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Excerpt...
" . . .take off your
clothes."
Jack had never encountered a woman like the redhead. She wasn’t just
inquisitive, she was bossy too. It was a rare occasion when he gave in
to a woman, but he didn’t have time to argue. There wasn’t time to send
her from the room while he changed, wasn’t time to find a tailor who
concentrated more on the clothes than on him or worked instead of
talked. And, Jack decided, even if he found a tailor with those
qualifications, he’d never find one as easy on the eye.
Sitting in an
armchair, he leaned over to remove his boots. Seconds later a pair of
sky-high heels came into view, along with ten toes that seemed to tap to
unheard music. He looked up, following the long length of her legs. She
reached out and for a moment he thought she was going to help him pull
off his boots. Instead, she plucked the hand-rolled Montecristo from his
lips.
"This is in the
way, Mr. Remington." She held the cigar gingerly between the tips of her
index finger and thumb. "I can’t do my job with you puffing non-stop, so
I’ll just stick it in the ashtray for safekeeping."
She walked across
the room, her hips swaying provocatively. On some other woman the action
might have seemed forced, but a natural seductiveness emanated from the
redhead. She could probably bewitch him if he were in any mood to be
seduced.
But he wasn’t.
Not at the moment, at least. Arabella Fleming had seduced him once with
an exquisite smile and with hands that slid over his body like those of
a highly-skilled masseuse. She was smart, sexy, and a month ago he
thought she’d be the perfect wife, but she’d dumped him over the
phone--he looked at his watch--twenty-two minutes ago. They were never,
ever going to get back together, a fact Arabella had made perfectly
clear.
That meant he
could look at the redhead all he wanted.
She set the
Montecristo in the ashtray and turned. Her mass of flaming curls spun
about her, almost in slow motion. She was one hell of a good looking
specimen.
He tossed one
boot then another across the room, as the redhead moved toward him. He
stood, unbuttoned his trousers and slid open the zipper while the woman
appraised his entire body in much the same way he would a prize-winning
stallion. The only difference: her face didn’t show any emotion. No
pleasure. No excitement. No nothing!
"I thought you
were in a hurry," she said, standing in front of him with her arms
folded under sumptuous breasts. "We’ll be here all night if you don’t
take off your clothes."
He started to
shove down the trousers. Damn! He was wearing the black silk thong
Arabella had sent him a week ago and made him promise to wear when they
flew to Florida. Her note tucked into the gift box had said something
about fooling around at 51,000 feet, with the other passengers just a
few feet away from the action. He hadn’t been thinking straight when
he’d put the damned thing on this morning.
"Is there a
problem?" the redhead asked.
Jack refocused
his thoughts on her inquisitive brown eyes. "No."
"Well, there’s no
need to be modest. I may be a woman, but I’m also the finest tailor
you’ll find in Palm Beach. I’ve seen it all," she said, moving closer.
Long, slender fingers captured the top button on his shirt and worked
their way downward, releasing each one as if she’d unbuttoned men’s
shirts a million times before. He could smell the dizzying scent of her
perfume, could almost feel the heat of her skin, and taste the sweetness
of the bright red lipstick on her mouth.
"You know," she
said softly, "Mr. Antonio had a customer once who wanted me to
personally tailor his underwear." She peeled the shirt away from his
body, her eyes casually skimming his chest and arms. "He had this purple
silk thong that just didn’t fit right. I made a little tuck here, a
little tuck there, and voila! it was perfect. Even his boyfriend
approved."
"I’m not the
least interested in having my underwear tailored," Jack said, his hand
still positioned over his zipper.
"It doesn’t look
like you want these trousers tailored either. Funny thing about
tailoring, you can’t do it unless your client is willing to put on the
item you’re planning to alter."
Her eyes trailed
to his fingers, then back again to his face. "Would you like me to leave
the room while you change?"
He’d never been
afraid of anything in his life and he wasn’t about to turn coward in
front of the redhead. He dropped his slacks and stood in front of her,
all six feet four inches, two-hundred and thirty pounds of him, clad
only in a thong.
The woman had the
nerve to put a thoughtful finger over her lips and aim her eyes directly
at the damned black silk. "You know, Mr. Remington, you look awfully
good in that thong but, personally, I prefer..."
Sorry to leave you dangling!
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WIFE FOR A DAY |
