The Hollow Page 0,67

and so on. Plus I liked managing the boutique, and there wasn't any risk. I stopped taking risks."

"Until recently."

She met his eyes. "Apparently."

He smiled, topped off their wine. "The Hollow doesn't have a dress shop, or fashion boutique, or whatever you'd call that kind of thing."

"At the moment, I'm gainfully employed and no longer thinking about opening a boutique. My risk quota's been reached."

"What kind of music? Do you like to listen to?" he added when she frowned at him.

"Oh, I'm pretty open there."

He reached down, slipped off her shoes, then brought her feet up into his lap. "How about art?"

"There, too. I think..." Her whole body sighed when he began rubbing the balls of her feet. "Any art, or music, that gives you pleasure, or makes you think-or better makes you wonder; it's-it's what makes us human. The need to create it, to have it."

"I grew up soaked in it, various forms. Nothing was out-of-bounds." His thumb, just rough enough to thrill, ran down her arch, back again. "Anything out-of-bounds for you?"

He wasn't talking about art or music now. Her stomach jittered with lust, fear, anticipation. "I don't know."

"You can tell me if I hit any boundaries." His hand went to work on her calf muscles. "Tell me what you like."

Flustered, she stared.

"That's okay. I'll figure it out. I like the shape of you. The high arch of your feet, the muscles in your calves. They draw my eye especially when you're wearing heels."

"That's the point of heels." Her throat was dry; her pulses skipping.

"I like the line of your neck and shoulders. I'm planning on spending some time on those later. I like your knees, your thighs." His hand slid up slowly, barely touching, then again, just a little higher until he found the lacy top of her stocking. "I like this," he murmured, "this little surprise under a black skirt." He hooked a finger under the top, eased it down.

"Oh, God."

"I plan on going slow." He watched her as he worked the stocking down her leg. "But if you want me to stop-I hope you won't-just say so."

His fingers skimmed over the back of her knee, down her calf, her ankle, until her leg was bare, and her skin humming. "I don't want you to stop."

"Have some more wine," he suggested. "This is going to take a while."

Chapter Twelve

SHE ALREADY FELT DRUNK, AND THOUGH SHE considered herself fairly adept, Layla didn't think she was quite adept enough to casually sip wine while he undressed her. By the time he slipped off the second stocking it was all she could do to set the glass aside without spilling it.

He smiled, and pressed his lips to the arch of her foot. Excitement shot straight up to her belly, and pulsed there like a second agitated heart. He took his time, stirring and seducing, kindling little fires under her skin, exploiting odd and wondrous points of pleasure. When he gripped her ankles, slid her toward him in one smooth motion, she let out a sound of surprise and gratitude.

Now their faces were close, so close the rich, golden brown of his irises mesmerized her. His hand-callused fingertips-glided up her legs, under her rucked-up skirt. Slowly, slowly. And down again while his mouth toyed with hers. A brush, a taste, a bare whisper of torturous contact even when her arms locked around his neck, even when her needy body pressed to his. Once again, the easy touch, the easy taste, left her drained and dazzled.

His hands cupped her hips, lifted her. The quick shock had her gasping, instinct had her wrapping her legs around his waist as he rose with her. This time the kiss was deep and seeking as he stood with her eagerly twined around him.

"My head's actually spinning," she managed as he began to walk.

"I plan on keeping it that way awhile." In the bedroom, he sat on the side of the bed with her straddling him. "I figured candlelight for the first time, but we'll have to save that."

He trailed his fingers over her shoulders, over the soft wool of the pretty blue sweater, along the tiny pearl buttons down the front. "You always look just right." He drew it down her arms to her elbows, left it there. "You've got a knack for it."

With her arms roped in cashmere, he pressed his lips, just a light hint of teeth, to the side of her neck, down her skin to the edge of the little sweater