Real Men: Rugged Rebels: Watch and Learn / Under His Skin / Her Perfect Hero. Jeanie LondonЧитать онлайн книгу.
climbing in unasked questions. She had, after all, been wearing a rather prim outfit when she’d left the house this morning.
“Um, I can explain why I’m dressed like this,” she said as mortification bled through her. To her dismay, her nipples tightened in response to his appraising glance.
“It’s really none of my business.” He raised his hands, taking a step backward.
“It’s for a job,” she blurted, then realized that her explanation only made things worse. She smoothed a hand over her short skirt but, too late, realized it was with the hand holding the mask. “I’m a museum guide.”
One side of his mouth climbed. “I don’t remember seeing any guides dressed like that when I was dragged to museums as a kid.”
“It’s a, um, special exhibit,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest in the glare of the overhead light that came on automatically. Admittedly the gesture seemed rather ridiculous considering how much of her he’d already seen. But being this close to him set her senses on tilt, left her feeling vulnerable as raw desire drummed through her limbs. “Thanks again for helping with the peacock,” she said, nodding in the direction the bird had wandered.
“You’re welcome. He shouldn’t stay for long. He’s looking for a mate, so once he realizes there isn’t one here, he’ll move on until he finds a bevy.”
“That’s comforting,” she said, running her hands up and down her arms.
Silence followed, but electricity pulsed in the air between them.
Finally he broke the quiet with an awkward shift of his feet. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be finishing some things in the house for a couple more hours.”
“Okay.”
“On the top floor.”
She swallowed. “Okay.”
“The electric in the house is spotty, so just because you don’t see lights on doesn’t mean I’m not there.”
She realized what he was telling her—that at any time he might inadvertently see something through her bedroom window that she might not mean him to see. “O … kay.” It was a gentlemanly way of letting her know that he’d seen her the night before.
“Not that everything I’ve seen in your direction isn’t spectacular,” he said in a low voice, wetting his lips.
Desire stabbed her low and hard. She didn’t know how to respond, so she remained silent as heat rolled through her midsection, touching off little firestorms all over her body.
As if afraid he had crossed a line, he started backing away. “By the way, a tile crew is coming tomorrow, so there will be a wet saw operating outside. It might be, um, loud.”
“I appreciate you letting me know.”
“Hopefully the worst of the noise will be over by the time you come home from, um, work.”
She felt humiliated all over again. “It’s a temp job. I might get called in, I might not.” Depending on how many reservations the museum received for the new, untried exhibit.
He nodded to cover what he must be thinking—how sad it was that the job she took not only required her to dress like a prostitute, but that she was basically on call … like a prostitute.
The automatic overhead garage light began to dim. “I should go in,” she said.
“Of course. Good night.”
“Good night.” She waited until he was out of sight before lowering the garage door. She entered the house moving slowly, her underwear displaced and rubbing her in delicate places already tender with engorgement. An unattained orgasm sang low in her belly and she suddenly anticipated a self-stimulated release.
But where, she wondered, glancing around, her excitement mounting. The kitchen table? The shower? The bed? The blast of warm, stale air was a reminder that the air conditioner was still on the blink. She trudged up the stairs, flipping on lights as she went, her stomach growling from hunger. But a deeper hunger stirred in her pelvis.
She walked into her bedroom and turned on the light, then automatically went to open the window to welcome any breeze that might be stirring. As she slid aside the glass panel, her gaze went to the window across from hers. The room behind it was dark. Was he there?
Just because you don’t see lights on doesn’t mean I’m not there.
But was he the kind of man who would say that, then go upstairs to see what she would do? He’d made it clear that he hadn’t looked away when he’d seen her undressing in the window, that he had enjoyed being the unintentional voyeur.
Her heartbeat increased to double time as blood rushed to her breasts and thighs.
Now that they both knew that he’d seen everything, would he scrupulously avoid the window? Or was he standing there, even now, waiting to see what would happen?
CHEV HELD HIS BREATH, hating himself for going straight to the window, but he’d been thinking of little else but Gemma all day, and his desire for her lay smoldering just under the surface. That provocative outfit of hers had been like a match thrown on the carefully banked coals, igniting an instant blaze in his belly.
She stood at the window, her face cast in shadow, her body outlined by the backlighting in her room. Her head was turned in his direction, although he felt certain he was hidden in the inky darkness. She stepped back from the window and he exhaled. She had understood his warning and would take steps to make sure it didn’t happen again.
But instead of pulling the sheer curtain across the window, she simply started unbuttoning her blouse.
He stood riveted, because he knew this show was for him, purposely.
Facing him, she unbuttoned the low-cut pink blouse slowly, then shrugged out of it to reveal a black lacy bra that barely restrained her full breasts.
Chev sucked in a sharp breath as his cock hardened behind his zipper. He reached down to massage the length of his erection for some measure of relief. Where was this going, and how far would she take it?
Before the idea had slid out of his mind, he watched incredulously as she pulled the short skirt up around her waist, revealing the fishnet stockings—thigh-highs, Lord have mercy—and minuscule black panties. She lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.
Every muscle in his body tensed. Was she …? She wouldn’t, he decided.
But she did.
She slipped her hand inside the black panties and as her fingers found their target, her head lolled backward, her mouth slightly open.
“Jesus,” he muttered, dragging his hand across the back of his neck where perspiration had gathered. He knew he should leave for his own good, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. He told himself he would simply watch and not participate, refusing to relieve himself like a horny teenager. So he looked on, dry mouthed and overheated as Gemma’s hand moved in a circular motion. He wondered idly how long it had been since she’d had a good orgasm, but he had his answer when, after only a few seconds, her body tensed, then spasmed with her release. His cock jumped in response and he thought he heard the sounds of her cries even through his closed window.
His breathing rasped higher in frustration as he was struck with the urge to ring her doorbell and give the woman a second orgasm the old-fashioned way. She withdrew her hand and leaned back on the bed for a moment, then pushed to her feet slowly and moved to the window. His cock throbbed for release, and he had the crazy thought that she would gesture for him to come over.
She lifted her hand.
And closed the sheer curtain.
8
GEMMA LOVED to make love in the morning … when the young sun suffused the bed with just