body and mind, to the extent that he was all she thought about anymore. She wasn’t eating well, she wasn’t sleeping well; she felt exhausted and exhilarated in turn. And as if her mental and physical state were not enough, thoughts of Flint prevented her from using the casino as an escape hatch—she could no longer lose herself in a casino.
If she had believed it at all possible, Leslie might have believed she was falling in love with the enigmatic, confusing man whose bed she so very contentedly shared. But Leslie absolutely refused to so much as entertain the possibility of falling in love with Falcon. In Leslie’s oft-stated opinion, love was detrimental to a woman’s health and sanity. But she did enjoy being with him, in and out of bed!
Deep in introspection, Leslie didn’t hear the office door open, nor did she hear footsteps. Flint’s sharp, indrawn breath alerted her to his presence in the bedroom.
“Sleeping again?” his voice was pitched low so as not to disturb her if she had drifted off.
Leslie opened her eyes and caught her breath at the imposing sight he made. He was attired in a three-piece gray suit, but in spite of the conservative clothing, the thought occurred to Leslie that Falcon looked more like a high-priced, cold-eyed hit man than a high-powered executive. Denying that there were times Flint’s self-contained aloofness frightened her would have been pointless. Leslie knew instinctively that he possessed the power to hurt just about anyone he wanted to—her most of all. The knowledge instilled wary caution in Leslie.
“I thought you were going to work all afternoon?” she said, recalling his exact words and dismissive tone at breakfast. He’d told her to find her own amusement for the day, as he was planning to spend it in his office—which had been declared off limits to her from day one.
Flint didn’t respond, at least not verbally. A smile, blatant with sensuality, relieved the severity of his thin lips. His movements precise and economical, he began to undress. One dark eyebrow inched into an arc that silently urged her to follow his lead.
Leslie should have felt anger. She should have felt insulted. She laughed instead and moved to comply with his silent command for participation. “Don’t you ever get tired?” she asked, taking her time as she was already partially undressed, having stripped down to bra, panties and a half-slip on her return to the apartment.
Flint paused in the act of removing his shirt to slant a contemplative look at her. His shoulders and chest were exposed, revealing long, hard muscles and a patch of tightly curled black chest hair. Strangely, as Leslie had discovered to her surprise, the rest of Flint’s body was smooth and hairless except for a fine, silky down.
“Not often,” he said with absolute seriousness. “I have a lot of stamina and staying power.”
“I’ll say,” Leslie muttered, drawing one of his rare barks of laughter from him.
“I work at it,” he added, tossing his shirt aside.
“Really?” Leslie frowned. “When?”
Flint stepped out of his slacks and tossed them on top of his shirt before glancing at her. “Every morning, before you’re awake.” Perching on the side of the bed, he bent to remove his shoes.
Leslie was hard-pressed not to trail her fingers the curved length of his enticing spine. “But how? I mean, where do you work out and what do you do?” she asked, completely forgetting that she was supposed to be undressing.
“I run on the beach every morning.” Standing, Flint hooked his thumbs under the elastic waistband on his narrow briefs. “And I swim in the hotel pool,” he continued, drawing the briefs over his slim hips and down his taut thighs. As he bent to remove the shorts, his gaze swept her body, which was still clad in bra and panties. “I’m winning this race, Leslie.” The shorts landed on top of his piled clothing.
“There’s a need for speed?” Leslie asked
If she had believed it at all possible, Leslie might have believed she was falling in love with the enigmatic, confusing man whose bed she so very contentedly shared. But Leslie absolutely refused to so much as entertain the possibility of falling in love with Falcon. In Leslie’s oft-stated opinion, love was detrimental to a woman’s health and sanity. But she did enjoy being with him, in and out of bed!
Deep in introspection, Leslie didn’t hear the office door open, nor did she hear footsteps. Flint’s sharp, indrawn breath alerted her to his presence in the bedroom.
“Sleeping again?” his voice was pitched low so as not to disturb her if she had drifted off.
Leslie opened her eyes and caught her breath at the imposing sight he made. He was attired in a three-piece gray suit, but in spite of the conservative clothing, the thought occurred to Leslie that Falcon looked more like a high-priced, cold-eyed hit man than a high-powered executive. Denying that there were times Flint’s self-contained aloofness frightened her would have been pointless. Leslie knew instinctively that he possessed the power to hurt just about anyone he wanted to—her most of all. The knowledge instilled wary caution in Leslie.
“I thought you were going to work all afternoon?” she said, recalling his exact words and dismissive tone at breakfast. He’d told her to find her own amusement for the day, as he was planning to spend it in his office—which had been declared off limits to her from day one.
Flint didn’t respond, at least not verbally. A smile, blatant with sensuality, relieved the severity of his thin lips. His movements precise and economical, he began to undress. One dark eyebrow inched into an arc that silently urged her to follow his lead.
Leslie should have felt anger. She should have felt insulted. She laughed instead and moved to comply with his silent command for participation. “Don’t you ever get tired?” she asked, taking her time as she was already partially undressed, having stripped down to bra, panties and a half-slip on her return to the apartment.
Flint paused in the act of removing his shirt to slant a contemplative look at her. His shoulders and chest were exposed, revealing long, hard muscles and a patch of tightly curled black chest hair. Strangely, as Leslie had discovered to her surprise, the rest of Flint’s body was smooth and hairless except for a fine, silky down.
“Not often,” he said with absolute seriousness. “I have a lot of stamina and staying power.”
“I’ll say,” Leslie muttered, drawing one of his rare barks of laughter from him.
“I work at it,” he added, tossing his shirt aside.
“Really?” Leslie frowned. “When?”
Flint stepped out of his slacks and tossed them on top of his shirt before glancing at her. “Every morning, before you’re awake.” Perching on the side of the bed, he bent to remove his shoes.
Leslie was hard-pressed not to trail her fingers the curved length of his enticing spine. “But how? I mean, where do you work out and what do you do?” she asked, completely forgetting that she was supposed to be undressing.
“I run on the beach every morning.” Standing, Flint hooked his thumbs under the elastic waistband on his narrow briefs. “And I swim in the hotel pool,” he continued, drawing the briefs over his slim hips and down his taut thighs. As he bent to remove the shorts, his gaze swept her body, which was still clad in bra and panties. “I’m winning this race, Leslie.” The shorts landed on top of his piled clothing.
“There’s a need for speed?” Leslie asked
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