His slight frown told her he didn’t like that last bit, but she was trying to be practical. Cade couldn’t be shuttled off to friends and neighbors all the time, and Gil didn’t want to parade his love life in front of his son. Any way you looked at it, tonight’s encounter was not likely to be repeated.
Gil strode toward the bed and set her on her feet. He held her hands, his expression unreadable. “I’ve watched you for weeks,” he murmured. “And even when I told myself you were an officious pain in the ass, I knew in my heart that I wanted you.”
“All I saw was the disapproval,” she confessed. “It hurt that you thought so little of me. And you seemed angry all the time.”
“A defense,” he said simply. “I hoped you would leave and I could forget the way your hair shines with fire in the sunlight or the way your long legs carry you across a crowded street.”
Bailey’s heart fluttered. Poetry from the man who was pragmatic and straightforward. He didn’t dress it up or spout it effusively, thus making the quiet, sincere words all the more powerful.
She swallowed. “I had no idea.”
“You weren’t supposed to. I’ve done my damnedest to stay away from you. But when you called me about access to the club, I knew I was a goner.” His smile was lopsided. “A man can only have so much self-control, and you tested mine to the limit. Turns out, I’m not as strong as I thought.”
“I wish I could tell you I’m sorry about that, but I’m not. I’ve had an embarrassing crush on you since we first met.”
“Nice to know.” He grinned, the flash of white teeth literally taking her breath away. Gil bore great responsibilities and had a serious streak a mile wide. But this man, this lighthearted, teasing man, looked younger and happier than she had ever seen him.
She tugged her hands free and punched him in the arm. “You have to know that every woman in town thinks you’re a hottie.”
His smile faded, replaced by a searing look in his deep brown eyes that made her toes curl. “The only woman whose opinion interests me is you, Bailey.” He curled an arm around her waist and dragged her closer. “But I think I’m done talking.”
Wild elation streaked through her veins. His arms were hard and strong, binding her without mercy. She kissed him recklessly, clumsily, as if somewhere a clock counted down the seconds they could be together. The air in the room was charged.
“Take off your boots,” she demanded. Her fuddled brain knew the priceless antique quilt on Gil’s bed shouldn’t be damaged. He released her only long enough to obey, toeing off each one and facing her in his sock feet.
He should have looked more vulnerable, less of a threat. But somehow that wasn’t the case. “Any other orders?” he asked, the words mild despite his hot, determined expression.
She nodded slowly. “Now the belt.”
Like the boots, the belt was constructed of expensive hand-tooled leather. Gil unfastened the buckle and made a production of sliding the length of cowhide through each loop. When it was free, he coiled it and tossed it on a chair. His jaw flexed. His chest rose and fell rapidly with each labored breath. “Whatever you want, Bailey.”
The way he looked at her made her body go lax with arousal, even as her hands fisted helplessly at her sides. Her thighs pressed together. Where her body prepared for his, she was damp and ready. She had known sexual desire in the past, but never this writhing hunger that turned her insides into an ache that consumed her.
Paralyzed suddenly by the knowledge that she wasn’t really a femme fatale, she fell silent.
Gil seemed to read her hesitation. “You were on a roll,” he muttered. “Don’t stop now.”
Apparently her bent for bossiness entertained him. She shifted from one foot to the other, realizing suddenly that her clothes were far too tight, much too hot. “The shirt,” she said. “Unbutton it slowly.”
Eight
She had created a monster. Straitlaced Gil Addison showed a definite talent for stripping. If he had loosened his shirt buttons any more slowly, Bailey might have lost it and ripped the fabric apart with her two hands. But she had asked and he had answered, so all she could do was watch as he tormented her.
When the shirt hung open, he stopped. She hadn’t requested that he take it off, and he was obeying the letter of the law. His silence rattled her. What was he thinking? The uncertainty dried up any further desire to script this encounter. Her momentary lead in the dance no longer appealed.
They were separated by a distance of only three or four feet. Close enough for her to see the shadow of late-day stubble on his chin. The evidence of his masculinity underlined the differences between them. Bailey knew how to use a weapon and could even bring most men down using her training in martial arts.