement dancing in his eyes.

“No. I have other plans.”

She marched bravely back across the room. His
tuxedo shirt gleamed impossibly white in the lamplight, and where
it gaped, she could see portions of his chest. Taking a deep
breath, she caught the front of the shirt and pulled it open.

Sweat sheened his skin and glistened on the
dark hair that swirled across his chest. Slowly she pushed the
shirt aside and put one hand on his chest. He felt damp and solid
and electric. She had meant to be bold and to drive him wild with
her caresses, but it took all her willpower to keep from jerking
her hand back and running.

His heart pulsed beneath her palm, and the
sound of her own breathing was harsh in the room. Her hand
trembled.

Suddenly he chuckled. It was a deep sound of
gratification.

“That’s a great start, Venus. What next?”

She tilted her head so she could look
directly into his mocking eyes. She’d be darned if she’d let him
get the best of her.

“Do you really want to know, or shall I just
show you?”

“Surprise me, Venus. Show me.”

“Don’t say you didn’t ask for this.” She slid
his shirt down his shoulders, intending to toss it carelessly on
the chair. Unfortunately the shirt didn’t cooperate. And neither
did he. Samuel stood still while she struggled to get the sleeves
over his hands.

She was so flustered she wanted to kick
something—mainly him.

“I think you forgot the cuff links.”

“What?”

“The cuff links. They’re still in my
shirt.”

“I knew that. I was just testing to see if
you did.”

“Naturally.”

He chuckled again. Laughter was his only
defense. The minute she’d touched his bare chest, he’d been lost.
He knew that if he reached for her now, if he caught her in his
arms and captured those inviting lips, there would be no turning
back. The web she was beginning to weave around his heart would
become chain links, and he’d be bound to her forever.

He watched intently as she removed his cuff
links and put them on the bedside table. If he didn’t know better,
he’d think that she had never done this before, that she had never
gone to a man’s bedroom for the specific purpose of seducing
him.

Seduction.
That was her game. And
she seemed to be a novice at it. He was foolishly glad.

When she came back to him she seemed calmer,
more sure of herself. She slipped his shirt quickly from his
shoulders and tossed it onto the chair; then she leaned down and
kissed his bare chest, right over his heart.

Shock waves washed over Samuel. There was a
harsh sound, and he realized that he’d been the one to make it. It
was a groan of pure animal longing. Quickly he brought himself back
under control.

“That’s not so bad for a beginner,
Venus.”

Her head jerked up. “How did you... I’m not a
beginner.”

“Prove it.”

She stared at him for a full minute, and then
she smiled. The smile dawned slowly, them widened until it dazzled
him. He almost wished he could call back his challenge.

Molly hooked one arm around his neck, while
the other made slow circles on his chest.

“How do you like your women, Samuel? Sweet
and slow? Or fast and wicked?”

“Are you giving me a choice? How
refreshing.”

“That’s part of my charm.”

She dipped her head down and put her lips on
the side of his throat. It was a sweet touch that made him
shiver.

Suddenly her tongue flicked out and moistened
his skin. He instinctively reached for her. Warning bells sounded
in his mind. His hand wavered and then withdrew. In his condition
he couldn’t afford to touch her—not even one hair on her head.

He gazed down at that rich golden hair and he
knew the pain of denial. Not gathering her to his heart caused an
ache that was almost physical.

“That was nice, Venus.”

“Nice?”

“If you expect effusive praise, you’ll have
to do better than that.”

“I plan to.” She took a deep breath. “Why
don’t we move to a place that’s more comfortable?”

“You’ll have to be specific, Molly. I’m new
at this.”

Darn his wretched hide, she thought. He was
deliberately making this as difficult for her as possible.

She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.
“The bed.”

“You’ll have to speak up. I didn’t quite
catch that.”

“I said
...the bed.”

The words echoed around the room like a
cannon shot. Samuel stifled his laughter.

“That’s what I thought you said.” He started
nonchalantly toward the bed, and then, as if it were an
afterthought, he reached for her hand. “You might as well come,
too, since this was your idea.”

Anger was beginning to take the place of
uncertainty. Molly had never seen a more arrogant man in her entire
life. He deserved everything she planned to do to him.

“I’ll be glad to, but it would be so much
nicer if you would carry me.”

Her sudden courage intrigued him. And he
began to have his suspicions that this was more than a
seduction.

“I’m happy to oblige, my dear.” He swept her
into his arms and deliberately pulled her hard against his chest.
The move forced her head onto his shoulder. “Comfortable,
Venus?”

“Very.”

He smiled. “You’re sure you want to do
this?”

“Absolutely.”

“That’s what I love. A willing woman.”

He strode toward the bed and lowered her to
the mattress. She made a move to sit up, but he was faster.
Catching her wrists, he brought them over her head and held her
down. With one knee propped on the bed, he leaned close.

“Changed your mind already, my sweet?”

“No,” she whispered. “Have you?”

He held her down a moment longer, studying
her.

“You were made to grace a man’s bed, Molly.”
Abruptly he released her.

Molly lay back against the pillows and placed
her hands over her hammering heart.

He lifted one of her hands to his lips.

“Feeling shy? Perhaps I can help you.” He
turned her hand over and planted a lingering kiss in her palm.

When she could trust herself to speak, she
pulled her hand away. “I don’t need any help.”

She sat up and smoothed her tumbled hair.
They faced each other on the bed like two jungle cats.

“Why don’t you...” She hated the way she
sounded, all whispery and uncertain. She cleared her throat. “Why
don’t you lie back on the pillows?”

He obliged, grinning. “You like to be on top,
Molly? You keep surprising me.”

Even lying down, he still looked as if he
were capable of doing battle with Goliath. And his skin! It was
slick and bronze and delicious and dangerous. She’d have to touch
him soon or abandon her game.

Leaning down so that her hair shielded her
face, she stilled her trembling hands and ran them over his chest.
She heard his sharp intake of breath. So far, so good. Still
keeping her curtain of hair between them, she slid her hands into
the waistband of his gym shorts. He offered no resistance as she
lowered them down his legs.

She tried not to look, but her eyes kept
straying in that direction. Her effect on him was painfully
obvious. She bit her lip and tossed his gym shorts onto the
chair.

“Your hands are soft.”

She jumped at the sound of his voice. Her
head swung around, and she stared at him. He was no longer
laughing. A muscle pulsed in his tightened jaw, and his eyes were
as dark and deep as the pits of hell.

“A model has to take care of all parts of her
body, including her hands.”

“Is the rest of your body as soft as your
hands?”

She couldn’t speak.

“I could find out.” He made a move to
rise.

“Don’t.”

“It’s your game, Venus.”

He was making it easy—too easy. But she
didn’t question her good fortune. All she wanted to do now was
finish her work and get out of his bedroom.

Moving quickly, she reached into a pocket of
her skirt and pulled out two lengths of red silk ribbon. She took
one of his hands and lashed it to one of the bedposts.

“Intriguing, my dear.”

Biting her lip, she leaned over him and tied
his other hand to the opposite bedpost.

The sound of his laughter echoed around the
bedroom. He wasn’t supposed to be laughing, darn his ornery hide.
She’d give him something to laugh about.

Feeling bolder now that he was tied down, she
bent over and reached for his briefs. He shivered when she touched
him. She’d never known that touching a man in such an intimate way
would make her feel like this—triumphant and uncertain, all at the
same time. There was something mysterious and magical about that
unseen, untouched flesh below a man’s waistband.

Molly’s fingers tingled and her palms felt
sweaty. Biting her lower lip, she began to inch his briefs
downward. There was no sound in the room except his harsh
breathing. Her hands clenched involuntarily, and she pinched his
smooth, forbidden skin. His back arched, and all she could see was
the dark swirl of hair on his flat stomach, intriguing,
silky-looking hair that disappeared into his briefs.

She closed her eyes. There was a small sound
in the room, a low moaning, as if the night wind had crept under
the windowpane and sighed with pleasure.

“Did you say something, my dear?” Samuel’s
voice was soft and wickedly seductive.

Molly’s eyes snapped open and her head jerked
up. A flush heated her cheeks as she realized that
she’d
made the sound. That wouldn’t do at all. She had to control
herself. She had to finish the game.

“I was just clearing my throat.”

“That’s what I thought you were doing. Carry
on.”

He stretched, and she’d swear that he wiggled
his hips just to spite her. She squeezed her eyes shut again and
grabbed his briefs. Nothing was going to stop her. She jerked, and
the darned ornery things got stuck. It was like trying to peel a
banana whose skin had been glued to the fruit. She hadn’t counted
on that. Ignorance was not bliss at all: it was embarrassment.

Sweat popped out on her brow, and she tried
again. She felt his hips lifting, and the offending garment slid
free. That wretched, arrogant man had actually
helped
her.
She was too relieved to care.

With her eyes still closed, she got off the
bed. She felt a little light-headed, and had to grasp a bedpost for
balance. She drew two quick breaths, then opened her eyes and
headed for the safety of a chair across the room. She carefully
avoided looking at the bed.

His wicked chuckle followed her all the way.
She sat down in the chair and gripped the arms.

“How does it feel to be my captive,
Samuel?”

“Why don’t you look and see how it
feels?”

She forced herself to look at him. She’d have
to do it eventually, anyhow. Samuel Adams, naked on his bed, was an
awesome sight. How he could manage to look like a warrior god with
his hands tied with red silk ribbons was beyond her. But he
was
tied up. She’d have to remember that.

She smiled at him. “Every now and then, men
have to be shown who’s the boss.”

“Is that all you’re going to do? I’m
disappointed.”

“Perhaps this will make you feel better.” She
picked up a sketchpad and a pencil lying beside her chair. She
worked quickly, relying on her memory, sketching Samuel’s dark hair
and Roman nose and sensuous lips. Next she drew the broad chest.
She didn’t have to look at the bed to see it. It was forever etched
in her memory.

He looked at her bent head. The silky golden
hair lay against one very pink, very flushed cheek. That appealing
aura of innocence glowed about her. He lay against the pillows,
content to wait a while longer. And to watch.

“The naked body is a work of art,
Samuel.”

“It’s also a very efficient machine, designed
for work... and for love.”

“You still think it belongs only in the
bedroom?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll show you.” She looked up from her
sketchbook to get the exact fluid line of hip and leg. His body
mocked her. So did his smile.

She bent over her work again and quickly
finished the sketch. It was a talent she’d learned from the street
artists in Paris. When she’d finished, she stood up and tore the
drawing from the sketchpad, then waved it the air.

“Here’s the evidence, Samuel. Your body is a
work of art.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t want your thanks. I just want to
change your bullheaded mind.”