Before he could finish exhaling on the last word, motion from the darkened area beside his bed caught his attention. Though her face was cloaked in darkness, he knew it was her. T
he way she moved gave her away.
She stepped from the cold shadows into the warm light of a nearby candle, and his heart stopped in his chest.
She stole his breath and every thought from his head.
Her jade green eyes were ringed with shimmering silver paint, and the very irises burned with unchecked desire. Her full lips were painted with deep red rouge and were pulled back into a cock-teasing grin. Her loose raven black hair fell in midnight waves of sexy disarray.
Forcing his gaze to leave the tantalizing eroticism of her face, he surveyed her incredibly shocking costume. He recognized the peasant skirt; she’d worn it the first night they’d met—but she’d taken a pair of shears to it; it was much shorter than it had been.
A lifetime ago.
The edge rode high on her thighs, showing every inch of luscious, well-formed legs, concealing little more than the color of herthong.
The temperature in the room spiked.
Tugging at his collar, he took his fill. He thought his intense and slow inspection would have her fidgeting and blushing, but she stood still, watching him devour her with his gaze. Everything about this woman made him hot. Lust flamed through his body as though he’d consumed blasting powder.
The short skirt hugged her perfectly rounded curves like sex made of fabric, but the top she wore could only be described as death by desire. She’d taken a common black silk corset, removed the lace from the edges, and wrapped herself in it. The corset didn’t just emphasize the curve of her hips and the narrowness of her waist, it also cupped each of her deliciouslyfull breasts, heaving them upward where they could tease and incite sexual agony.
He swallowed. “Haven, you look amazing.”
Moving to step closer to her, to touch her, to place his mouth along the skin of her neck, he groaned when she placed a firm palm against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.
Without saying a word, she directed him to the large wing-backed chair, indicating he should sit.
He did, placing his forearms along the arms, his fingers digging furrows into the fine upholstery. His eager hands wanted to touch the bounty, but she kept her distance.
Curious, and sexy as hell.
She moved to a table she’d positioned near the single straight-backed chair. She fiddled with something for a few seconds and turned back to him, giving a smile that was a dash of shy vixen, and a spoonful of she-devil.
She took the chair opposite, and transformed—everything in her demeanor shifted. Haven wasn’t just the woman who’d stolen the breath from his lungs; she was a goddess, a temptress from his most lurid fantasies. A soft hum began to flow through the room, and she sat back, placed her hands on the arms of the chair, crossed her bare legs at the knees, closed her eyes, and cast her face to the ceiling.
What the hell?
He lifted a brow, and leaned closer, trying to read the expression on her upturned face.
When he’d entered the room, the chairs were a puzzle. Now he understood. She’d created a stage. A stage on which she would perform.
For him.
Dear God, he didn’t know what she had planned, but he hoped he survived the night.
Chapter Fifty-Six
The first stirrings of music materialized from the single cordless speaker, and Haven fought back a smile mixed with nervousness, vulnerability, and a dash of hope.
She could do this.
She could lay her soul out before him, and show him what her heart ached for.
Letting the heavy, flowing melody pulse through her, she tensed every muscle, and let out a slow, deep breath. At the first staccato beat, she moved, her body an extension of the music. With each down beat, she thrust her chest out in an imitation of a heartbeat. As the music and the beats grew louder, her movements grew larger, eventually she thrust her entire upper body out from the back of the chair, her once crossed legs now spread wide, her fingers digging into the chair arms.
She was a master of using her body to tell a story. She’d done it hundreds of times before, but this time, the story was personal. When she danced for strangers, she could put on a façade, a fake face to fool the drooling meat suits. But dancing for Logan meant she would finally dance as Haven. She could throw the façade aside, and show him her weaknesses.
The lyrics washed over her. As the words wove through the music, she began her seduction in earnest, letting her body move as the heart and soul commanded, as the passion burning within her demanded.
