Mistress on his Terms

She watched in sly fascination as he proceeded to peel off his shirt, thereby displaying an expanse of muscular, well-tanned chest and proof positive that his width of shoulder owed nothing to clever tailoring. Well, if he thought flexing his pecs would impress her, he was in for a disappointment! It would take more than that to get a rise out of her.

Just how little more she soon found out. “What do you think you’re doing?” she squeaked in horror, when he casually began unbuckling the belt holding up his pants.

“I’d have thought it was obvious. I’m getting out of these wet clothes, and then I’m taking a shower. Close your mouth and stop gaping, Ms. Talbot.”

“I don’t believe…what I’m seeing!”

“Then don’t look.”

The belt was off, the zipper of his fly sliding down. The next second, he was shucking his trousers as unselfconsciously as if he were completely alone. And for the life of her, she couldn’t look away.

He glanced up and caught her staring. “You’re blushing, Ms. Talbot.”

Any fool could see that! “Well, one of us certainly should be, and it clearly isn’t going to be you.”

He had great legs. Wonderful thighs. Lean, muscular, tanned. Long, strong, powerful. And he preferred briefs to boxers. Plain white cotton to silk stripes and fancy colors.

“Don’t you dare remove anything else!” she said hoarsely. “I’m not interested in seeing you in the altogether.”

“Just as well,” he said, folding his trousers over the back of the chair. “I don’t show my altogether to just anyone.”

He draped his jacket over a wire hanger in the curtained recess that passed for a closet then did the same for his shirt. And she, ninny that she was, followed his every move and wondered how it was that God had seen fit to bless men with such trim, taut hips, even if the rest of them was oversized!

“Sure you don’t want to use the bathroom?”

“Quite sure, thank you. There’s probably an inch of mold growing in the tub.”

“No tub,” he said, almost gleefully, poking his head around the door to inspect. “Just a shower stall.”

“I wish you the joy of it.”

“I’m sure you do.” He flung a glance over his shoulder and she could have sworn he was biting back a snicker. “No peeking, Ms. Talbot, and no funny business.”

“Funny business?”

“There isn’t room for two in here. If you change your mind about taking a shower, wait your turn.”

“Oh, dream on!” she gasped, flabbergasted by his gall. “Heaven only knows what might come crawling up the drain.”

But the truth was, her clothes were sticking to her most uncomfortably, her skin felt unpleasantly clammy and the idea of standing under a hot shower didn’t seem such a bad idea, after all. She had fresh underwear and a nightshirt in her suitcase; dry clothes she could pull out for tomorrow. Who was she really punishing by stubbornly refusing to make the best of the situation?

Sebastian reappeared ten minutes later, wearing a skimpy towel draped perilously around his hips and nothing else. His black hair stood up in spikes, drops of water gleamed on his skin, and he smelled of clean, warm man. “The place might be a flea pit, but at least there’s plenty of hot water. Sure you don’t want to take advantage of it?”

She cleared her throat. “I might.” She eyed his makeshift loincloth, then hastily glanced away again.

“There’s another towel in there, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he said snidely.

“Good,” she croaked and fled with the toiletry bag, nightshirt and panties she’d taken from her suitcase.

In keeping with the rest of the place, the bathroom was basic: a washbasin, a toilet and a fiberglass shower stall with a mottled glass door. An unused towel the same size as the one barely covering the delectable Sebastian Caine lay folded on a shelf, and the management had kindly provided a minuscule bar of soap, a tiny bottle of shampoo, most of which he’d used, and two paper cups.

Fortunately she came fully equipped with hand-milled French soap, body lotion, salon formula shampoo and conditioner and, praise heaven, toothbrush and paste. She wasted no time putting them all to good use.

From the feel of them, the pillows were stuffed with peanut shells, and the mattress wasn’t a whole lot better. But it beat a marble slab in the nearest morgue, which was where they’d almost certainly have wound up if he hadn’t spotted the washed-out bridge when he did.

He’d been rattled, and he didn’t mind admitting it. But her reaction had been over the top! Jumping out of the car like that and racing off without the first idea where she was headed pretty much proved his first impression had been right: the woman spelled nothing but trouble. Still, he hadn’t been able to help feeling sorry for her. She’d been trembling like a leaf when he finally caught up with her, and the way she’d felt when he’d picked her up…

Best not to dwell too long on how she felt—or looked. His mandate was to deliver the goods, not sample them! Which reminded him Hugo would be expecting them to show up at the house anytime now.

Jamming a pillow behind his head, he stretched out on the mattress, pulled the top sheet up to his waist and reached for the phone.

Hugo picked up on the first ring. “Sebastian?”

“How’d you guess?”

“I saw the weather report on television. The whole county’s under siege with this rain. You’ll never make it up here tonight.”

“I’m way ahead of you, Hugo. We checked into a motel about an hour ago.”

“Thank God! So both you and Lily are safe?”

No point in regaling him with their close call. No point, either, in entering into a debate about the dubious wisdom of daughter and stepson spending the night together. “We’re safe.”

“So tell me, how do you like her, now that you know her a bit better?”

“She’s…” Nosy. Annoying. Too smart-mouthed for her own good. And, he was beginning to realize, sexy as all get-out! “Hell, you know me, Hugo. I don’t jump to conclusions until I’ve got all the facts.”

Hugo laughed. “Just once in your life, could you try not to behave so much like a lawyer?”

And do what? Take advantage of the situation and put the moves on her? Better stick to being a lawyer! “It’s who I am, you know that.”

“I want the two of you to get along. We’re all family here, Sebastian.”

“Which is precisely why I’m being cautious. You’ve always been like a father to me, Hugo. Now it’s my turn to act like a son and protect your interests.”

“You’re worrying about nothing. Lily doesn’t have any ulterior motives for seeking me out.”

“Uh-huh.” No point in stating the obvious: that she was her mother’s daughter. Even if genetics weren’t a factor, her role model had been a woman without conscience or moral rectitude. All that being so, who could say what motivated her actions? Only time would reveal that.

“Is she as pretty as she looks in the photo she sent?”

Just then, the bathroom door opened and Lily emerged on a cloud of steamy, flower-scented air. Her skin was flushed—and he ought to know. Enough of it was showing.

“Sebastian?” Hugo’s voice came from a great distance. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat and dragged his gaze away from the hem of the pale blue nightshirt, which barely covered her backside. How come she didn’t smell of cheap motel soap, the way he did? How come she looked as if she’d been polished with moon dust? Why was her damp hair so lush and lustrous-looking that he wanted to take handfuls of it and let it slide through his fingers?

“Well? Is she?”