With a hand at her ankle, he said, "Lift."
She did, and he slipped both her matching red heel and the stockings off her foot.
"Lift," he said again, repeating the motion on her other ankle, leaving her standing in the middle of the room in nothing but her bra and panties.
Thank goodness she'd taken as much care choosing those as she had her dress and shoes. She'd had absolutely no notion and no intention of letting him get so much of a glimpse of her underthings, but now she was infinitely relieved that she'd made a point of wearing a brand-new matching set. A strapless red demi-bra with scalloped lace edging and lacey, boy-cut panties that covered more than enough in the front, but left half moons of bare flesh visible from the back.
From his position on the floor, Marc must have noticed the peekaboo style of the underwear, because he lifted his head and shot her a grin that could only be described as wolfish.
"Lovely," he murmured, his hands cupping the backs of her calves, then her knees, then her thighs until her thighs quivered and she wasn't sure she could remain upright much longer.
Her tongue darted out, licking dry lips. "Mothers always tell their children to wear nice underwear, just in case," she managed in a shaky voice. "Now I know why."
Marc chuckled. A low, sexy sound that beat at her insides like tiny orange flames.
"These are better than nice," he told her, cupping her bottom and pressing a kiss to the bare skin of her belly, just below her navel. "But I'm pretty sure this isn't the kind of 'just in case' they're talking about."
A noise rolled up her throat that was meant to be a laugh. It came out more of a strangled hiss.
"But you like them, right? Better than plain white cotton?"
Kissing a line up the center of her torso, he climbed slowly to his feet. "Better than white cotton," he agreed. Then when he got to her mouth, he added, "But I don't really care, since you won't be wearing them much longer."
Reaching around her back, he unhooked her bra in one quick, deft movement. Only the last-minute crossing of her arms kept the garment from falling away completely.
"Now take them off. Both of them."
The gruff order sent her stomach flip-flopping and brought goose bumps to every inch of her exposed flesh. Which, considering her state of undress, was a considerable amount.
Despite the desire coursing through her veins, however, she suddenly felt awkward and exposed. She'd come this far, even knowing it was a colossal mistake.
It wasn't wise to be alone in the same room with Marc fully clothed, let alone do what they were doing. But being with him again brought back so many incredible memories and sensory perceptions that she'd thought she would never experience again. So she'd thrown up a thick, tall wall in her brain to keep right from wrong apart. And another between her brain and her heart to keep them from playing tug-of-war while she was enjoying Marc's kisses and touch. Now here she stood, half-naked, her ex-husband telling her to drop the two tiny bits of lace and fabric that kept her from being totally naked, and her nerves were calling foul.
For a brief moment, she considered jumping back into her dress and running for the hills. But that nice, thick wall was still firmly in place, leaving just enough want to overshadow future regrets.
What she needed, she realized, was a more level playing field.
Arms still crossed over her brea**sts to hold her bra in place, she stepped back. Just one small step away from him.
"Not yet," she told him, the words coming out more confidently than she felt.
He arched one dark brow and the message in his eyes clearly telegraphed that if she tried to cut and run, he would chase after her.
But she had no intention of running, only of evening things out a bit so that she wasn't the only one suffering a chill from the hotel's drafty old windows.
"You're overdressed," she pointed out. "So you first."
His right brow rose to meet the left and a muscle began to twitch along his jaw. Lifting his arms to waist height, he unbuttoned one cuff, then the other. With a roll of his broad shoulders, he shrugged out of the shirt completely, letting the pristine white material float to the floor behind him.
Vanessa swallowed. Making him strip down to next to nothing had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that his chest was bare, she wasn't so sure. The very sight of that flat stomach and those tight pectorals had her mouth going desert dry and her heartbeat fluttering in her throat like the wings of a butterfly.
Without giving her time to regroup or even brace herself for more, he moved his hands to the front of his slacks and slowly lowered the zipper. Kicking off his shoes, he let the pants drop and stepped away from the entire pile-away from the clothes and one step closer to her.
"Better?" he asked, barely a foot of space separating them while the corners of his mouth curved in predatory amusement.
Not better. Definitely not better. If possible, it was worse. Because now, in addition to feeling anxious and exposed, she was also feeling extremely overwhelmed.
How could she have forgotten what this man looked like naked? Or nearly naked, at any rate.
There were male models out there being used for Calvin Klein and Abercrombie & Fitch ad campaigns who couldn't hold a candle to a fully dressed Marc. Undressed, in only his underwear, he blew them out of the water.
Out of his underwear … well, out of his underwear, he could blow water out of the water. No one would ever ask him to be a spokesperson for designer clothing or cologne, though, because putting him on billboards would cause women everywhere to swoon on the spot. They would cause traffic accidents and hit their heads on the pavement, and those were just lawsuits waiting to happen.
When they'd been married, Marc's good looks had amused her. The fact that he turned heads and invited so much female attention hadn't bothered her in the least, because she knew that at the end of the day, he was all hers. Other women could look, but she was the only one who got to touch.
They'd been divorced for over a year, though. How many other women had gotten to touch him in that time? How many heads had he turned who'd also managed to turn his?
As though sensing the direction of her thoughts, he lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. "Cold feet?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head in denial, but inside she was thinking, Cold everything.
She'd left him, been the one to initiate the divorce in the first place, but even so, she didn't want to think about him being with other women. It left her more than cold; it left her shaken.
Closing the space between them, he carefully pried her arms away from her breasts, but used his own chest to hold the bra in place. He ran his hands down the insides of her arms, then linked their fingers together. Just the way he used to, the way that used to make her feel so close to him, so cherished.
Pressing his lips to hers, he whispered, "Let me warm you up." Then he kissed her and started backing her slowly toward the bed.
The backs of her thighs hit the edge of the mattress and she toppled over, but Marc followed her down, so smoothly, it felt almost choreographed. The movement finally dislodged her bra and he grabbed it by one of the cups, tossing it aside.
His chest pressed her brea**sts flat and abraded the tight peaks of her nipples. She moaned, wrapping her arms around his shoulders while he kissed all but about three functioning brain cells straight out of her head.
Shifting his hands to her hips, he hooked his thumbs into the waist of her panties and dragged them down. He lifted her just enough to slip them off, then quickly shed his own.
They were both blessedly naked, pressed together like layers of cellophane. Insecurities threatened to surface again, reminding her that it had been months upon months since they'd been together … that she'd gone through a pregnancy and childbirth since then … that she'd spent her first trimester in a deep depression over the breakup of her marriage and the prospect of being a single mother-and therefore had spent a good deal of time in bed with cartons of ice cream and cookie dough that never quite made it into the oven.