Molly by Peggy Webb Page A

specific, Molly. I’m new
at this.”
    Darn his wretched hide, she thought. He was
deliberately making this as difficult for her as possible.
    She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.
“The bed.”
    “You’ll have to speak up. I didn’t quite
catch that.”
    “I said
...the bed.”
    The words echoed around the room like a
cannon shot. Samuel stifled his laughter.
    “That’s what I thought you said.” He started
nonchalantly toward the bed, and then, as if it were an
afterthought, he reached for her hand. “You might as well come,
too, since this was your idea.”
    Anger was beginning to take the place of
uncertainty. Molly had never seen a more arrogant man in her entire
life. He deserved everything she planned to do to him.
    “I’ll be glad to, but it would be so much
nicer if you would carry me.”
    Her sudden courage intrigued him. And he
began to have his suspicions that this was more than a
seduction.
    “I’m happy to oblige, my dear.” He swept her
into his arms and deliberately pulled her hard against his chest.
The move forced her head onto his shoulder. “Comfortable,
Venus?”
    “Very.”
    He smiled. “You’re sure you want to do
this?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “That’s what I love. A willing woman.”
    He strode toward the bed and lowered her to
the mattress. She made a move to sit up, but he was faster.
Catching her wrists, he brought them over her head and held her
down. With one knee propped on the bed, he leaned close.
    “Changed your mind already, my sweet?”
    “No,” she whispered. “Have you?”
    He held her down a moment longer, studying
her.
    “You were made to grace a man’s bed, Molly.”
Abruptly he released her.
    Molly lay back against the pillows and placed
her hands over her hammering heart.
    He lifted one of her hands to his lips.
    “Feeling shy? Perhaps I can help you.” He
turned her hand over and planted a lingering kiss in her palm.
    When she could trust herself to speak, she
pulled her hand away. “I don’t need any help.”
    She sat up and smoothed her tumbled hair.
They faced each other on the bed like two jungle cats.
    “Why don’t you...” She hated the way she
sounded, all whispery and uncertain. She cleared her throat. “Why
don’t you lie back on the pillows?”
    He obliged, grinning. “You like to be on top,
Molly? You keep surprising me.”
    Even lying down, he still looked as if he
were capable of doing battle with Goliath. And his skin! It was
slick and bronze and delicious and dangerous. She’d have to touch
him soon or abandon her game.
    Leaning down so that her hair shielded her
face, she stilled her trembling hands and ran them over his chest.
She heard his sharp intake of breath. So far, so good. Still
keeping her curtain of hair between them, she slid her hands into
the waistband of his gym shorts. He offered no resistance as she
lowered them down his legs.
    She tried not to look, but her eyes kept
straying in that direction. Her effect on him was painfully
obvious. She bit her lip and tossed his gym shorts onto the
chair.
    “Your hands are soft.”
    She jumped at the sound of his voice. Her
head swung around, and she stared at him. He was no longer
laughing. A muscle pulsed in his tightened jaw, and his eyes were
as dark and deep as the pits of hell.
    “A model has to take care of all parts of her
body, including her hands.”
    “Is the rest of your body as soft as your
hands?”
    She couldn’t speak.
    “I could find out.” He made a move to
rise.
    “Don’t.”
    “It’s your game, Venus.”
    He was making it easy—too easy. But she
didn’t question her good fortune. All she wanted to do now was
finish her work and get out of his bedroom.
    Moving quickly, she reached into a pocket of
her skirt and pulled out two lengths of red silk ribbon. She took
one of his hands and lashed it to one of the bedposts.
    “Intriguing, my dear.”
    Biting her lip, she leaned over him and tied
his other hand to the opposite bedpost.
    The sound