Cheryl Holt by Total Surrender Page A

away as though he hadn’t a care, as though it didn’t matter if the woman followed.
    Sarah held her breath as he relaxed and arranged a pillow. What did he propose? What would he require?
    She couldn’t see enough of the room to know!
    Frustrated, she attempted to alter her location on the stool, peering up and down, seeking a wider panorama, but to no avail. The peephole offered only limited access. Mr. Stevens’s head and chest were discernible, but not his waist or anything lower.
    His lover approached, and it appeared as if she knelt over him, but Sarah couldn’t be sure, and evidently, she hesitated overly long, because he decreed, “The top button, madam!” A moment passed, then another, and he ordered, “The next one, if you please.”
    She was opening his trousers! To what end?
    Sarah wanted to bang her forehead against the wall. How cruel to have been led down the carnal path only to have her journey obstructed at the last bend. For years, she’d ruminated and stewed about what men and women did when they were alone. Improbably, she’d stumbled upon a private, confidential method of determining the particulars, the mysteries of the world were about to unravel, but she couldn’t observe the details!
    How grossly unfair! Whoever had designed the spot had poorly planned the result. What was the point of contriving a peephole that didn’t furnish a full vista? She hadn’t wanted to witness some; she wanted to witness all!
    “You’re larger than I imagined,” the woman remarked, uneasy.
    “Yes, but you were advised at the outset,” Mr. Stevens explained indifferently. “Take me at once. I’m ready.”
    Heeding his command, the woman did something that induced him to exhale in a slow hiss. His entire body tensed.
    What?
Sarah longed to shout.
What are you about?
But instead, she whirled away. Remembering her inglorious plunge the previous evening, she gingerly descended, then paced. A tangle of erotic images had her body throbbing and vibrating in places she’d never noticed before, and she strolled back and forth, scrambling to soothe her riotous breathing and thundering heart.
    What were they striving so frenetically to accomplish? Unfortunately, her background and upbringing provided no mechanism for solving the riddle. She simply couldn’t conceive of where their actions were leading, or why they would persist in the manner upon which they both seemed so intent.
    At a loss, she sneaked back to the stool and quietly clambered to her perch. To her consternation, whatever adventure had kept the pair involved had been rapidly concluded. It was over. The woman’s cloaked back was to Sarah, and Mr. Stevens faced her, looking apathetic. They were silent, unmoving.
    Finally, the woman sputtered, “Did you enjoy yourself?”
    “Yes.” He was cold, devoid of emotion.
    She wavered, then petitioned, “May I meet with you again?”
    “As you wish.”
    The woman’s shoulders sagged as though he’d just bestowed a great benediction, but Sarah could have sworn his tone was one of bored acquiescence. If he never saw the woman a second time, he wouldn’t care.
    The woman dawdled, clearly yearning to discuss what had just happened, but Mr. Stevens’s lack of interest precluded her speaking further. Eventually, with a slight shrug, she departed.
    Mr. Stevens paused for a lengthy interlude, apparently listening to ensure she’d actually gone. Then, mollified, he leaned against the wall and smoothed a weary hand overhis brow. He looked more ominously handsome than she’d yet seen him. Rumpled and mussed and fatigued, he yawned and scratched across his stomach.
    Unaware of her avid assessment, he turned so that he was directly situated for analysis, and his expression was one of despair and discouragement. His melancholia was so manifest that she wished there were no barriers separating them, that she could be by his side, resting her palm against his cheek, while she gently reassured him that everything