as she reached for her dress, she heard him get up. Glancing over her shoulder, she found him heading toward her, his expression nothing short of purposeful.
Now here was a look she’d never seen before. Gone was the professional who’d strategized and problem solved the design and construction of the Wedding Wing. Gone was the easy, smiling man she’d gotten to know while working together, a man who flirted as naturally as he breathed. And gone was the surprised, moody man she’d met only moments before.
This Dale Emerson had a fierce determination about him as he drew near, his long-legged strides powerful, his presence almost aggressive as he closed the distance between them.
Catching her in front of the closet, he moved behind her, and she braced herself, thinking he might whisper in her ear or kiss her cheek. Her whole body tensed expectantly, a boneless gathering of muscle as she stood poised and ready to react.
But he simply placed his hand above her head and slid the closet door shut, showcasing them in the full-length mirror. She lifted her gaze to the reflection of his face, a face that had lost much of its familiarity up close. Or perhaps all her bare skin was to blame.
Here was a man reputed to bring women pleasure. And from the way one look from him stoked the spark inside her to a flame, he’d earned his reputation with good reason.
He looked purposeful while she looked surprised. Laura thought she’d nailed this man for who he was, but soon realized that knowing Dale was a charmer and experiencing the effects of his charm were two distinctly different things.
Slipping his arms around her in a whipcord motion, he dragged her backward. She gasped as she came in full contact with his body. His broad chest surrounded her, his muscular thighs molded her backside. A rock-hard erection rode in the small of her back, and just as casually as he pleased, he rested his chin on the top of her head and met her gaze in the mirror.
“You feel good. I knew you would.”
The breezy observation made her stomach swoop wildly. She could feel his every hard inch against her and relished how good he felt.
“But can Ms. Romantic Idealist really handle a fling?”
She understood why he might raise the question. Except for the bare skin, she really didn’t look the part of a woman used to flings. Panty hose. Practical pumps. Nothing-special bra.
If she’d honestly believed Dale would arrive without a date, she might have dressed for a seduction. But her chances had been slim at best. Without Annabelle’s help, she’d have been attending three weeks of events with Adam, who would much rather deal with erotic events from the outside looking in.
“I can handle you, Dale,” she said, sounding very sure of herself. “Just because I declined a fling, doesn’t mean I can’t manage one. I’m a big girl.”
“Yes, you are.”
As if to prove the point, he dragged his hands up her ribs, a deliberate motion showcased in the mirror, visually erotic.
“So, Laura. What did you want to know about me? Were you interested in my stamina or did you ask my former dates for details?” The smoke in his gaze rode out on his voice so there was no missing that details meant sexy details.
“I wasn’t so…specific.”
“No? You didn’t want to know how I would touch you to make you come so many times in a night?” He arched a dark brow. “Or what I like to do to make me come?”
Damn if a blush didn’t start creeping up from her breasts like the sunrise, the downside to her fair skin that she couldn’t stop once it started. And she knew exactly what he was trying to do…well, not trying, doing, given the way her blush deepened.
He tested her, challenged her, because even though he touched her, he hadn’t accepted her offer yet.
“Actually, Dale.” He was about to find out that she was made of sterner stuff than he gave her credit for. “Your former dates were all so thrilled with your performances that they offered the information without much inducement.”
“I’m glad I’ve left behind some happy women, but I much prefer to think about you asking for intimate details. Don’t you want to know what I like to do in bed?”
“I’d like to find out for myself.”
He chuckled, and his fingers began a slow glide down her neck. This was no tentative exploration. His hands pressed into her skin until she could feel a heat radiating downward, making her breasts grow heavy and her nipples stand at attention.
Yet Laura couldn’t ignore that…something underlying his provocative manner. Something that hinted at how unexpected her revelations, and her opinion of him, had been.
“Does it bother you that I talked to those women?”
“Why should it?”
“I don’t know,” she replied silkily, even though the flush in her cheeks made a lie of her nonchalance. “I wouldn’t want you to worry that a romantic idealist like me would set my sights too high and wind up disappointed.”
That lethal grin kicked up the corners of his mouth, and he gave a laugh. “Never fear, lovely Laura. I’ll live up to my press. Don’t give that a second thought.”
He nuzzled his face against hers, his smile still in place, and his faintly stubbled cheek abraded her skin, a simple touch that ignited her nerve endings everywhere.
“I don’t doubt it, Dale, and I won’t have any trouble handling you, either.”
“Then I’ll be your bad boy for the grand opening. If that’s what you want from me.”
“It is.”
His gaze never left hers as he pressed an openmouthed kiss to the juncture between neck and shoulder. “I’ve wanted to be bad with you for a long time. We’re going to be bad together, Laura. Very bad.”
That heat roared inside, and Laura caught a breath that made her chest rise and fall sharply. She could still see that smile where his mouth dragged against her skin.
“You like that.”
“I do.”
There was an incredible unreality about the moment. Sensory overload from the feel of his mouth, the sight of his dark head poised over her, the promise in those smoky eyes.
This was Dale Emerson, the man who’d been haunting her subconscious for so long that watching him touch her became surreal in the extreme. A scene from one of her fantasies come to life while she stood barely dressed in front of a mirror with him, his tongue darting out to taste her throat, a warm velvet stroke that left the gleam of dampness in its wake.
Suddenly he slipped his hands around her hips, dragged them along her stomach, up her ribs. His fingers looked so dark against her skin. They looked so sexy standing together, him fully dressed and her wearing only a bra and hose. The practical pumps—nothing much to look at normally, but professional and comfortable for long days running around the property—elevated her until her back arched and her breasts thrust forward.
“You’re
