Down on Her Knees by Christine Bell Page B

tightened, tugging once. Then again. Not hard enough to hurt. Just hard enough to feel. For some reason, it was enough. The contact centered her, gave her a focal point to cling to on this spinning, wild ride.
    “Leave it,” he said again.
    She focused on the sensation of his strong fingers covering hers. The grip of his hand in her hair. The sound of the breath sawing in and out of his lungs, and she knew with utmost certainty that he was every bit as vulnerable as she was right now. Two words and she could make this whole scenario come crashing down. Two words and it would be over.
    Two words she had not a single intention of uttering.
    She wriggled from his grasp and let her hand fall to her side, hoping the euphoria she was feeling didn’t make her voice tremble. “Fine then, Mr. Welter. You win. If you get off on bedding an unwilling woman who has no interest in you whatsoever, then go ahead.” Mary Mack had apparently picked up a British accent somewhere along the way, but she went with it. “I won’t stop you.”
    Every nerve in her body was at full attention, waiting for his next move. He released her hair and a long moment passed in silence. What the hell was he doing? She tipped her head, straining to hear any sign of movement, but there was nothing. No sound, no new smell, though her senses seemed enhanced by her lack of vision. It was as though she was entirely alone.
    After a moment, she worked up the nerve to call him by name, but there was no response.
    Was this her punishment for asking questions? He’d left her here? Alone? Surely not…
    Another thirty seconds passed with nothing but the sound of her own erratic breathing to remind her that she wasn’t deaf as well as blind. Then, out of nowhere, it all changed. The heady scent of his musky cologne filled her nostrils, the ambient heat of his body radiated against her skin, sending goose bumps up her arms.
    He was close.
    Close enough to touch, and she balled her fists to resist the urge to reach for him. She was his prisoner, not his date. She didn’t allow herself to remember how much she’d enjoyed that as well.
    A single finger traced her lips, and she instinctively opened her mouth to take it in, to taste it, but it was gone in the next instant.
    Cool air greeted her chest as he opened the trench coat, one button at a time. He slid it off slowly, exposing her to his gaze. Her heart beat triple time and she held her breath. He was looking at her, half-naked right now, and not seeing his face was killing her. Her nipples went taut and achy as a low sigh of appreciation escaped him, his minty breath washing over her face.
    “Very nice, Ms. Mack.”
    She willed him to touch her then, squinting tight, hoping he would do that magic thing again where he seemed to read her thoughts. Her hopes were dashed as she sensed him moving away, taking his body heat and mouthwatering scent with him.
    Next came the heels. He unbuckled the slim ankle strap with exquisite slowness that unearthed memories of the garter incident and she shuddered. If tonight ended even half as spectacularly as that one had, she could die happy.
    “Stand,” he muttered, his voice thick and gritty. The single-word command shouldn’t have sent a rush of moisture to her core, but it did. She obeyed without question, using the bed to guide her and then rising to her feet.
    His warm breath stirred her hair as he gripped the leather waistband that stretched across her hips. He tugged the pants down to her ankles, patting her bottom lightly, urging her to step out of them.
    She stood like that for a long time. Stock-still, back straight, breasts thrust forward, hoping against hope that her body pleased him.
    “I believe we have a problem, Ms. Mack.”
    Her heart dove to her toes and all the defenses she’d let drop snapped back into place. She crossed her arms over her chest and took a step back. His hands closed over her shoulders, halting her backward motion.
    “Don’t ever cover