“He was, um, a writer. I admired his passion for his craft and wanted to help him succeed.” She glossed over the details of how Tony had asked her to perform his erotic stories. How he’d used her and how she’d willingly let him do it. “But he had troubles…vices he couldn’t escape. He owed money to some villains, and the long and short of it is that he was eventually found dead.”
“By Jove.” Ethan tipped her chin up, looking into her eyes. “I’m sorry for the pain that must have caused.”
“He was too young to die,” she agreed sadly, “and he left behind a brother who grieved for him. I wish I could have helped him?—”
“When a man is in the grip of vice, no one can help him but himself.”
Ethan’s jaw was taut, and remembering everything he’d gone through with his brother, she laced her fingers with his.
“I’ve come to accept that.” She released a breath. “And the fact that while I was infatuated with him, he wasn’t interested in me. He just liked being admired.”
Her cheeks burned with humiliation at her own folly. Would another man’s indifference make her seem less worthy in Ethan’s eyes? Would it make him realize that she was no one special?
“He was a fool,” Ethan said.
Relief heated her eyes. “I was a bigger one.”
“You are not a fool.” He thumbed away a tear wending down her cheek. “What you are is too tender-hearted for your own good.”
“I realize now that I was in love with theideaof being in love. All that novel reading, I suppose.” She tried for a smile. “I promise I have learned my lesson. I shan’t be silly where you are concerned.”
I may be in love with you, Ethan Harrington, but I’ll keep it to myself.
“I don’t want that promise from you.”
Her breath jammed. “You…you don’t?”
“I want you to beyou, Xenia.” His intensity was spellbinding. “Your brave, sweet, and naughty self. I don’t want you to hold anything back with me. Your follower might have been blind, but I’m not. I see how special you are, and I want to know you, not just in the biblical sense. I care about you, and for my part, I don’t want to limit what is happening between us. Do you trust me, pet?”
Her heart pounded against her ribs, but it was a sweet pain.
“I trust you more than I’ve trusted anyone,” she said.
“Then I need to teach you to trust me completely. To show you that you are, and will always be, safe with me. No time like the present for a lesson.”
At his dark, seductive tone, anticipation unfurled.
“What sort of lesson is this?” she asked coquettishly.
“What did I just say about trusting me?”
Odds bodkins, she loved it when he got stern.
“Now stand up and undress,” he said. “But do it slowly. I want a show.”
With a shiver of arousal, she rose. He remained where he was, with one arm across the back of the sofa, sleek as a panther in his black dressing gown. He played lord of the manor with such arrogant veracity that she would have been intimidated if not for the playful glint in his eyes. His expression dared her to participate in his naughty game, and she’d never been one to back down from a challenge.
As she was wearing a shapeless nightgown, giving a sensual performance wasn’t the easiest. Yet if she excelled at anything, it was making do with what she had. Having observed how her light-skirt colleagues titillated audiences, she resolved to do the same. She began by lifting her hair above her head, letting it fall slowly. His gaze followed the strands where they landed, caressing her breasts and hips. Seeing that she had his attention, she smoothed her palms over her chest, cupping her mounds through the worn flannel.
“Are your nipples hard, pet?”
His casual tone made them harder.
“Yes. I wish your hands were on me.”
“I shall be touching you soon enough.” He sat back, comfortable as a king on his throne. “Carry on.”
She obeyed, running her hands over her rib cage and the indentation of her waist. She traced the flare of her hips and the curves of her thighs and bottom. Bending, she reached for the hem of her gown.
