in her breath super hard her nipples would make an appearance.
Not that Lorenzo would mind. After his confessing he wanted her, a thread of hope lit her from within. What if they weren’t just pretending everything? What if that part of their doomed relationship was real? What if—
“You’ve been quiet since we said good night to Viola.”
“What’s the story behind those paintings?” She removed her wig and rejoiced at the newfound freedom. The stylist had insisted on using pins to keep her hair hidden, and she threaded her fingers into her locks, releasing them. “I saw the way you looked at those pieces.”
“I already explained.”
She turned to him. “To Viola. Not to me.”
“Since when do I owe you explanations?”
“Since you are interested in screwing me all the ways to Sunday. Isn’t it fair to tell me?”
He removed his coat and proceeded to put it over the chair.
Nope. I won’t be distracted. I have watched Magic Mike ten times. Her mouth watered. Good Lord, I don’t think I gave his biceps enough attention last time. The man was like a top-notch amusement park; there was too much to see and too much to ride on. And not nearly enough time.
“Yes, it would be fair. But I can’t. I admit there is a reason why I want them badly. It’s just very personal, and I’m not interested in talking about it.”
Of course not. If this were the Wild West, she would be a perky saloon girl catering to his every whim. Get real, Alice. This is just about sex. A shameless weekend of misbehaving to get him out of your system for good. Anything else is off-limits.
He unbuttoned his shirt, and heat pooled between her legs. She would agree to pretty much anything. He could ask her to recite the Japanese national anthem backward, for all she cared.
“You know how you didn’t tell me about the loan shark before because you wanted to protect your family? Well, I’m in a similar situation.” He took off his shirt and threw it at the chair with a lot less finesse than he had removed the other items.
“I ended up telling you about the shark.” She watched his eyes to gauge his reaction.
“You slipped up and told me. And you still want to handle it yourself.”
“Okay. Good point.” What kind of hypocrite would she be if she forced him to tell her something he wasn’t comfortable sharing? And apparently, information that could make his family vulnerable. She added figuring it out later to her virtual to-do list and focused on what she could solve at the moment.
Her gaze slid lower, and unless that was an eighteenth-century rifle in his pants, the man wasn’t just happy—he was freaking ecstatic to see her.
“Monsieur. Will you do me the honors?” she asked, doing her best French accent from high school, while pointing at the buttons on her back.
He motioned her to turn around. “I would like nothing more.”
A nervous chuckle went through her, as if this was their first time. They had slept together the previous night, sure. That had been in the spur of the moment—a delicious mistake they repeated in the morning.
Now, though, it was right. No mistake about it. Lorenzo’s hands hovered dangerously over her, and she could feel the warmth oozing from him before he even touched her. He opened a couple buttons and planted kisses on her exposed skin. She wanted his lips on hers, and even though she stretched and tilted her head to the side, granting him full access to her neck, he continued to wrestle the buttons.
What she wouldn’t do at the moment for a pair of scissors. God, what was she thinking? They couldn’t just shred her gown to pieces. How did the ladies get laid in the eighteenth-century, anyway? Oh. They had trained helpers, and not a Joe Manganiello lookalike with an erection with her name on it—and hopefully soon, her tongue on it.
“Damn it. Takes too long,” he said. This time she could hear the frustration in his voice. He fanned her earlobe with his breath, and a trail of goose bumps skated down her flesh, sending her nerve endings in glorious havoc. Then she sensed more pressure—and heard a rasping sound, as if the fabric was being pushed and pulled away from her. When she glanced over her shoulder, she realized he started to rip the dress apart.
“Are you crazy? We’re supposed to return these costumes,” she managed to say, part aroused, part baffled.
He gave a