He cleared his throat and strained to focus down the hallway of treasures. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
“Just pick one.”
Distracted by her pink, curving lips, he stuck his hand out and pointed randomly.
“Oh, not that one,” she said. “That’s not really a collection preservation unit. It’s more of a work room and storage area for leftover junk from exhibitions and—”
“I don’t care,” he said, moving past her toward the door. He was fascinated by her work life. “Let’s have a look.” She trailed behind him. He opened the door. The room was pitch black.
“You can turn on the light. It’s to the right,” she said from behind him.
He flipped on a switch and started slightly in surprise. Eleanor snorted with laugher behind him at his reaction. He gave her a condemning glance over his shoulder.
“You were the one who barged in. You didn’t give me a chance to warn you,” she told him pointedly.
The vast room was almost entirely filled with hundreds of mannequins in various positions, some of them missing arms and heads, some just torsos lying on the floor. Seeing an army of mannequins suddenly pop out of the darkness had startled him.
“What are they for?” he asked, stepping into the large room.
“Costume displays,” she said. He heard the door shut behind them. “Some of these mannequins are more than a hundred years old and originate from the museum’s inception. I’m always telling Jimmy we could do an exhibit on the mannequins alone. Some of the faces on the old ones are exquisitely painted, and just the body size difference over the century is an interesting lesson on its own. Look at this one,” she said, walking over to a corner. He followed her and examined the vintage, but still intact figure she indicated. Unlike modern, featureless mannequins, this one had a beautifully rendered, painted female face that wore a vacuous, insipid expression.
“Wow. As a piece of art, it says a lot about the commercialization of women, not to mention what people of the time period thought of them, doesn’t it?” Trey murmured. He’d stopped close behind her. He dipped his head, catching the scent of her hair—fresh and citrusy—and swayed closer for another inhale. “So what does it say that all your modern ones have no face at all?” he asked distractedly.
“For my part, it says that I don’t want the face to interfere with the study of the costume.” She turned and started slightly, her big eyes jumping to his face. She hadn’t realized he’d stood so close. Her lips parted. He zeroed in on them like a target. “I . . . I want the mannequin to represent anyone and no one.”
“You’re very smart,” he said, dipping his head, drawn by her scent.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “So are you.”
“Even though you thought I was too shallow to appreciate what you do for a living?”
Her mouth trembled. “Trey, I don’t think you’re shallow. That’s ridiculous.”
“Then explain to me again why you didn’t tell me what your real job is?”
“Because it’s boring,” she said in a burst of frustration. “And you’re the opposite of that. You’re dynamic, and worldly, and sophisticated. You regularly hang out with celebrities and talented artists. And I’m happy being down here in the dark, hunchbacked and squinting at some dusty, century-old photographs, or deciphering the scribbles in a book, or conserving some ancient pantaloons, for God’s sake. I’m—”
“Adorable,” he said, stepping forward and taking her into his arms. She halted, looking startled. “You’re adorable,” he repeated, his hard glance daring her to deny it. “And sexy as hell.” Unable to stand it any longer, he dipped his knees and dropped a kiss on her succulent, parted lips. He tilted his head and pierced her mouth with his tongue. She moaned softly, her tongue tangling with his. He opened his hands on her, feeling her slender waist and curving hips. A groan vibrated his throat. God, she felt good.
And her taste . . . every time, he was freshly amazed at it. It was like his brain wasn’t capable of storing completely how delicious she was. Memory paled in comparison to the real thing.
She pressed closer to him, her hands moving anxiously at his waist and back. Their kiss grew wild and deep. He could feel her breasts crushing against his ribs. He slipped his hands beneath the big, drab sweater she was wearing. If it were possible, her librarian look turned him on more than her chic, sophisticated outfits and stripper costumes did. All he could think about was what was underneath the dull, shapeless fabric, the warm, soft flesh and smooth naked skin. Her dress was relatively thin. He traced her svelte curves, feeling her heat. Blood rushed to his groin. He felt himself go heavy and hard in seconds. She must have felt it too, because she whimpered and circled her hips, stroking him with her body. He inhaled sharply and broke their kiss with effort.
“Jesus. You get me there so fast,” he breathed out against her parted lips.
“I could say the same of you,” she whispered, panting. She glided her hand down his chest and belly. His breathing halted when she cupped his cock and began moving her hand up and down the swollen shaft. He hissed and grabbed her wrist. He started to tell her to get ahold of herself, but then he saw the heat in her big, glistening eyes.
Little witch.
“Does that door have an inside lock?” he asked her tensely.
“It’s the only one that does.”
His eyebrows went up. “I really did pick the treasure room,” he muttered before he went to fasten the lock.
—
By the time he returned to her, her breathing had turned choppy with excitement. Some little voice inside her told her that she was crazy for fooling around at her job, but it felt mandatory. And in truth, almost the entire staff was gone for the day. The risk was minimal. No one really came down here on a regular basis except her small staff, and they all worked during regular museum hours.