Samantha handed Rick a mint-green camisole with delicate straps for the standing blonde and she dressed the lounging woman in a butter-cream satin teddy. Finished, she reached for the third outfit and stopped short. “Oh.”
“What’s wrong?” Rick said, looking down at her.
She stood, holding the teddy. “I have this same one.”
“Yeah?” He moved closer.
“I wore it for my first bedroom shot.” She fingered the shimmery fabric with both hands.
“Your first shot? And it was of you?”
She nodded. “It was for my boyfriend Barry. We were taking each other for granted, so I thought…why not?”
She’d thought all they’d needed was to relight the spark, so Val had helped her gather an outfit and she’d intended to march into the bedroom wearing it. In the end, taking a photo to show him had made her feel less vulnerable. Which should have been a clue to the outcome, but she hadn’t been ready for the truth.
“How did it turn out?” Rick asked softly.
The story was embarrassing, but it had been a turning point in her life. Something about Rick’s gaze—as if nothing in the world mattered more than what she had to say—made her want to tell him.
“The photo turned out great.” In it, she lay on her side, one leg bent, lace garters and white fishnets showing, her auburn curls cupping her cheeks, a white feather boa teasing her jaw and her breasts swelling out of the gleaming teddy. She’d been so excited by how she looked, couldn’t wait to show Barry, to read the pleasure in his face.
“I can imagine.” Rick’s words sent a wild thrill through her. He was picturing her in the teddy she was holding by its straps. His Adam’s apple dipped in a slow, painful-looking swallow. “Did your boyfriend like it?” he asked hoarsely.
“He thought it was a joke.” The old hurt filled her heart. “He said, ‘It’s not you, Sam.’ But it was. At least the me I wanted to be.” Still wanted to be.
“The man was an idiot,” Rick said, shifting his body closer, as if he thought he could shield her from the memory.
“I was the idiot. I settled for Barry for too long.” Right after that incident, she’d broken up with him and decided to go for what she wanted from then on.
The emerald heat was back in Rick’s eyes and his breathing was rough and tight and he stood so close. That control she’d seen before had been burned away. He wanted her. She wanted him.
Go for it, girl.
They were alone in the window, surrounded by women in lingerie, who seemed to invite her to take action. Beyond them, the security lights in the Mirror, Mirror lobby glowed golden. Do it. Do it now.
So what if Rick worked for her? They could deal with that. The minute she’d seen him she’d known he was her fantasy lover. Everything in her was telling her to go, go, go.
She wasn’t going to wait for what she wanted any longer, dammit. Taking a shaky breath, she dropped the teddy between them, rose on tiptoe and pressed her lips to Rick’s.
He froze, shaking with intensity, then grabbed her upper arms and kissed her hard, angling his mouth to get closer. Their tongues met and stilled, as if surprised at how easy it had been to get what they wanted. Rick tasted of mint and man, and he used the exact right pressure—hinting at hot urgency, but not overwhelming her—as he deepened the kiss.
This is it. What I want.
Heat rose, energy crackled and her body went liquid so that it was only Rick’s firm grip on her forearms that kept her from sinking to the floor.
At the same time she wanted to rub herself against him like a wild animal in heat. She wanted clothes to disappear, Rick’s fingers to stroke and slide and coax and enter, his strong lips and hot tongue to seek her hot center and nuzzle and lick her to climax. She wanted the kiss to go on and on and on.
She wanted—
Rick ripped his mouth from hers and lifted her away from him, as if she presented some terrible temptation.
“What…?” Samantha wobbled, fighting for balance, and bumped into the lounging mannequin. Rick caught her before she tumbled out of the display and, in the process, knocked an arm off the blond mannequin. Flailing for balance, Samantha knocked down the other doll.
Rick steadied her, holding her at arm’s length, as if he feared she might spring at him. “I’m sorry I did that.”
“Don’t be sorry. And I was the one who started it. I know we work together, but we’re adults. We can handle this.”
“But I can’t.” The words were hard and sharp.
A throbbing silence hung between them until the truth struck her like a slap. “There’s someone else,” she said softly. “Isn’t there?”