g,” he teases.
“I may torture the truth from you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Really, Anastasia, I don’t think
you should make promises you can’t fulfill.”
Oh my, is that what he thinks? I place my glass on the
mantelpiece, reach over, and much to Christian’s surprise,
take his glass and place it beside mine.
“We’ll just ha一ve to see about that,” I murmur. Very
bra一vely—emboldened by the brandy, no doub一t—I take
Christian’s hand and pull him toward the bedroom. At the
foot of the bed I stop. Christian is trying to hide his
amusement.
“Now you ha一ve me in here, Anastasia, what are you
going to do with me?” he teases, his voice low.
“I’m going to start by undressing you. I want to finish
what I started earlier.” I reach for the lapels on his jacket,
careful not to touch him, and he doesn’t flinch but he’s
holding his breath.
Gently, I push his jacket over his shoulders, and his
eyes stay on mine, all traces of humor gone, as they grow
larger, burning into me, wary and needful? There are so
many interpretations of his look. What is he thinking? I
place his jacket on the ottoman.
“Now your T-shirt,” I whisper and lift it by the hem.
He cooperates, raising his arms and backing away, making
it easier for me to pull it off. Once off, he gazes down at
me, intently, wearing just his jeans that hang so
provocatively from his hips. The band of his boxer briefs is
provocatively from his hips. The band of his boxer briefs is
visible.
My eyes move hungrily up across his taut stomach to
the remains of the lipstick line, faded and smudged, then
up to his chest. I want nothing more than to run my tongue
through his chest hair to sa一vor his taste.
“Now what?” he whispers, eyes blazing.
“I want to kiss you here.” I run my finger from hipbone
to hipbone across his belly.
His lips part as he inhales sharply. “I’m not stopping
you,” he breathes.
I take his hand. “You’d better lie down then,” I
murmur and lead him to the side of the four-poster bed.
He seems bewildered, and it occurs to me th
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