Page 54 of Entranced
“Um-hmm.” He set the bowl down and picked up a book. “The Psychic Handbook?”
“Research,” she said, and scowled. “I got it out of the library a couple of weeks ago.”
“What did you think?”
“I think it has very little to do with you.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” He set it aside again. “This room has very much to do with you. Just as that streamlined office out there does. Your mind is very disciplined, like your file cabinet.”
She wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or not, but she recognized the look in his eye. “Look, Donovan …”
“But your emotions,” he continued, moving toward her, “are very chaotic, very colorful.”
She batted his hand away when he toyed with her pearls. “I’m trying to have a professional conversation.”
“You closed up shop for the day. Remember?”
“I don’t have regular hours.”
“Neither do I.” He flipped open a button of her suit jacket. “I’ve been thinking about making love with you ever since I finished making love with you this morning.”
Her skin was going hot, and she knew her attempts to stop him from undoing her jacket were halfhearted at best. “You must not have enough on your mind.”
“Oh, you’re quite enough. I have started on some arrangements that should please you. Professionally.”
She turned her head just in time to avoid his mouth. “What arrangements?”
“A long conversation with Agent Devereaux and his superior.”
Her eyes flew open again as she struggled away from his hands. “When? What did they say?”
“You could say the stew’s simmering. It’ll take a couple of days. You’ll have to be patient.”
“I want to talk to him myself. I think he should—”
“You’ll have your shot at him tomorrow. The next day, at the latest.” He drew her hands behind her back, handcuffing her wrists with his fingers. “What’s going to happen will happen soon enough. I know the when, I know the where.”
“Then—”
“Tonight, it’s just you and me.”
“Tell me—”
“I’m going to show you,” he murmured. “Show you just how easy it is to think of nothing else, to feel nothing else. To want nothing else.” With his eyes on hers, he teased her mouth. “I wasn’t gentle with you before.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I don’t regret it.” He nipped lightly at her lower lip, then soothed the small pain with his tongue. “It’s just that seeing you tonight, in your quiet little suit, makes me want to treat you like a lady. Until it drives youcrazy.”
Her laugh was breathless as his tongue danced up her throat. “I think you already are.”
“I haven’t even started.”
With his free hand, he nudged the jacket from her shoulder. She wore a sheer pastel blouse underneath that made him think of summer teas and formal garden parties. While his mouth roamed over her face and throat, he traced his fingers over the sheer cloth and the lace beneath.
Her body was already quivering. She thought it ridiculous that he held her arms captive, that she allowed it. But there was a dreamy excitement at having him touch her this way, slowly, experimentally, thoroughly.
She felt his breath against her flesh as he opened her blouse, and the moist warmth of his tongue cruising over the tops of her breast just above, then just beneath, the chemise. She knew she was still standing, her feet on the floor, her legs pressed back against the bed, but it felt like floating. Floating, while he lazily savored her as if she were a banquet to be sampled at his whim.
