Her Man Friday by Elizabeth Bevarly

imaginary bed. And Lily was absolutely certain she'd
never
seen herself smiling quite like that before.
    "I'm so glad you could stay for, um… dinner," she said, stumbling over the last word.
    Even across the expanse of the dining room, she saw his smile turn sexy, and she wondered if he'd guessed what she'd been thinking about. "I wouldn't miss um-dinner for the world," he told her, his voice laced with an unmistakable intent.
    Oh, dear. Evidently he
had
guessed what she'd been thinking about. Well, some of it, anyway. She doubted he could have figured out that part where the two of them had been coiled around each other, doing something she'd always wanted to try, but had never had the nerve to even—
    "The others should be along shortly," she hurried on, battling with questionable success the heat that was fast creeping up from her belly to her breasts and all points beyond. "Whenever Mr. Kimball is in residence, we always dine at precisely seven o'clock."
    Mr. Freiberger took a few idle steps forward, the soft scuffing of his shoes on the hardwood floor the only sound in the otherwise silent room. "And when Mr. Kimball isn't in residence?" he asked. "Whatever do you do then, Miss Rigby?"
    Just how the man made the question sound sexually charged, Lily couldn't have said, but somehow, it came across as exactly that. Mr. Freiberger seemed to be suggesting that Schuyler performed a service for her that gave the designation of
social secretary
a whole new meaning. It was that spark of something speculative in his eyes, she finally decided, a speculation that overflowed into the even timbre of his voice.
    Ever since he had shown up on Ashling's doorstep, Mr. Freiberger had played fast and loose with Lily's libido, and she couldn't for the life of her figure out why. Oh, certainly, beneath all that
Goodbye, Mr. Chips
bookishness, there was an odd kind of sexual heat burning and churning, but still. The man was a bookkeeper, a very small cog in the very large machine that was Kimball Technologies. No one of Leonard Freiberger's capacity should exude such an air of authority and command. Nor should he be able to rev up her motor with a simple look. But her motor had most definitely been revved. And she couldn't help but wonder just what Mr. Freiberger planned to do once he got under her hood.
    "I beg your pardon?" she said, cursing herself for the faintness and uncertainty she heard in her voice. "What did you mean by that?"
    He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, then lifted his shoulders and let them fall in a shrug that was nowhere near casual. Because his gaze remained firmly fixed on Lily's face—or, more specifically, on Lily's mouth—and his eyes were lit with a dark and intriguing fire. "What do you mean, what did I mean?" he asked, a naughty—and very knowing—little smile dancing about his lips.
    She opened her mouth to respond with something flirty and fun that she would doubtless later wish she hadn't said—mainly because she didn't have time for flirty and fun these days, no matter what her treacherous libido seemed to think. And even if she
did
have time, she was in no position, thank you very much, to take on someone of Mr. Freiberger's evident… um… prowess. But she was spared the response because Janey Kimball chose that moment to flutter in with her mother in tow—something that prevented her from saying much of anything at all. Because Janey, God help them all, was clearly in a snit.
    Lily supposed that if she tried very, very hard, and was very, very patient, she might someday be able to convince Schuyler's sister that the earth and moon and stars in fact did
not
revolve around Janey Kimball. But really, what was the point? To dissuade the woman of such notions would only make her that much more irritable—and, therefore, more irritating—and why unleash such a creature on an unsuspecting public?
    "Janey," Lily said when the other woman breezed past her without so much as a nod of