Captivate Me

Heartbreakingly slowly, she turned, giving him a full frontal view. The fingers that had gone still began to move again, making quick work of the few buttons that were left. The edges of her shirt fluttered open. His eyes sharpened, trying to see every minute detail of her body through the distance and the night.

Flat stomach, gorgeous expanse of perfect, creamy skin. He registered the slight pink tinge that swept up her chest and throat. Was it embarrassment, arousal or both?

Tugging each cuff at her wrists, she held her arms wide open and let the gauzy material slither against her skin. Down, down, down, until it puddled on the floor at her feet.

The cups of her bra sat low, barely containing the curve of her breasts. He could see the top arch of her areolae, a deep, dark pink. The color of raspberries. Would she be just as sweet and tart against his tongue?

Lace edged the top of her bra. He imagined it tickling across her sensitive nipples. Two teeny, tiny straps, looking as if they might snap at any moment, curved over her shoulders and strained against the heavy weight of her breasts. Never in his life had Beckett wanted so desperately for fabric to break.

Then she spun away. A growling protest was out of his mouth, and he’d taken a step forward before he realized she wasn’t stopping, simply giving him her back.

Heavy lines of ink curled across her skin. Over her ribs, black, blue and purple twisted together into a picture. He couldn’t see all of it, but enough to get the gist. Delicate wings, ethereal body, flowing hair. Just like her, the lithe fairy was turned away, showing only her back and bowed head.

For some reason, the picture she’d permanently placed on her skin made his chest ache. It reminded him of how she’d looked when she’d first walked into the room, exhausted and a little tragic.

Before he could follow that thread of thought, her arms reached behind her, blocking out his view of her ink. Her palms slipped down, smoothing her skirt. The material clung to her body, hugging the curve of her ass in a way that made his hands itch to do the same. Because he couldn’t, Beckett curled his fingers into fists.

The skirt pulled in, following the contours of her hips and narrowing to skim her thighs. The hem hit just above her knees, a perfectly respectable length. But that didn’t stop him from feeling sorry for every poor bastard who had to work with her, watch her prance around in that skirt and know his chances of getting beneath it were slim.

She took a single step forward, opening the slit that lined up perfectly with the seam of her thighs. This time, the groan Beckett bit back had nothing to do with fear that she was going to stop.

The slit ended near the tops of her thighs, hinting at what lay beneath. That hint was torture. Because, with the slit held open by her position, all he could see were shadows promising him so much more than she was giving.

Beckett’s mouth went dry and then flooded with moisture. He wanted to taste her. To discover the musky scent of her arousal and press his face right there into those shadows.

Twisting, she set her pointy little chin on her shoulder and watched him as her fingers tugged at the zipper. Her hands eased the material down, inch by excruciating inch, revealing the scorching-red panties that matched her bra.

Satin and lace, the boyshorts covered her sweet curves. Something about them was both chaste and tantalizing. Like her, a contradiction. Adorably innocent yet devilishly tempting.

His eyes had been trained so intently on her rounded curves that it took him several moments to notice she was wearing thigh highs beneath that skirt.

Dear God in heaven.

Lace wrapped around the expanse of each thigh, cutting in and holding on. He could practically feel the silky texture of them against his palms, rubbing up and down his ribs as her thighs gripped him. Beckett swallowed. Hard. And the tiny, taunting smile that played across her lips told him she knew exactly the reaction she was pulling from him.

Dammit. It had been a very long time since he’d let a woman have the upper hand. How had this one managed it? With ten feet and a pane of glass between them.

When she walked several feet away from him, he got an unbelievably amazing view of her entire body. Killer legs he could imagine around his waist. Hips that swayed seductively. The firm curve of a good ass. The curl of ink, proof that she wasn’t as buttoned up as her outward appearance suggested. Long expanse of elegant spine, riotous curls begging to have a man’s hands twined in them and holding her close.

This woman was a siren. That’s all there was to it.

Lifting a single foot to the bench at the end of her bed, she plastered her body down the length of her thigh to lean over and unbuckle the heel still strapped on. Her breasts swayed, straining against the material barely holding them in.

Pain and need and craving pounded through him, settling so deep in his bones he was afraid the ache would never leave.

Her right foot was on the bench angling her body away from him. Flipping him a look over her shoulder and from beneath her lashes, she watched him even as she rolled the stocking carefully down her leg.

Her body swayed gently, the lace at the bottom of her panties creeping higher to give him an alluring glimpse of more. The metal teeth of his zipper bit into the straining length of his erection. He was light-headed from all the blood rushing to his groin.

He couldn’t remember a single time when he’d wanted a woman so much. Beckett hadn’t touched her and didn’t even know her name, but that didn’t seem to matter. There was something about her that...drew him.

All he could think of was tasting her skin. Hearing the sound of her moans, her sharp inhale of breath when he finally pushed home, filling her up and bringing them both unbearable ecstasy.

His hands clenched around the railing, desperately needing an anchor to keep him from slipping entirely into the fantasy.

Devouring her with his eyes, Beckett watched as she straightened and moved back to the window. Her gaze burned as she studied him. Not just with lust, but something more. He felt the pressure of it licking through his blood. It was as if she could see beneath his skin. Recognized just how alone he was, even constantly surrounded by other people.

Because she was just as lonely.

He expected her to stop when she reached the window. Maybe drop her bra to the floor. Or crook her finger and silently tell him to come finish what they’d both started.

What he was too far gone to anticipate was for her to press her breasts right up against the window. The movement tugged at the already precarious edge of her bra giving him a peek at her nipples. Tiny buds hard and tight with the same desire running rampant through his own body. There was no denying she was just as turned on as he was.

He could read it in the desperate glow of her eyes, the flush of her skin and the languid, liquid way her body moved.

Her arms stretched wide out to her sides. She undulated, rolling her hips and ribs and spine in a way that begged him to touch.

And then the blind snapped down between them.

* * *

SAGGING AGAINST THE wall beside the window now covered by the wide slats of her plantation blinds, Alyssa Vaughn let her body slide down. The polished hardwood floor was cold on her rear when it hit, but she welcomed the shock. Maybe it would cool the sizzling tremble running rampant through her body.

She dropped her head to her knees and screwed her eyes shut.

What the hell had she been thinking?

She hadn’t. That was the problem.

The moment her eyelids closed, her overheated mind conjured up the image of him again. A beautiful man with dark, intense eyes that had scraped across her body with a blazing heat, leaving her breathless. Half of his face obscured by a brightly colored mask.

His body had been just as hidden beneath the dark lines of an expensive suit. But she’d known, instinctively, the fire and strength he harbored. Could see it in the flex of long, tapered fingers and bulge of thigh muscles against smooth fabric.

Dangerously elegant. Like the sleekest jungle cat, beautiful in its power, but deadly when provoked.

The man had stirred some force inside her. The way he’d watched her, gaze sharp and exquisitely intense, focused on every miniscule movement. As though there was nothing in the world for him right then except what she was showing. Nothing more important than what they were sharing.

Excitement and something much more dangerous flashed beneath her skin. A craving that went deeper than mere physical satisfaction. A need long buried. A hope long denied.

Sucking a hard breath through her teeth, Alyssa forced her arms to relax and drop away from their tight hold around her body. She raised her head and let it clunk against the wall. Staring up at the ceiling she’d painted a pale heather gray, she focused on breathing, slow and steady.

No harm done. She’d stopped before going too far. Before letting free that wild piece of herself she kept locked down tight. Always ignored.

A bra and boyshorts were no more revealing than most bathing suits. She hadn’t done anything wrong. So why was she struggling with a sickening mixture of guilt, exhilaration and dismay?

He had no idea who she was. It had been late, dark, with only a lamp on for light. He’d been wearing a mask and was ten feet away, lodged in the shadows. They could collide on the street and never know each other.

A moment of insanity. Mardi Gras madness. A release from the stress and pressure she’d been dealing with all day.