Her Man Friday(84)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

Okay, that was a good start, Lily thought. But not quite enough to appease her. What else was he willing to do?

"And I’m not sure I can even explain why I was so ready to think the worst of you the way I did. Unless it was just because I was—"

"What?" she demanded.

He hesitated again, then confessed, very softly, "Because I was terrified of you."

Oh, well, that certainly got her attention. "Terrified?" she echoed incredulously. "Of me? Why?"

He took a step forward, then seemed to think better of the action, and halted. "Because it scared me, how quickly I fell in love with you."

Ooo, now they were getting somewhere. But instead of making it easy on him, Lily said, "Go on."

He sighed again, with a little less anxiety this time. "I’ve never felt about a woman the way I’ve found myself feeling about you. You just… you’re inside me, Lily. And I know you’ll be there forever."

Yes, that was good. "Go on."

"And maybe, as a last-ditch reflex of self-preservation," he continued, "I jumped to conclusions about you in an effort to put the brakes on those feelings. Funny thing, though," he added, his voice softening more. "Even when I was trying to tell myself you were a liar and a thief, I never really believed myself. I knew, deep down, that you just weren’t capable of something like that."

She nodded, but said nothing, just waited for him to go on. Because she knew he wasn’t finished yet.

"I’m sorry I lied to you," he said.

There, that was what she’d been waiting for.

"I could try to excuse myself by saying that I was only doing my job," he went on, "but that’s a pretty lame excuse. Still, Lily… I was only doing my job. And I am sorry for misleading you."

This time Lily was the one to sigh, in acceptance, in resolution. "I guess we both rather misrepresented ourselves, didn’t we? Neither of us was entirely honest. Which means that we can’t afford to make that mistake in the future. For the rest of our lives, Leo, let’s promise to always be truthful, okay?"

He paused a telling moment before asking, "So then, we do have a future?" He was obviously still not quite sure where he stood with her.

"Oh, yes," she promised him. "We definitely have a future. A really long and full one."

He smiled at that, looking extremely sexy and suave and sexy and sophisticated and sexy and handsome and sexy and hot and… did she mention sexy? He must have only used water to slick back his hair, because it was dry now, a single, unruly lock falling down onto his forehead. His eyes were lit with a raucous gleam, and the black tuxedo enhanced every elegant line of his body, every ripple of hard muscle he possessed. She couldn’t wait to get it off of him. Something told her then that they would very likely be spending the rest of the evening in the library, in front of the fireplace, performing all kinds of maneuvers that were wanton and lascivious and hedonistic and—

"You really are one smart lady," he said, scattering her thoughts.

"What was that?" she asked absently, hoping her lascivious intentions didn’t show. "I’m sorry, I was calculating the weight of the sun."

He chuckled as he shook his head. "You just… you’re not like any woman I’ve ever met. And I…" He shrugged. "I love you, Lily. I don’t want to lose you."

The warmth in her belly curled and dawdled through her midsection to points beyond. "I love you, too. And you never will lose me. Now then," she proposed, taking a step toward him. "About that hunger we both seem to be experiencing…"

He glanced toward the library door, then lifted a finger in that direction. "Does, um, does that door have a lock?"

She nodded. "A really big one. Schuyler’s safe is in here."

"That’s all I need to know."

Quickly and deftly, he crossed to take care of that particular matter, while Lily strode to the Palladian window and tugged the heavy draperies closed.

She reached for the top button of her jacket as she spun back around, and by the time she’d returned to the sofa, she’d freed all but one of the buttons. Beneath, she wore a brief camisole of silver silk, and the soft fabric danced and glittered in the firelight. Leo, too, had made short work of his jacket, which he’d tossed onto the sofa beside Lily’s. Now, as she watched, he pushed the suspenders of his trousers over his shoulders and went after each of the buttons.

"Hurry," she said, reaching for the zipper at the back of her skirt, pushing that to the floor and kicking it aside. Beneath, she wore tap pants to match the camisole and smoky thigh high stockings. She started to toe off her high heels, then, feeling devilish, decided to leave them on for now. Because judging by the way Leo was looking at her…

He halted his movements at the sight of her, the fire in his eyes leaping higher, burning hotter, than those in the fireplace beside him. "Oh, Lily," he said softly, his voice a mere caress. "You are so…"

"What?" she asked, suddenly overcome by uncertainty.

He grinned very salaciously—something that went a long way toward dispelling that uncertainty—but shook his head slowly, teasingly. "I just don’t ever think I’ll get enough of looking at you."

She grinned back. "Oh, please, Leo. You’ll have decades to look at me." She took a step forward. Then another. And another. "Right now," she purred, "I want you to touch me. All over."

He extended one finger toward her, tracing it over the slender line of her collar bone, then down her breastbone, to the lace of her camisole. "Hey, you’re the boss," he told her, his voice low and husky.

Oh, yes. She most definitely liked the sound of that. "In that case, Mr. Friday," she said, her own voice none too loud or smooth, "you’d better do exactly as I say."

He lifted his head to meet her gaze, but his eyes were full of playfulness and teasing. "Yes, ma’am."

"Then again," she said softly, eyeing his half-open shirt, "there’s a lot to be said for doing things for oneself."

Quickly, easily, Lily unfastened the rest of his buttons and tugged his shirt free of his black trousers. Beneath, he wore an old-fashioned undershirt without sleeves, his dark hair springing from the neckline, the salient biceps revealed by the style gilded with gold in the firelight. One side of his face lay in shadow, but she could see that his eyes were now dark with desire. She cupped one hand over his rough jaw, and his eyes fluttered closed. Then she raked her thumb gently over his lower lip—so incongruously full and soft compared to the hard planes and angles of his other features—and he uttered a quiet sound of pleasure.