Every Girl's Secret Fantasy by Robyn Grady

backed out. Her palms had been so damp. Her stomach wouldn’t quit rolling. Her knees had trembled enough to fold at any time.
    She’d been committed to going forth and slaying those I’m-not-frigid dragons. But could she go through with something as outrageous as a striptease? If only she knew how it would play out. Would she make a complete fool of herself? Or, having thrown herself into the deep end without a lifejacket, would she at last find what had previously eluded her? An experience—aconnection—that would once and for all release her and all she could be.
    Now that she’d witnessed Pace’s positive reaction the nerves weren’t jittering quite so much. And she felt so incredibly aware. So alive! Still, she’d only just made it out the gate. The interesting, terrifying part was still to come.
    With a merciless yank she made certain the rope lashing Pace’s wrists to the lampstand was secure. Then, for good measure and an added tease, she leant forward, trailing two fingertips over the vein bulging on top of one masculine hand. She peered down over her black lace bra and, amazed she was actually doing this, meekly enquired, “Too tight?”
    Pace blinked up with a mixture of arousal and expectation. “Just tight enough.”
    Beneath her spreadeagled thighs Pace shucked his wrists one way, then the other. The heavy base of the stand didn’t budge; it weighed at least half a ton.
    â€œCan’t see how I can help this way, though,” he said, and she shrugged.
    â€œNo help needed.”
    Remembering his advice from yesterday again— don’t think, just do it —she twirled around until she sat facing his boots. Her heart pumping madly, she gradually fell forward, touched his toes, then arched slowly back, scraping her nails along two long stretches of denim. Her fingers came to rest on patches of burning skin either side of a concave navel. When those boots quivered, Phoebe took two deep breaths and then brought her mouth to his toned belly. The coarse hair tickling her chin, she kissed the square inch directlyabove his zipper. The flesh beneath her lips was on fire…the scent she caught was uncensored male.
    Phoebe’s core heated and throbbed.
    â€œEverything under control down there?” Pace’s voice had been dragged through the thickest molasses. “Want me to…uh—” she kissed him again and his hips bucked “—heel off my boots?”
    She cast a lazy glance over her shoulder. “You can leave your boots on.”
    After easing off her perch, she stood before him, taking stock of the blood-pumping picture splayed out on her couch. She lapped up the magnificent male form…the shadows shifting with erotic languor over hard-muscled abs, biceps, chest. When her gaze connected with his, her heart leapt to her throat. She’d expected to see a certain wariness edging his expression. What she recognised in the focused gleam in his eyes was something else entirely.
    Enjoyment—pure and simple. And challenge. He reminded her of a wild beast that was biding its time, waiting for the right moment to break free and claim a sweet reward all its own.
    At her back, a log crumbled into the fire’s ashes, and Phoebe was shaken out of her trance. Swallowing, she focused on taking her next step before any nerves could creep back in.
    Moving to the CD-player, she made a selection, pressed “play” then let the soulful notes of a clarinet wash over her. Conjuring a provocative fluid motion, she threaded her fingers up through her hair to dislodge the single pin and release a waterfall of hair upon her shoulders. Then, ordering herself to give in to themusic and the mood, she began to dance—to weave and stretch, roll and dip—a little stiffly at first.
    But as the seconds wound into minutes she limbered up, and the tight knots in her stomach gradually took on a different form…a pulsing