inside and closed the purse. "I was merely inquiring if our current situation would eventually lead to sex. Remember, The Snake Trap?"
Snake Trap. Yeah, that about sums it up. Dane stared at her. The music pounded, people jostled closer to the bar, and Charlie shouted at Dane to get to work. Instead, Dane motioned the woman to go to the end of the counter. She did so without questioning him and her naive trust set his teeth on edge. He took her by the arm and led her into Charlie's small office. Silence mercifully descended when he shut the door.
"Are you going to make a pass at me?" she asked in a breathless voice.
"What?"
"Make a pass—you know, come on to me."
"No."
Her shoulders drooped and she wilted into a nearby chair. "Why not? It's the next step, isn't it?"
He'd disappointed her. For God's sake, she should know better than to just offer herself to a man.
"Mr. Sinclair—"
"You just asked me to have sex with you," he snapped, "at least call me Dane."
Her cheeks blazed like a four-alarm fire and Dane realized he'd embarrassed her with his harsh tone. "I'm sorry, Marissa. It's not every day a guy gets propositioned by a nun."
"I'm not a nun. In a literal sense, anyway." She looked up at him and smiled. Her lower lip trembled, and Dane bit back a curse. Aw, crap. Princess tears. His fucking Kryptonite.
"It's all right. I appreciate your candor. I know I'm rather plain, but I did hope willingness would make a difference in desirability."
"Willingness to have sex?" asked Dane dubiously.
"To have passionate, uninhibited sex."
Dane sucked in a breath, feeling gut-punched. She blinked at him behind those ridiculously large glasses, head tilted, teeth pulling on her full bottom lip.
"It's the last item on my list," she continued as if she hadn't asked for passionate, uninhibited sex, "so I have plenty to experience before the one-night stand. Can you hire for that sort of thing?"
He inhaled deeply and counted to ten...twenty...twenty-five. "Let me get this straight. You want to hire someone to have sex with you?"
"No, not really. I hoped to entice someone sufficiently so they'd take me on—on something like that." She pointed to the desk. "I want my skirt jerked up and buttons popping off my shirt..."
Dane looked at the emerald-green top with big, gold, poppable buttons; he couldn't help but notice the roundness of her breasts under the well-fitting fabric. The dip of her small waist, the curve of her hip...barely covered by the short skirt...he tugged at the collar of his T-shirt. Jeez, it's hot in here. His gaze traveled down the enticing lines of her legs—encased in shimmery white hose. Damn nice legs.
"...wearing my crotchless panties because there's no reason to ruin the silk ones."
He stopped breathing, choked, coughed. She frowned at him and he waved away the concern marring her brow. "Crotchless panties?" he repeated in a hoarse voice.
"I wasn't sure about protocol...book knowledge only gets you so far." She laughed as she tugged on the skirt. "I’ve never worn silk stockings before, and I have to say, getting them clipped into the satin straps was rather difficult."
Dane's heart skipped a beat, then re-started at a frantic pace. He was having a heart attack. No. A lust attack. He would not think about crotchless panties, long legs, garters, and crazy women. He closed his eyes and thought about the North Pole. Ice. Cold. Snow.
Too late. His body had already decided the desk fantasy was a damned fine idea.
Dane tucked his hands into his jean pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Let me give you some advice."
"You have experience with women's lingerie?"
How the hell was he supposed to answer that question? He knew a thing or two about lingerie, but
Snake Trap. Yeah, that about sums it up. Dane stared at her. The music pounded, people jostled closer to the bar, and Charlie shouted at Dane to get to work. Instead, Dane motioned the woman to go to the end of the counter. She did so without questioning him and her naive trust set his teeth on edge. He took her by the arm and led her into Charlie's small office. Silence mercifully descended when he shut the door.
"Are you going to make a pass at me?" she asked in a breathless voice.
"What?"
"Make a pass—you know, come on to me."
"No."
Her shoulders drooped and she wilted into a nearby chair. "Why not? It's the next step, isn't it?"
He'd disappointed her. For God's sake, she should know better than to just offer herself to a man.
"Mr. Sinclair—"
"You just asked me to have sex with you," he snapped, "at least call me Dane."
Her cheeks blazed like a four-alarm fire and Dane realized he'd embarrassed her with his harsh tone. "I'm sorry, Marissa. It's not every day a guy gets propositioned by a nun."
"I'm not a nun. In a literal sense, anyway." She looked up at him and smiled. Her lower lip trembled, and Dane bit back a curse. Aw, crap. Princess tears. His fucking Kryptonite.
"It's all right. I appreciate your candor. I know I'm rather plain, but I did hope willingness would make a difference in desirability."
"Willingness to have sex?" asked Dane dubiously.
"To have passionate, uninhibited sex."
Dane sucked in a breath, feeling gut-punched. She blinked at him behind those ridiculously large glasses, head tilted, teeth pulling on her full bottom lip.
"It's the last item on my list," she continued as if she hadn't asked for passionate, uninhibited sex, "so I have plenty to experience before the one-night stand. Can you hire for that sort of thing?"
He inhaled deeply and counted to ten...twenty...twenty-five. "Let me get this straight. You want to hire someone to have sex with you?"
"No, not really. I hoped to entice someone sufficiently so they'd take me on—on something like that." She pointed to the desk. "I want my skirt jerked up and buttons popping off my shirt..."
Dane looked at the emerald-green top with big, gold, poppable buttons; he couldn't help but notice the roundness of her breasts under the well-fitting fabric. The dip of her small waist, the curve of her hip...barely covered by the short skirt...he tugged at the collar of his T-shirt. Jeez, it's hot in here. His gaze traveled down the enticing lines of her legs—encased in shimmery white hose. Damn nice legs.
"...wearing my crotchless panties because there's no reason to ruin the silk ones."
He stopped breathing, choked, coughed. She frowned at him and he waved away the concern marring her brow. "Crotchless panties?" he repeated in a hoarse voice.
"I wasn't sure about protocol...book knowledge only gets you so far." She laughed as she tugged on the skirt. "I’ve never worn silk stockings before, and I have to say, getting them clipped into the satin straps was rather difficult."
Dane's heart skipped a beat, then re-started at a frantic pace. He was having a heart attack. No. A lust attack. He would not think about crotchless panties, long legs, garters, and crazy women. He closed his eyes and thought about the North Pole. Ice. Cold. Snow.
Too late. His body had already decided the desk fantasy was a damned fine idea.
Dane tucked his hands into his jean pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Let me give you some advice."
"You have experience with women's lingerie?"
How the hell was he supposed to answer that question? He knew a thing or two about lingerie, but
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