‘You would.’
He laughs quite suddenly and holds out his hand. ‘I’m serious; come.’
‘Don’t think I could manage it again,’ I mumble, placing my hand in his to stand.
Laughing still, he pulls me into his arms.
In the bedroom, he points to a monogrammed laundry bag draped over the arm of a very boudoir chair. ‘Laundered, with the exception of your underwear, which they seem to have misplaced somehow, hence...’ He indicates the small bag lying hooked around the hanger, discretely brandedBordelle.
‘New undies?’ Expensive ones, too, by the looks of things as I open the bag, and heaps above my usual fare of K-Mart undies. Strange, I didn’t see a lingerie shop in the hotel. I think I saw a Louis Vuitton. ‘You didn’t have to.’ But I’m pleased he did.
He shrugs lightly. ‘You didn’t strike me as the type to go without.’ And that’s why. ‘Now, get dressed before you force me to break all the rules.’
‘You threatening to break out those ‘cuffs again?’ I reply deadpan.
‘Hmm, they do them to match this set.’
Ignoring my fish impersonation, Kai sits on the edge of the bed somehow managing to make it look like an invitation. I remind myself my loyalty is to Niamh today, mantra-like, over again and again in my head. But I’d have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to be tempted, and I suppose that’s what got me here in the first place.
‘Well?’ he questions, with what I’m becoming to think of as his trademark quirked brow.
‘Well what?’
‘You’ll need to.’ His hand moves in a small, dismissing motion, golden bedroom eyes suggesting something entirely else. ‘Unless you’ve changed your mind because if you stand there much longer looking at me like that...’
The implication hangs in the air as heavy as the weight of his gaze. I drag my eyes from his to the contents of the lingerie bag. The delicate scraps of cream lace are pretty, and sort of exclusive looking, the bra barely a demi-cup and the knickers smaller still.
Is there an attractive way of stepping into your undies, rather than staggering around the room with them hooked around one leg? If there is, I think I must’ve missed that class.
God, how am I going to do this with him looking at me like that?
Taking a deep breath to suck in my stomach, I decide it’s nothing he hasn’t seen over the past few hours—and probably from less flattering angles—so I allow the towel to slip to the floor. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, a smile curling on his gorgeous mouth.
But there’s something about being naked before him which makes me very aware of my skin. It almost pulls at my frame. My carriage is definitely altered, my movements slow and sinuous with a definite absence of klutz. Stepping into the knickers and leisurely drawing the fabric up my legs, each movement is deliberate and unhurried and absolutely for show. For an encore, I run my index fingers across the elastic at my hipbones, making it snap softly against my skin.
Despite my cool outward appearance, I feel lightheaded and breathless as his eyes brand every inch of me, forcing me to turn from his gaze. I slip my arms into the straps of the bra and reach behind to fasten the clasp. Liquid heat races through my veins as he moves almost silently to stand behind, just a whisper of air separating us. His finger slips under the strap at my shoulder, so intimate, yet barely a touch, and I tremble as his soft breath brushes my skin. He kisses my shoulder, just once, before moving away.
As the door to the room closes behind him, I’m left shivering from both relief and regret.
