her self-image? She looked hard at the mirror, attempting to view herself the way he described, to block out the chipped nail polish on her toes and the five extra pounds she didn’t need and the way her bun had been knocked crooked from resting her head on the couch.
She reached for the rubber band that held her hair back. “I should have worn my hair down.”
He caught her fingers. “I would normally agree with you—you have great hair—but you have a graceful neck, too.” As he spoke, he trailed his knuckles across the curve of her neck. “Gives a man ideas. About doing this.”
Transfixed, she watched him lower his dark head toward her, anticipation coiling tighter until his teeth grazed an excruciatingly sensitive spot below her jaw. Her legs buckled, and his hands came to her hips, holding her steady. The woman in the mirror was flushed, her lips parted, her hardened nipples visible through the silk of the tank top. The skirt she’d judged as practically conservative earlier in the evening now seemed like a tantalizing length. She couldn’t help imagining Heath dropping his hands to the hem, inching the fabric upward so that his fingers could skate over the delicate flesh of her inner thighs. She trembled. He turned his head, his gaze momentarily meeting hers in their reflection, then he trailed openmouthed kisses down the slope of her neck, stirring pleasure inside her that was almost dizzying in its intensity.
Her eyes slid shut, her total focus on the dual sensations of his mouth hot on her skin and the rock-hard erection pressed against her. She shifted her hips, unable to resist rubbing against him. His grip on her tightened, and he sucked in a breath before nipping at her collarbone. She might not be an experienced seductress, or the type of woman who had leather in her lingerie drawer, but she’d sure as hell aroused Heath.
You and how many other women?
The unwelcome thought chilled some of her ardor. “Wait.” Her eyes opened, and she swayed forward, not quite moving out of his embrace, but no longer subtly rocking against him. It wasn’t that she disapproved of Heath’s affairs; his love life was between him and the women who’d eagerly shared it. She just wasn’t sure she was ready to become one of their number.
His hands fell to his sides, and he rested his forehead lightly on her shoulder, not meeting her gaze in the mirror. She was grateful. She felt too raw to face him just yet.
But she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Wh-why did you do that?” Even though she’d asked for his help, she didn’t want those kisses to be an act of charity. “I know we’re pretending to date, but there’s no audience here.”
“The more accustomed you are to me touching you, the more comfortable you’ll be when there is an audience. That’s not the main reason I kissed you, though.”
“No?”
“I wanted to,” he said simply. “Selfish hedonist, remember? You felt damn good in my arms. But I’m not so selfish that I don’t realize it’s been a long day for you.” He stepped away. “First a shift at work, then coming over here. I should let you get home to bed.”
Just hearing him say bed caused her to feel achy and overheated. She nodded hastily. “Yeah, I should probably go.” Tonight had given her a lot to think about.
“But I’ll see you Thursday?” he asked. “For lunch?”
She’d almost forgotten about his awards luncheon. Technically, she worked Thursday, but she could go in a couple of hours late. The afternoon crowd was sparse. “Of course. I can meet you there.”
“Wonderful.” He moved to the side, watching as she slid her feet back in her discarded sandals.
“Lots of people from local restaurants will be there,” he added, sounding annoyingly composed. Her senses were still rioting. “Cam will hear all about how I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. You have my word, I’ll be very convincing.”
Of that, she had no doubt. For a brief, scorching moment, he’d nearly convinced her that she was the sexiest woman he’d ever held in his arms. Phoebe was beginning to think fooling others wouldn’t be the difficult part. No, the trick would be not letting herself succumb to the illusion.
UNDER HEATH’S INFLUENCE, Phoebe was developing a dirty mind. Was it normal for a woman to be turned on while reading a description of the salad course—arugula with goat cheese, candied pecans and honey-drizzled peaches? It was just that, sitting next to Heath, with his arm balanced on her chair and his thumb idly sweeping over the nape of her neck, she was starting to get ideas about drizzling honey over his skin and licking it off. Or sucking it off his sticky-sweet fingers.
Trying to ignore the mild pulse of arousal between her legs, she shifted in her seat and reached for her goblet of ice water. Luncheon seating inside the refurbished 1920s mill had only begun a few moments ago, and most of the chairs at their table were still empty. Heath was discussing restaurant parking issues with a man who sat across from them, and Phoebe hoped she looked politely interested and not like someone mentally undressing her lunch companion. For the awards presentation, Heath was wearing a suit and tie, the expensive material perfectly tailored to show off the muscled body beneath it. He looked powerful. Sexy. She gulped more ice water.
She’d been uncertain what to wear—it was one thing to declare your intention to become a bold seductress, but that proclamation didn’t come with a brand-new wardrobe. Besides, this was a professional daytime event; she would have looked ridiculous in a halter top and microskirt. The violet-blue sheath dress she’d chosen might not be the most daring fashion choice, but it was a flattering color. And she was pleased with her hairstyle. She’d started to leave her hair loose but, recalling the bone-melting pleasure of Heath’s kisses the other night, she’d secured a heavy cascade of curls with a jeweled clip that left one side of her face bare and the slope of her neck exposed. She’d taken care with her makeup, too. Heath’s description of her eyes—treasured antique gold—seemed to warrant more than a cursory brush of the mascara wand.
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