She was never in a million years going to tell him why she’d drawn him as a horse.
She hesitated. “Technically... you’re a stallion,” she confessed faintly.
“Because... I’m hung like one?” he guessed on a hush that was all stifled hilarity.
“You’re quite adequately hung, but that’s not why.”
“Adequatelyhung!” he crowed softly, delighted. “Say more dirty things like that to me. I want that on my headstone when I die. ‘He was adequately hung.’”
She laughed. “Stop!”
“But why then? Why am I a horse?”
She sighed, gustily. “Do I have to say?”
“Yes,” he decided. “You have to.”
Another silence.
“It’s because...”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“It’s a little embarrassing,” she whispered.
He cradled the back of her head in his hand, his fingers dragging softly in the downy hairs there, and she was suddenly incredibly glad for the updo, because her neck was wildly sensitive. If anyone was determined to seduce her, that’s where they ought to start.
She lifted her head up to see his eyes, hot and admiring and tender.
Her eyelids went heavy.
“Tell me,” he said softly.
“I think horses are very handsome.”
He grinned at that. “Great. Go on,” he whispered.
“And a little untamed. And majestic. They have dignity and integrity. They’re at home outdoors. Theybelongoutdoors.”
“All good,” he murmured. “Were you going to mention anything about how much you love to ride them?”
She lifted her head up and studied him in a heavy-eyed assessing way, as if she was picturing doing just that, and by his expression she could tell that look went straight to his groin like a skillful hand.
He cleared his throat. “I didn’t seeyouin there.”
That was an interesting point. “I guess I just didn’t know what I should be.”
“Iknow.” He trailed his hand down to her shoulder, snagged the zipper on her dress, and dragged it down, down.
“What’s that?”she murmured.
“A wildcat. Because I justknowyou’re about to use your teeth and nails to make me wild.”
Her laugh evolved into a soft sigh that tapered into a moan when he slipped his hands into her dress and skated them up and down, up and down, softly, softly.
“It’s true that I can’t promise I’ll go easy on you,” she murmured against his mouth, when it touched hers. Whisper soft.
His hands, the night, her skin, his lips, hers. They were all of a sultry piece, all indistinguishable from each other, all erotic.
