Any Man Of Mine: A Waiting Game / A Loving Arrangement. Diana Palmer
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trapped her there with his big arms on either side of her head, his eyes dancing with devilish amusement, the shimmering depths secretive, mysterious. “Shy?” he murmured. “You were flirting with Harris for all you were worth. Why not try it with me?”
“Because I don’t want to be fitted with a straitjacket, and how did you know it was James?” she asked nervously. The deliciously expensive scent of his cologne settled around her like a sensuous mist, and she tried not to be so aware of the size and strength of his body, the heat of it warming her in the faint chill of the room.
“I recognized the sickening adoration in your eyes, little fox,” he murmured. His dark eyes pinned hers. “You may think you can pick up where you left off all those years ago, but you’re going to find that it’s not possible.”
“It’s my life, Nicholas,” she reminded him.
“So it is,” he agreed. “But I’m not going to let that anemic snob cut you up a second time.”
She tried to get closer to the door, but the cold wood wouldn’t give under her shoulder blades.
“I do appreciate the thought,” she said. “But how are you going to spare the time?” She didn’t like the look in his eyes. It was frankly predatory. “As you’re so fond of telling me, you’re a busy man.”
His eyes glittered with amusement. “All work and no play...” he murmured, bending.
She watched his face come closer with a nervous sense of inevitability. No wonder he’d gotten so far in business, she thought dimly as his mouth brushed lightly against her forehead. He was unstoppable, like a runaway locomotive.
“You’ll go through that door in a minute,” he murmured lazily. “Why don’t you move toward me instead?”
“You’re making me nervous,” she choked. Her lovely eyes had a faintly haunted look; her black hair was brushed with fiery lights in the glare of the window.
“Is that what it is?” he murmured. He moved, holding her eyes while he eased the full weight of his flat stomach and powerful thighs down against her as he guided her slender body down on the bed. She felt the warm, heavy crush with a sense of awe. She’d never been so close to him before, felt so overwhelmed by him. The kiss they’d shared in the Rolls, as ardent as it was, couldn’t compare with the sensations this was causing. She’d never dreamed that she could drown in her awareness like this.
His powerful arms bent, and his chest gently flattened her soft breasts. His watchful eyes never left hers, reading signs in them like a Native American after tracks.
She began to tremble under the contact. He had to feel it, too.
“Nick...” she whispered brokenly.
“Fire and kindling,” he whispered deeply, shifting his powerful body sensuously against hers. “We make flames when we touch like this.”
A wave of intolerable sensation washed the length of her trapped body. Her hands, pressed helplessly against the warm front of his white shirt, began to move slowly, caressingly, against the smooth, hard muscles.
“Nick,” she moaned, her eyes half-closed, her body suddenly, involuntarily, answering his. She pressed closer, molding her body to fit the hard, sensuous contours of his. Her fingers curled under the top button of his shirt.
“Unbutton it, Keena,” he murmured deeply, searching her eyes in the blazing, throbbing silence that stretched like a blanket around them. “Touch me.”
Her eyes wandered in his while she took the pearly button out of the buttonhole and lightly touched the warm, hair-covered flesh underneath it. She felt the powerful muscles contract beneath her hands.
“You...feel like...warm stone,” she whispered unsteadily, burying her fingers in the thick curling hair on his chest.
“I feel like a damned blazing inferno,” he breathed, shifting his chest to enlarge the pattern of her caressing fingers. “My God, I’ve never wanted a woman’s hands on me so much!”
She flinched at the sound of another voice merging with his, shattering like brittle glass as the spell was suddenly broken.
“Keena, I’ve got lunch!” Mandy was calling from the hallway.
A tiny sound burst from her tightly held lips, her eyes telling him how she felt about the intrusion.
His breath was coming as roughly as hers. “There’ll be another time,” he said tautly.
She managed a slow nod. He levered his body away from hers and moved to open the door.
“What are we having?” he asked Mandy, as composed as ever, one big hand unobtrusively closing the buttons Keena’s searching fingers had loosed.
Mandy grinned at him, her hands buried in a dishcloth. “Your favorite,” she said drily, hiding a smile when she caught a glimpse of Keena’s flushed face and wild eyes. “Beef Stroganoff, homemade rolls, a potato casserole and fresh apple pie.”
“Remind me to pry you away from Keena,” he told her with a lazy wink.
“Can’t split the set,” came the murmured reply.
He chuckled. “I’m working on that.”
Keena, a little more recovered now, moved around him and followed Mandy down the hall on rubbery legs without looking back. She couldn’t meet Nicholas’s mocking, confident gaze.
* * *
JAMES CALLED LATER in the day to invite Keena to supper that night, his voice faintly caressing on the other end of the line.
“If your houseguest doesn’t mind, of course,” he added waspishly.
Keena’s hand clenched on the receiver. “My...houseguest doesn’t tell me what to do.” She crossed her fingers involuntarily. “Nicholas is only a friend.”
“If you say so. Does six o’clock suit you?” he added, a purr in his pleasant voice. “I thought we’d dine at the Magnolia Room.”
She remembered the exclusive restaurant well. She’d ridden the bus past it on her way to Atlanta at the age of eighteen, when she’d left Ashton behind. She’d been crying, and through her tears she’d strained for a sight of James as the bus passed his favorite eating place.
“I’d like that,” she murmured.
“See you at six, then.”
She stared at the receiver when he hung up, wondering how she was going to explain it to Nicholas. She had a feeling it wasn’t going to improve his mood.
* * *
NICHOLAS SET UP shop in the study and tied up the phone for the rest of the day. Keena could hear him growling through the closed door, and she was careful to keep out of his way. So were the painters, she noticed. Everyone walked wide around the study except Mandy, who darted in and out with coffee and pastries.
“Do you have to encourage him?” Keena asked once, only to be met by an innocent stare and raised eyebrows.
She went downstairs just five minutes before James was due to arrive, wearing a gown that she’d originally designed for a well-known actress—and then decided that something a little flashier would suit her client better. It was a green—more olive than emerald—deep, soft velvet with short puffed sleeves, an empire waist and a low neckline that relied on a hint of cleavage for its charm. The color mirrored that of her eyes, adding to the flush of her lips and cheeks, and the highlights in her freshly washed, curling short hair, an effect achieved with a blow-dryer to make the ends turn toward her face. She eyed herself critically in the hall mirror. If this dress didn’t set James on his ear, nothing would.
“Bewitching,” Nicholas murmured from the doorway of the study.
She turned around, glaring at him. He was wearing his tweed slacks,