Southern Spirits by Edie Bingham Page A

won’t take any chances.’
    He smiled and, for a moment, she expected him to say something insulting. He wouldn’t have been the first person outside of New Orleans to do that. Instead, he surprised her with, ‘I said something similar once. My mother wanted me to be a priest, but the thought of saying prayers to saints and stuff with no guarantee of delivery seemed like such a scam. Why do you think you were invited to accompany us?’
    When his eyes fixed on hers, Val swallowed, felt dizzy. She hated her body. Hated how it reacted to a man her mind saw as an enemy, even as she realised how it could make her intentions less unpalatable. Slipping on a mask of nonchalance, of flirtatiousness, she smiled. ‘I think we both know.’
    â€˜Humour me; I prefer the direct approach.’ He loosened the knot on his burgundy silk tie, smiling as he watched Val’s eyes follow.
    â€˜So do I. I think we’re much alike, Mister –’
    He held up a hand, cutting her off gently. ‘Call me Mickey. I think we need to be on a first-name basis.’
    Val drew closer, one hand idly rising to play with some rebellious strands of hair near her right ear. ‘Mickey. As I was saying, I think we’re much alike.’
    â€˜In some ways.’ Now he rose to his feet, standing a head taller than her, close but not too close – yet. ‘Though I bet ifI stripped you to the skin I could find some interesting differences.’
    â€˜I’d . . . I’d certainly hope so.’ Val felt a shiver of excitement run through her at his words, his proximity, the heady scent of his cologne. She worked up the courage to reach out, as if genuinely interested in adjusting his tie. ‘You should be careful. I might hold you to that.’
    Mickey smiled again, with that mixture of amusement and desire that seemed to come so easily to him. ‘Being careful isn’t one of my stronger suits. And what makes you think I might be interested in . . . being held?’
    Val pursed her lips as if in thought rather than in anticipation of a kiss. ‘The looks you’ve been giving me since you first came to the club. The looks you’re giving me now.’
    Mickey’s expression never wavered as he drew in closer. ‘Tell me more about these looks.’
    Val swallowed, finding this equally more difficult and easy than she’d expected, her anxiety and arousal keeping her off guard. The room felt almost uncomfortably warm despite the cold weather outside, but she pressed on. She had him. She had him now. ‘The looks of a man that wants to fuck me.’ She swallowed; just hearing herself say That Word was arousing.
    Mickey chuckled. ‘You should be careful, such brashness could get that sweet little ass of yours smacked.’
    Val smiled back, the heat in her groin flaring up as if in response to her embarrassment at using such language. ‘I thought you said you preferred the direct approach?’
    â€˜I do.’ He reached up, touched her face with his fingertips, making her shiver. His touch drew across her lips, before descending to the soft downy skin of her throat, threatening to continue down into her cleavage. ‘And so, to be direct: turn around.’
    Val started, the frisson of desire that had already ignitedwithin her now sparking and spreading to the rest of her body, forcing her to turn in place until she faced away from him, staring at some old sepia photograph of a steam train on the wall. ‘L– Like this?’
    â€˜Bend forwards.’
    She paused, leant forwards over a table until her breasts touched the smooth, polished wooden surface, followed by her charm, and she was resting almost totally on her elbows, her hair draping either side of her face. She heard Mickey move closely behind her, his voice touched her like his hands. ‘Are you a virgin?’
    â€˜Does that matter –’ Then she yelped at the hand that