Death of a Chorus Girl (The Delacroix Series Book 1) by P. M. Briede Page B

think possible.  I melt into him, focusing on his taste, the softness of his lips, the clean, natural smell of his cologne, and the strength of his hold.  Every nerve ending I have engages and tingles all over my body.
     
    Richard Giordano: The Empty Room
     
    Her kiss is better than my dreams, superior to my fantasies, and more than I ever hoped for.  I can’t believe she is actually in my arms or that hers have wrapped around my neck with her fingers raking through my hair.  The scent of lavender fills my nostrils, erasing the truth of where we are from my mind and all the consequences that will befall us both if we are found together.
    She inches backward and I follow, like an obedient dog, my lips never leaving hers, until her back meets the nearest wall.  I groan when her tongue laps at mine and crush her between my body and the wall, sinking deeper into the abyss of attraction.  I don’t know what it is about her, but from the second I saw her, I have always wanted more.  Even now, the exploration of her lips and her mouth isn’t satisfying enough.  I want to know this woman’s soul; express to her just how whole she makes me feel.
    The backs of my fingers brush her cheeks before trailing down her neck.  A satisfied sigh passes her lips then she pulls away and tilts her head, offering me her neck.  I take a moment to drink her in.  The swollen, bottom lip caught in her teeth.  The drunken desire in her eyes. There is so much I want from her and to give her, but I know it is too soon.  Every beat of my heart stokes the heat threatening to burn me alive.
    A hammering at the door cuts our rendezvous short.  “EM!  Everything alright?”
    We both recognize Worthy’s voice.  Her eyes pop open and fly around the room.  She grabs my arm and shoves me behind a screen.  “Yes, I’m fine, give me a second,” she calls to him. She turns to the mirror, fingers frantically combing through her hair, putting every strand back in place.  “Unzip my dress,” she hisses as she presses an arm across her breasts.  Her other hand is quickly replacing her lipstick.  Her eyes trap mine in the mirror. “ Unzip my dress. ”
    I follow her instructions.  It’s hard to be confronted with the muscular lines of her flawless back, the teasing strap of her bra, the hint of her lace panties, and not do anything else.  She leaves a quick kiss on my cheek at the same time as her palm pushes against my chest.  I sit when a chair meets the back of my knees.
    Em speaks so fast I barely register all she says. “Stay there.  Don’t move and don’t make a sound.  I’ll be leaving with Tom so you aren’t caught.  Wait about ten minutes.  I’ll make sure to create enough of a scene to lure the photo-bloggers away from here.  Find me on the dance floor when dinner is over.  We can talk there.”  Then the screen steals her from my eyes.
     
    Empathy Delacroix: The Lie
     
    Tom on the other side of that door is the worst possible outcome there can be short of a photo hound being in here snapping pics.  “EM!” Tom hollers through the door.
    Good grief, hold your horses!   “I’m coming!” I call as I unlock the door, slapping a smile on my face as I fling it open.  “Just the man I was hoping to see,” I lie.  The only man I want to see is tucked away in the corner of the room and is going to have to endure this farce personally.  But it has to be done to protect him.
    “What’s taking you so long?”  Tom’s head oscillates on his neck as he searches the room.  Sheer force of will keeps me from peering over my shoulder nervously at my refugee’s hiding spot.
    In order to distract Tom, I twist my body so he gets a glimpse of my open back.  “You know how dresses can be.  I’ve been having trouble with mine.  Would you be so kind as to help?” I purr.
    Tom sucks air in through his teeth as his eyes rove the lines on my bare back.  I have never allowed something like this before and am aware