“Please, Joe,” she whispered when he continued those maddeningly delicate touches.
“Please what? Please stop?”
“Stop and I just might have to shove you off the balcony!”
He grinned, then slid her bra strap off her shoulder, pushing it down until her breast fell free. “You are spectacular,” he whispered as he looked at her, catching her fullness in his hand.
Frankly, Meg had never been too sure why men were so fixated on women’s br**sts. But the look on Joe’s face now—adoration, appreciation, pure desire—made her very confident.
“I have to taste you, Meg.”
He lowered his mouth to kiss her there, working his way in tiny tastes to her nipple. She took in shuddery, panting breaths, anticipation making her shake.
“Yes, please,” she whispered, arching her back, wanting him to stop torturing her with the warmth of every exhaled breath and those gentle nips and kisses. Wrapping her fingers in his hair, she threw back her head and moaned when he finally moved his lips over the taut tip of her breast and sucked deeply.
Hot, liquid desire spread down through her body, settling with throbbing intensity between her thighs. “Oh, touch me, please,” she said, needing more, needing him to do something about the awful, delicious, maddening, incredible fire.
He complied, stroking her stomach, then her hip. “Touch you where, honey?” His voice held a teasing note as he moved to pay careful attention to her other breast, increasing the pleasure even more. He lowered his hand and cupped her thigh. “Here?”
She shook her head, almost unable to speak.
When his palm pressed against the hot center of her, she jerked in response and moaned. “Yes, there.”
“You’re burning up, aren’t you?” he said, his voice little more than a growl.
“Joe, tell me you brought something else in that picnic basket of yours.” She reached for his belt buckle. “I haven’t had to worry about birth control for a long time.”
Joe didn’t make sense of her words at first. He was too busy enjoying the way she tasted, the heaviness of her exquisite breast in his hand. He inhaled her, noting the way her skin smelled of vanilla and the intoxicating scent of aroused woman. The damp heat between her legs had made him shake with the need to tug off her slacks and to explore her. Fully. Deeply. Thoroughly. But what she’d said finally sank in.
His hand stilled. He lifted his mouth from her and sucked in a deep, shaky breath. “I’m sorry, Meg.”
He saw a veil of disappointment drop over her face. “You don’t have…”
He stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head. “I meant what I said last night. I know it’s too soon, and I didn’t bring anything.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, trying to find the noble instincts that had prompted him to remove the condom from his wallet before he’d picked her up tonight.
Maybe tomorrow he’d be glad he hadn’t given in before he’d had the chance to come clean with her. But right now he was too aroused to muster up much appreciation. “It’s probably for the best,” he said, trying more to convince himself than her.
She uttered the kind of four-letter word that he heard every day on this construction site, though usually it was spoken by sweaty men in hard hats. He almost laughed, in spite of the incredible sense of frustration rushing through him.
“I hope you have wings, Joe,” she said. “Because I am going to push you off the balcony.”
“SEDUCTION,” Meg whispered out loud the next afternoon as she parked near The Red Doors. She didn’t know which terrified her more: the idea of walking back into the place and speaking to the owner, or going ahead with her scheme to seduce a man she’d known for less than forty-eight hours.
Because of what had happened last night, she had no doubt about wanting to go further with Joe. She was ready to embark upon a wildly sensual affair with an incredible man. But first things first. She had to get him to want it, too.
After that embarrassing moment when they’d both realized they couldn’t safely have sex, they’d tried to cool things down. Meg had straightened her clothes, then helped pack up the picnic basket. She could feel Joe’s disappointment, but also sensed some relief. He’d gotten a little carried away, but still hadn’t changed his mind about it being too soon for them to move into a sensual, erotic relationship.
As far as Meg was concerned, she was several years too late in starting her first sensual, erotic relationship. College groping just didn’t count.
A nice girl would probably back off, let him set the tone and the timing. But, as Meg had learned the other night when she’d dutifully kept her date with Ted the Weasel, sometimes it didn’t pay to be a nice girl. Not when being a bit of a bad girl could give her what she sensed would be the kind of pleasure she’d only ever read about in romance novels.
When she entered the complex, Meg beelined for the pickup counter inside the foyer. An attractive, middle-aged blonde, wearing a tight, pink sweater stood there. She was speaking with a balding, distinguished-looking older gentleman in a crisp, navy suit. Meg had seen them both working in The Red Doors the first time she’d come. The man’s posture was so perfect, and his language so precise, she pictured him as an English butler. Quite a contrast to the blonde, whose honey-smooth words rolled off her tongue in a cadence that could only come from south of the Mason-Dixon line.
“If you’re sure that’s all, then, Mrs. Merriweather?” the man asked as Meg approached.
“Yes, it is,” she replied. “But, Alfred, if you don’t start calling me Dixie, I’m afraid I might just have to put some pepper in your tea to spice you up a bit.”
The man pulled himself up even straighter and Meg thought she detected a hint of warmth in his eyes. “As you wish,” he murmured, his voice low and sedate. But Meg heard a note of something—intensity?—which surprised her, coming from such a reserved-looking gentleman. As he turned to leave, he nodded to Meg, then left the vestibule.
As soon as he’d gone, the blonde turned to Meg. “Well, hello, sugar, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
“You, uh, recognize me?”
“Of course I do.” The woman—Dixie—came out from behind the counter. She walked slowly, with a confident swing to her h*ps and an assessing glint in her eye. “Though I couldn’t have predicted the wardrobe. Child, where have you been shopping?”
Meg bit her lip. “I have an appointment with the owner.”
Dixie tapped the tip of her index finger on her cheek, still staring Meg up and down, then said, “Yes, I heard about that.”
“Could you ask Miss Ruskin to come out here?” She looked at her clenched fingers. “I really don’t want to go inside.”
Sliding a protective arm around Meg’s waist, Dixie said, “Come on, we’ll go up in the private elevator. You can get to the office without anybody seeing you. By the way, I’m Dixie.”
“Nice to meet you.” Meg let the woman lead her around the counter, watching as a nearly hidden elevator door slid open in the discreetly paneled wall. “Pretty ingenious.”
“We strive for discretion. A gentleman places an order on the computer, it’s brought down from one of the boutiques and waiting for him to check out ten minutes later.”
“It’s a great idea, and I’d probably love it if half the men of Chicago weren’t viewing me wearing the kind of underwear I’ve never even tried on in my life,” Meg said.
“Never tried on? Well, darlin’, we simply must do something about that.” Dixie’s warm laughter allowed Meg to relax for the first time since entering the complex.
She felt even more relaxed when she met Jamie Ruskin, one of the owners of The Red Doors. The woman, an attractive redhead, didn’t look the type to own a risqué lingerie shop. She was petite, with a short mop of red hair and an open grin.
“My business partner, Faith, asked me to apologize for not being able to meet with you. She feels as badly about this as I do.” As soon as Meg sat, Jamie put a file into her hands. “I found the paperwork your cousin turned in with the program, including the release you signed. I never noticed it, but the name of the store is spelled shear, like scissors.”
“He covered his bases.” Meg shook her head in disgust. “If you had noticed it, you would have thought it a typo.”
“Exactly. Listen, please don’t sweat this,” Jamie continued. “I’ve been working on the code all day myself, and I’ve called in another programmer. We’ll get you out of that program by tonight, I promise.”
“Thank you.” Meg was so relieved she even managed a smile.
“In the meantime, aren’t you a little curious?”
Meg had nearly forgotten Dixie was still in the room. The blonde gave Meg a Cheshire-cat grin as she sat on the corner of Jamie’s desk. She crossed her legs, looking as sexy and confident as only a woman who’s old enough to know what she wants, and young enough to enjoy the hell out of it, could. “I mean, wouldn’t you like to take a peek at some of the more popular items men have purchased after seeing your picture?”