“No,” she assured him. “Not at you.”
She could have explained that she was laughing at both of them—for being such an oddly mismatched pair, for being drawn together despite their obvious differences. Or maybe at herself, for falling prey to the old fairy tales and fantasies, for casting herself as Cinderella for even this one night. But she kept quiet.
This wasn’t a time for words.
She lifted her face to his. “Kiss me, Andrew.”
He seemed to fight an inner battle that lasted perhaps a full minute. And then he lowered his head to hers and kissed her with a fierce hunger that nearly melted her kneecaps.
“I wasn’t going to do this,” he muttered against her lips, though he didn’t release her. “I didn’t want you to think this was the only reason I asked you here tonight.”
She didn’t want to talk about why he’d asked her. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “I want this, too.”
Whatever the outcome, she had wanted him since he’d kissed her at midnight and something deep inside her had acknowledged her fate.
He took her completely unaware when he suddenly bent his knees, scooped her up into his arms and lifted her high against his chest. And then he turned and strode through the open bedroom door, carrying her as effortlessly as if she were a child.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked at him in wonder. He still looked serious and stern and formal, but there was a rather primitively possessive glitter in his pale eyes as he carried her to his bed.
And this, she thought dazedly, was exactly why she couldn’t seem to resist him. Every once in a while, he simply took her breath away.
He carried her through a sitting room and into an enormous, masculinely furnished bedroom where a bedside lamp glowed softly in readiness for them. The covers on the king-size bed had been turned back, and the heavy, dark curtains were drawn. Would his thoughtful and efficient housekeeper be surprised to find that he hadn’t come home alone? Or was this something he did frequently?
Andrew set her on her feet beside the bed, his gaze locked with hers. “Tell me now if you want to change your mind,” he said, his voice a bit gravelly.
“No,” she replied evenly. “But first I want you to know that, whatever you might think of me, this isn’t something I do often. Or lightly.”
What might have been satisfaction flashed through his eyes, and then he smiled faintly and cupped her face in his hands. “Neither do I.”
She searched his face and recognized the truth in his words. She should have already known, she realized. Andrew was too much in control to act on impulse very often.
His romantic encounters would be as carefully planned and executed as his business decisions. He wouldn’t often take risks, or behave rashly. He was acting out of character now as surely as he had when he’d entered the noisy dance club. When he’d rescued the dirty stray, and then disarmed a young robber. When he’d tramped through the woods and over fences to drink home-brewed liquor with an eccentric old recluse.
And, though she couldn’t help wondering how he would feel about everything—how he would feel about her—later, after he’d had time to sleep and recoup, she wanted him to remember at least part of the evening
with nothing but pleasure.
She placed her hands over his and smiled up at him. “Have I mentioned that you have beautiful eyes?” she asked whimsically.
“Thank you,” he said, typically grave about it.
She couldn’t help laughing at his formal courtesy, even under these intimate circumstances. “Well?” she prodded. “Aren’t you going to say something nice in return?”
“I’m trying to think of the words to tell you how beautiful you are to me,” he answered simply. “I saw you across the ballroom this evening and I was ... stunned. I knew then that I had to meet you. That I wanted you.”
Once again, he’d rendered her speechless. She felt her eyes go damp and misty, her throat tighten. “Oh, Andrew,” she whispered. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Abandoning the last of her doubts, she threw her arms around his neck and lifted her mouth to his.
Andrew pulled her tightly against him, kissing her as though he needed her more than his next breath. His intensity was one of the things she found particularly endearing; his thoroughness something she especially admired. She suspected that he would make love as competently and painstakingly as he did everything else. She was growing more impatient by the moment to find out.
He slid his hands slowly, savoringly, down her sides, shaping her curves. His hands lingered at her hips, then traveled slowly around to cup her bottom. She pressed closer against him, reveling in his warmth, his strength, his blatant arousal.
Carefully, he lowered the zipper on her short black dress, his fingertips tracing her spine as he bared it. She shivered with pleasure and kissed his jaw, then the slight cleft in his chin. He slid the dress off her shoulders and let it fall.
She had worn a strapless black bra, black bikini panties and dark panty hose beneath the garment. Panty hose weren’t the most flattering underclothing, she thought with rueful humor, but the dress had been too short for garters or thigh-high stockings. She smiled at him and kicked off her shoes, then proceeded to show him how quickly a woman could peel off a pair of panty hose.
She found herself flat on her back on the bed almost before she’d tossed the flimsy hosiery aside. Laughing and breathless, she watched in admiration as Andrew made short work of his sadly tattered tuxedo, revealing a firm, muscular body that was every inch as perfect as she’d envisioned. Karate had proven to be a most practical form of exercise for Andrew, she thought approvingly. And then she pulled him to her.