Scandal

“I’m not pawing,” he argued with himself. “Just checking for hidden belts or pockets where she might be carrying something that could help identify her.”

Right. That’s why it was imperative, for example, to search around the plunging neckline of her silk camisole, revealing some sort of curious, even briefer undergarment, a sinful shade of red, peeking out around the edges of the first one. Or edge a finger or two up under the lace hem of her camisole, where her stomach was soft and warm, or trace a line all the way up her beautiful bare leg and under the brief slash of well-worn denim barely covering her hips.

So little clothing. So very dangerous to let his fingers roam around that skin. She was luscious, that was for sure, slender and yet curvy, with all the right assets in the right places. Her strange attire seemed to offer all of those assets up for his perusal, not covering anything completely, just teasing enough to stoke his appetite.

“Ah, well,” he murmured, his hand flat over her left breast. “I can now safely say that she’s still breathing, can’t I?” He withdrew his hand, regretfully. No matter how fetching she was, it wasn’t right to sample the wares when she was out cold.

In the end, his clumsy search produced nothing in the way of identification and nothing to explain her bizarre appearance. All he found was one small pocket right out in the open, over her hipbone, sewn into the minuscule denim garment. She let out a soft moan as he poked into the tight pocket, making him almost drop the lone coin he pulled out and held up to the light.

Hmm…Nothing earth-shattering, just a souvenir Columbian Exposition half-dollar, much like the one he’d been tossing around back home. Fifty cents would get her one camel ride down Cairo Street on the Midway Plaisance, or two trips on the World’s Fair steamship. Not much. And she didn’t appear to have anything else.

Strange. The coin he’d extracted from her pocket had a small scratch across Columbus’s eye. So did the one he’d been playing with in the wee hours of morning. After throwing one coin into a cup for hours, he’d gotten pretty familiar with it.

He examined this one more closely. There were thousands of the coins circulating around the fair and the city, but it looked exactly like the one he’d had earlier, scratch and all. Strange. Had she stolen his half-dollar in the past few hours? If so, how? And why?

Tucking the coin into his vest pocket, trying to stay dispassionate, he gazed down at her. “Who are you?” he asked out loud.

She blinked, opening her eyes. “Nick?” she mumbled.

He didn’t move. She knew his name.

After propping herself up on one elbow, she opened her eyes wide and shook her head, as if trying to dislodge the cobwebs. Then she looked at him again, and smiled.

“Nick,” she said, but this time it came out stronger and more sure, and she gazed at him with this dreamy, adoring gaze that shook him down to his boots.

Who was she? Why was she licking her lips at him as if she were the cat and he were a bowl of cream?

Quickly, before he had time to react, she slipped onto his lap, framed his face with her hands, and kissed him like there was no tomorrow.

Right from the start her mouth was wide open, wet and demanding, as if she was very familiar with how to fan his fire. She nibbled him, tasted him, owned him, sending the message that she wanted him down to his soul. Now.

At first he was so shocked he didn’t do anything. But it didn’t take long to start giving as good as he got.

He might be a gentleman, but he was no saint. If she was hungry for it, so was he. After all, he was already half aroused from sliding his hands over her sweet curves.

It had been a damn long time since he’d had a woman this delectable, this bold in his lap. He liked his lovers hot and fast, and that was exactly what she offered.