Waking Up to You Overexposed - By Leslie Kelly Page 0,92

it over the top of the screen, she murmured, “You’re not...uncomfortable in here with me, are you?”

He didn’t reply at first. Glancing at the mirror, she saw his reflection—saw him shake his head. Then he cleared his throat, answering aloud, “I’m fine.”

He was turned toward the wall—away from the screen, away from the mirror. Which was probably a good thing, considering the reflection ran all the way to the far wall...even on her side of the changing screen.

If he looked in that mirror, the screen would prove to be completely superfluous. He’d see every bit of her...except her still-masked face.

She took her time getting dressed.

“That’s good. If you’re going to be working here, I suppose you’re going to have to get used to seeing a lot of your coworkers.” She licked her lips and almost purred as she added, “Much more than you’d see in a normal job.”

“I’m not easily shocked,” he muttered.

Turn around and we’ll see.

But he didn’t. Curse the luck.

“Can we talk about your routine, how you drive to work, what time you usually arrive?”

Bending over, she slipped out of the tiny G-string, then straightened and draped it over the top of the screen, answering his questions as she undressed. She never took her eyes off him, waiting for him to turn around, imagining how his eyes would widen and his mouth would drop when he realized he could see every move she made in the mirror.

He remained in the same position; however, the flash of movement must have caught his eye. Because his gaze shifted over—quickly, almost imperceptibly—but he definitely glanced.

She watched his reflection, seeing the way his body grew harder. His black trousers highlighted the clench of his muscular thighs and that tight butt. Though he made no sound at all, he dropped his head forward and slowly shook it, desperation rolling off him though he remained entirely silent.

Triumph surged through her as she realized what was happening. He was dying for her. And desperate to resist her.

Izzie continued to take her sweet time as she pulled on a pair of tiny panties—not much bigger than the G-string she’d just discarded. Then she added a matching lacy bra, cut low, almost to her nipples. Not the type of underclothes one would expect of a baker...they were the types of silky things she wore beneath her clothes to remind herself that she was not a sweet Betty Crocker wannabe.

Through it all, Izzie was careful not to dislodge the mask. She was also careful of her clip-in hair extensions. They took her shoulder-length dark brown hair down to the middle of her back, and added reddish highlights that worked well in her act. If he recognized her, the game would be over. And right now, Izzie was enjoying the game too much to let it end.

Particularly because she’d begun to see exactly how it could be played.

With no rules. No restrictions. Complete anonymity.

As the Crimson Rose, she could have him—take him—completely free of the repercussions that would surround her if she dared to do such a thing as Izzie Natale. She could have incredible sex with him, enough to get her deep-rooted need for him out of her system for good, then walk away, without anyone ever knowing the truth.

Including, if she was very lucky, him.

The question was—could she pull it off?

Catching sight of movement, Izzie realized Nick had finally turned around. He was reaching for the doorknob of the dressing room, his mouth open as if he was about to tell her he was leaving. Then he glanced toward the mirror and caught sight of her.

Nick’s defenses dropped. He looked utterly helpless as he completely devoured her with his eyes. Visible hunger—primal and urgent—rolled off him in nearly tangible waves.

And in that moment, Izzie knew she could, indeed, pull it off. She was finally going to have the man she’d wanted for half her life.

4

HE SHOULD NEVER have come in here. Should never have walked into a small room with a woman who already had his head reeling and his body taut with anticipation. One he was supposed to be protecting from guys who’d already threatened her.

Nick had been handling things okay up to now. Even while watching the dancers perform—while watching her perform—he’d felt in control of the situation. Yeah, she’d affected him. Any man not affected by the Crimson Rose had to have been castrated or born with no libido. But her effect was purely physical—not mental, not emotional. In his head, he still only