small feet emerged from under the bedskirt. She kicked at him, so he yanked the spiky-heeled pumps off her feet and tossed them over his shoulders across the room. “Stop kicking me. You’re outta here, lady. Your seduction plan didn’t work, and I want you gone. So just stop fighting me and come out.”
He resumed pulling, watching as shapely calves reappeared, followed by the soft crevices at the backs of her knees. That was one of his favorite spots on a woman’s body, and he steeled himself against wondering just how soft and silky this woman’s skin would be against his lips.
“Plan? Wait, seduction?” She stopped kicking at him and began shimmying out on her own, something in his words finally getting through to her. Rand crawled out of her way and stood up, watching first her thighs emerge—oh, God in heaven, those thighs—and then a sliver of blue fabric that was so not covering anything it was supposed to be covering.
Oh. Wait. Wrong sliver of blue fabric. No wonder the navy skirt wasn’t covering anything, it had apparently gotten caught on the underside of the bed and was now completely pulled up around her waist. Minuscule powder-blue panties did their best to cover the soft, round cheeks of her glorious ass, but their best wasn’t worth a damn.
He gulped, feeling like he’d inhaled a mouthful of sawdust, as his mouth went dry with want. He had the wildest urge to nibble at the elastic pantyline, and slide his tongue along the tender, sensitive spot where shapely cheek met slender thigh. She had to kneel a little to get up, and practically rose onto all fours. His eyes rounded and some seriously erotic ideas burst into his brain, because those thin panties did very little to conceal the secret place between her legs. But he forced the images away. At another point in his life, he might have been interested in what this stranger was after. But this trip was all about somebody else.
She tried tugging the skirt down, but it remained stuck around her waist. She forced herself the rest of the way out and rolled over, sitting on the floor beside the bed. He stared down at her, managing to jerk his attention off the lower half of her body, covered by nothing but stockings and panties, to look at a cloud of messy, light brown hair surrounding a heart-shaped face dominated by expressive, golden-brown eyes.
Then the truth hit him. Those expressive, golden-brown eyes were expressing nothing but anger and contempt. And that heart-shaped face was one he knew. Oh, Christ, did he know that face.
The room seemed to spin beneath his feet, and he groped for the back of a nearby chair to steady himself.
Because it was Emily Crowder.
Sweetly sexy little Emily, all grown up but still able to suck the breath out of his lungs and the intelligence right out of his brain.
Em. The very woman he’d come to Chicago to find.
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