Something Wild (24 page)

Gus shot her a frown from his place at the keyboard. Yes, yes, she knew she’d lost her concentration, knew she had a show to put on.

She wiggled her derriere, she kicked her leg up behind her, and she flashed the crowd an over-the-shoulder smile, giving them more than their money’s worth when she launched into “The Lady Is a Tramp.”

Then she concentrated on the package again, quickly ripping through the paper and staring down at tike pamphlet inside. “Jerry Wilson Tames the Beast: Obedience In a Week.”

Her teeth would have ground together if she hadn’t been warbling a song. She’d let Mike know what she thought, all right.

Obedience in a week!

Hah!

Charity marched through the lobby of the Luxor, purple silk flowing behind her and exposing one leg almost all the way to the purple silk thong she wore beneath. Curious eyes followed her as she plopped her battered leather backpack on the desk and asked for the number of Mike Flynn’s room.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, it’s hotel policy that I not give out that information.”

“Then, would you call him, please?” “It’s nearly three
a.m.
I’d hate to wake him.” Charity glared at the young woman. “Tell him Charity Wilde is here to see him, tell him I’d like to come up, and ask him for permission to give me his room number.”

“Maybe I should get the manager.” “Look, I’m not a hooker, I’m not a hitman, and I’m not a thief. He’s a friend. A good friend.”

The woman just stared at her.

Finally, Charity leaned close and whispered. “Okay, here’s the truth. Mike Flynn is hot, real hot. If you saw him, trust me, you’d want his room number too. And the fact that he’s so hot has made me very, very horny and I want to go up to his room and have mad, passionate, no-holds-barred sex.” Charity smiled and leaned even closer. “How do you think Mr. Flynn will feel when he learns that he missed out on the best sex of his life because you refused to tell him I was here?”

The desk clerk grinned, picked up the phone, dialed Mike’s room, and eventually gave Charity the number.

She headed for the elevator and punched the button for Mike’s floor. A few minutes later she stood in front of his room. She felt deceitful. The last thing Mike Flynn was going to get from her was no-holds-barred sex.

She banged her knuckles on the door, it flew open on the first knock, and she plowed right in, not giving Mike a chance to utter a word. She dropped the Jerry Wilson obedience-training pamphlet on the nightstand beside his disheveled bed. “
This
is the man you’re thinking about hiring?”

“Thought about it.”

“How could you? Obedience in a week? Is he a sadist or something? What does he use? Cattle prods?”

Mike’s brow rose. “Mind if I get dressed before you give me your honest opinion on the man’s methods?”

“Does my opinion even matter?”

“It’s the only opinion that matters to me—on this subject, at least.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you exactly what I think about your Mr. Wilson.”

Mike folded his arms across his chest—his naked chest—looking quite prepared to listen. Charity paced across the room so she wouldn’t have to look at him while she gave him a piece of her mind, but when she got to the big picture window she turned around and gawked at him anyway.

He was far better looking than the lights of Vegas and she was very glad she hadn’t given him permission to get dressed. She liked him exactly the way he was, wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms, that hung seductively low on his hips.

Her eyes flickered up from his navel to his eyes. He was grinning at her.
Darn it
! His grin, his smile, his near naked body always threw her for a loop.

“What was it you were going to tell me?” Mike asked, raising a cocky brow.

She clenched her fists. “Mr. Wilson’s methods are outdated and barbaric. If you want horses to laze around in a pasture keeping the grass short, fine, use his techniques. But don’t expect intelligence or spirit because he feels the only good horse is an obedient one, one that does anything and everything you want. Period!”

Mike relaxed in a chair, crossing an ankle over his knee. “So, how would
you
train Satan?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“Try me.”

“I’d make his corral bigger than the standard gentling corrals I’ve read about in all the books.”

“
All
the books?”

“Okay, I ordered some off of the Internet. I got some from the library, too. There’s a wealth of information out there. I even went to a wild horse and burro auction and I talked to a few people about their ways of gentling their animals.”

“And what did you think?”

“That there are a lot of good ideas, but sometimes you’ve got to do it your own way.”

“And what‘ s your way?”

“I’d sing to them.”

His blasted brow rose again. “
Sing
?”

“
Sing
! As crazy as it might sound to you, I’d plant myself in the middle of the corral and sing. Softly to start out with, then try out different styles—jazz, pop, torch—until I find just the right one, the one that will make each different horse come to me.”

“And then what?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not writing a book on my untried methods, and I won’t be trying them out for real, so there’s no need thinking any further than the first step.”

Mike shoved out of his chair, went to the honors bar, and took out a Coke. “Want one?”

“No, thanks.”

He popped the cap and took a sip, acting very nonchalant when she was having a fit. “Would you like a job singing to horses?”

“Are you laughing at me?”

“I’ve never been more serious. I didn’t like Jerry’s ways, either. He was a pompous ass with a bunch of broken-down nags in the corral. That’s not what I want for my place.”

“What do you want?”

“You.” He winked. “To work for me, that is. You’d make a hell of a trainer, Charity.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“I know it, because I see the fire in your eyes when you talk about the wild horses. There’s a passion in you I’ve never seen before, and it keeps growing stronger and stronger.”

His passion was growing stronger and stronger too, and she liked it very much.

“I watched you sit Satan. I saw the way he responded to you, Charity. It’s not natural. Wild horses don’t get close enough to be ridden, unless they’ve got a rope around them. It’s strange watching the two of you together, as if each of you know what the other’s thinking.”

“Two peas in a pod, huh?” She smiled, walked toward him, plucked the Coke from his hand, and set it on the nightstand. She swirled her fingers over the hair on his chest, tempted to go lower, but she held back. “Satan and I are just two wild creatures, aren’t we? We get under your skin, too, because neither one of us wants to be tamed.”

Fire blazed in his eyes. “I’ve got no desire to tame you, Charity.” He wrapped a well-muscled arm around her waist and tugged her against his sexy chest. “I love you just the way you are.”

She’d wanted to fight the love she felt for him, but she couldn’t any longer. His faith in her, his willingness to put up with her no matter what, excited her, drove her wild. She had passion all right, but that passion had more to do with him than any wild stallion.

Charity threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, her passion heartfelt and tangible, burning in its intensity. This was the sign Mike had been looking for. She loved him. She’d go with him. He was sure of it.

The question he’d contemplated asking all night long was on the tip of his tongue. He knew he should wait till he could ask over candlelight, wait till he had a ring, wait till he was dressed in something more than pajama bottoms, but he couldn’t hold back.

He tore his mouth away and cradled her face in his hands.

“Don’t stop kissing me,” she pleaded, her fingers splaying through his hair and tugging his mouth toward hers again.

“There’s something I want to ask you, Charity.”

“Later. Please. Just hold me. Kiss me.”

Her lips were sweet, soft, and wet, and he touched them again, nearly drowning in his need for her. Soon he’d take her passion to new heights, he’d teach her things he hoped she knew nothing about, because he wanted to surprise her, wanted to see the look of wonderment in her eyes. And he knew there’d be wonder in his eyes, too, because with Charity, life would always be a surprise.

Ask her, he told himself. Ask her.

“Charity?”

Her eyes were filled with longing when she allowed him to cup her cheeks and look into her face. “Hmmm?”

A cell phone rang. He tried to ignore it. Hoped Charity wouldn’t hear it. But it continued to ring and suddenly he saw a new excitement in her eyes.

“Oh, my God, Mike.” She pushed back. He tried to catch her hand, but she’d already run for her backpack. “No one ever calls on my cell phone.”

“It’s gotta be a wrong number.”

“No. It can’t be a wrong number. It’s got to be Duane. This is the number I gave his assistant.”

“It’s the middle of the night, Charity. No one makes business calls now.”

“Duane would.”

She pulled the phone from her backpack and lifted it to her ear. “Hello.”

She bit her lip, her brow furrowing as she stared at the floor. “Uh-huh.”

Did she have to torture him this way? Couldn’t she give him some hint of what was going on?

“I see ... Uh-huh ... Yes, that sounds good ... No, no, you didn’t wake me ...”

Mike walked to the window and looked out over the bright lights of Vegas. He was losing Charity to this world that was so different from his, a world he didn’t understand, a world he didn’t want to know. There’d be no more chance to go with the flow. The phone call, Charity’s wide, bright eyes, and the way he heard her say,

“Thanks, Duane,” told him any chance they had for happiness—together—was over.

Charity had been reaching for a star for a very long time. Unfortunately, the one she’d picked had blazed down from the sky and burned a hole right through Mike’s heart.

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In the window, amidst the sea of
colorful lights, Mike watched Charity come toward him. Alluring. Seductive. She slid warm hands around his arms and pressed a smoldering kiss between his shoulder blades. He wanted her as he’d wanted nothing else in his life, but he’d run out of ways to tempt her back to Wyoming. She’d made the decision to stay in Vegas—with her blasted star.

She slipped between him and the window, teasing him with the reflection of her long, rippling hair and her sleek, want-to-touch derriere. That vision, along with the deep, sweet, breast-revealing cut of her purple dress, urged him to do things he dared not do.

He fought to control his heartbeat and breathing, but she swirled an index finger through the hair on his chest and smiled beguiling up at him before enticing him with a lingering kiss at the base of his throat. He wanted more, but he held his arms to his sides, kept his fists clenched, battling her powers—what he should have done weeks back on a dark night out on the plains.

Hot lips glided up his neck, flowed over his chin, and found their home against his mouth. Her sweet breath feathered over his skin, and he almost gave into her, almost clasped her against him, but why? It was over.

And he was being as stubborn as they come. If this seductive display was meant as an apology for hurting him, it wasn’t working. A better man than him would have told her it was all right, that she’d made the right decision. But he didn’t feel all that understanding right now, and he wasn’t about to absolve her of any guilt.

Not even the way she traced his tight-lipped mouth with the tip of her tongue could sway him. “That was Duane,” she whispered against him— words that left him cold.

He looked past her, out the window at the lights. “I know.”

Pressing a palm to his cheek, she forced him to look at her, at the woman who was breaking his heart. “He offered me the lead role.”

His jaw clenched. “Congratulations.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t have to sound so happy about it!”

“I’m not the least bit happy about it. What do you want me to say? Goodbye? So long?”

“How about ‘I don’t want you to take the damn job, Charity?’”

“All right, I don’t want you to take the damn job. And while we’re at it, I want you in Wyoming—with me. I want you to gentle my horses. I want...” He plowed his hand through his hair, but she reached out for it, wove her fingers through his, and kissed his knuckles. Teasing. Tempting.

“That’s better.” She smiled up at him. “Now, wasn’t there a question you wanted to ask me before the phone rang?”

“Not that I can remember?”

She stomped her foot. “Damn it, Mike. Quit holding back. Quit controlling every single one of your emotions and ask your blasted question!”

“Fine! Marry me! Is that what you want to hear? Marry me, spend the rest of your life with me, make love with me morning, noon and night, and sing your heart out to every damn horse in the territory.”

He steeled himself for rejection, for the final kick in the gut. Charity teased him again, leaning forward, pressing her soft full breasts against his chest as she tilted her face up to his and kissed him.

“Okay.”

He frowned. Had she just said yes? Surely he’d heard her wrong, but on the off chance he hadn’t, he slid his hands around her waist and tugged her against him. “Did you say yes?”

Her smile was anything but sweet. It was the smile of a woman who’d teased and taunted until she’d gotten exactly what she wanted. “Of course, I did.” She wiggled out of his embrace while he was still trying to figure her out. She marched across the bedroom, grabbed her backpack, and headed for the door.

Sanity returned, and he was across the room in a few long paces, pulling her behind against his hips, stopping her retreat. He slid his hand over the warmth of her stomach, pressed his bristly cheek against her ear, and inhaled the spicy, exotic scent that wafted about her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Turning in his embrace, she glanced at the bedside clock and braced soft palms against his chest. “It’ll take me a couple of hours to find a gown, do my hair. Why don’t you pick me up at two and we’ll get a license.” He felt himself frowning, wondering what was going on in her head. “There shouldn’t be any trouble finding a place to get married, then”—she smiled—“we can come back here and make love.”

“You’re talking about getting married? Now? Today?”

“Exactly.”

“Isn’t that rushing things?”

Her palms slid down his chest, down, down, down, until her fingers toyed with the drawstring on his pajamas. “I don’t know,” she said teasingly. “What do you think? Should we wait? Six months? A year or two?”

“Maybe you’re right.” He swallowed hard. “A few hours should be a long enough engagement.”

“Then I’d better get going.”

“Not yet.” He curled his fingers beneath her chin, one of the only safe places he thought he could put his fingers right now. “What are we going to do about this new job of yours? If you think we’re going to have a long-distance marriage, you’re wrong.”

“I don’t want a long-distance marriage either.”

“But—”

“I was
offered
the job, Mike. I didn’t accept. How could I, when all I really want is”—she wrapped the drawstring around her index finger—“you?”

His brow quirked. “When did you come to that conclusion?”

“When I realized that my singing became more passionate when you walked into the room. When I realized that I’ve never liked strangers grabbing me, and that I was fed up with all their attempts. When I realized that smoky clubs aren’t good for my lungs and that I want to be able to sing forever.”

She took a deep breath and he tried to kiss her brazen lips, lips that would soon be his, all his, lips that would be in Wyoming where they belonged. But she drew back just a fraction of an inch. “There’s more. Wouldn’t you like to hear the rest?”

He chuckled, pressed her against the door, and balanced a hand on either side of her so she couldn’t escape before he got another taste of her mouth. “All right, go on.”

“I always loved the bright lights, Mike, but they’ve gotten dimmer with each passing year. Every once in awhile they’d glimmer, you know, when there’d be a chance at stardom, or when I’d get a great job in a chorus line. But the lights didn’t glimmer at all when Duane offered me the lead role in his show. I was so positive it would be the best moment of my life, but my heart didn’t flutter, I didn’t get all quivery inside—not like I do when you’re around. That’s when I realized, once and for all, that every light in Las Vegas would go out if... if you walked out of my life.”

It was a long piece of philosophy to get to the final result, but it ended right where he wanted it to. She loved him more than that blasted star.

At last he stole the kiss he desired, capturing Charity’s honey sweet mouth, her warm and passionate heart, and her wild and bewitching soul. He loved her. He’d love her forever.

“Dearly beloved. We are gathered here today ...” Mike barely heard the words. How could he hear anything when he was mesmerized by the bright and tear-filled eyes of the woman he was marrying, by the gaudiness of the chapel, by Reverend Darling, who was rapidly performing his deluxe, five-minute service, that came complete with a semifresh bouquet of pale pink roses, half a dozen Polaroid snapshots, and a pint-sized wedding cake with a token plastic kissing-couple figurine on top.

As tacky and as rushed as the wedding was, Charity beamed, and that made it all seem right. “Does anyone present know of any reason why these two should not be joined in wedlock?”

Except for Charity, there were only strangers in the chapel, and no one said a word.

But Mike’s conscience toyed with the question. He loved Charity with all his heart, but did she deserve to live with his nightmares night after night? Guilt haunted him, kept him from sleeping, and could easily tear them apart. Was it fair to marry her without telling her about that night six years ago, about the wife he’d loved—and let die?

Reverend Darling cleared his throat. “
Do
you take Charity to be your lawful wedded wife?”

Charity squeezed his hand and Mike realized he must have been too caught up in his thoughts, his fears, to hear the question the first time around.

He tilted his head from the reverend to Charity. Her hazel eyes sparkled and he saw in her face all those things he’d grown to cherish—deep, strong-willed passion; commitment and drive, no matter what the odds; and love that would see them through anything.

He kissed Charity tenderly, even though they weren’t yet man and wife. And then he pushed aside all that had tormented him in the past.

“I do.”

He’d been given a new chance at happiness with a woman who drove him wild, and nothing, nothing, could ever drive them apart.

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Charity clasped her hands over the
butterflies fluttering around in her stomach, and stared at her surroundings. Someone had turned the white satin covers back on the king-sized bed in the suite Mike had reserved. They’d left Belgian chocolates on the silky pillows and a bottle of Dom Perignon in a bucket of ice on the night-stand. The lights had been dimmed and the drapes drawn, letting the glow of Las Vegas shine in.

Behind her she heard the sound of Mike’s footsteps in the thick carpeting, heard his breathing as he stepped behind her. She waited—and wondered what would come next.

Warm lips brushed her ear and the scent of spicy aftershave wafted around her. Rough palms captured her shoulders, and slowly, gently, Mike turned her into his embrace. Green eyes smiled down at her. “Nervous?”

“This is a lot like opening night—terrifying but exciting at the same time. You can’t wait to be on stage, can’t wait to perform, but you’re afraid you might be a flop, and you won’t know how you’ve done until you get an ovation.”

Mike chuckled. He drew one of her hands from her stomach and kissed her palm. There was something devilish in his eyes, something she couldn’t quite peg. He held her hand over his heart and she felt its heavy beat, then, together, their hands slid over the ridged muscles of his stomach, to the ridged—

Good heavens
! Charity’s eyes widened in shock. Mike’s hand had stilled above hers, but she moved her fingers beneath his, touching, feeling, molding. She was completely and utterly amazed at the towering masterpiece cupped within her palm.

Her eyes flitted upward to the shameless grin on Mike’s face.

“That’s a standing ovation, Charity. The first of many.”

She laughed lightly. “You’re being rather brash for a minister, aren’t you?”

He slid his hands over her bottom and dragged her against him, her hand still holding him tight. “You’re my wife, Charity. I’m your husband. The way I see it, as long as you’re willing, as long as I’m willing, there’s nothing we can’t do.”

Suddenly she felt just as shameless as her newfound husband and in an act that was completely unfamiliar, but incredibly nice, she slid her fingers up and down the hard length of him. She felt Mike twitch beneath her hand, heard his drawn-out grasp for breath.

He stilled her hand, pulling it away and kissing her palm. “There’s only so much a man who’s been celibate for six years can take before he explodes. So”—he drew her hand to his shoulder— “let’s slow down for a little while.”

“Please don’t tell me you want to watch TV or read for a while. Not now,” she teased.

“The only thing I want to watch is you.”

“Does that mean you want me to dance for you?”

“Not quite yet.”

Slipping behind her, Mike kissed the spicy-tasting skin of her shoulder, wondering anxiously what other tastes lay in wait for him. He slid his hands over her silky gown, his fingers splaying over her slightly rounded belly, inching upward until they found her breasts—and rested there, squeezing gently to memorize the feel of them beneath fabric. Soon enough he’d know the feel of them completely, utterly naked—against his hand, against his tongue.

“Did you find something you like?” Charity asked.

“I haven’t found anything about you that I don’t like.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“I’m gonna know everything before we leave this room three days from now.”

“Well, then, since we’ve got plenty of time, you just concentrate on my breasts for the moment. What you’re doing feels awfully nice. But, if you want, you could be a little ... naughty, too.”

“Is this what you had in mind?” His open mouth settled against the sensitive hollow below her ear, drawing a soft, needy moan from his wife. His fingers slipped under the bodice of her gown and discovered soft, rounded flesh and pebbled nipples.
At last
.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he whispered against her cheek.

“Mmmm, no.” She sighed as his middle fingers drew lazy circles around each hardened peak.

He kissed her temple, skimmed the rim of her ear with the tip of his tongue. “What about panties?”

“Just barely.”

“A garter belt?”

He could feel the tilt of smiling lips against his cheek as his fingers continued to fondle, to explore. “White lace.”

“What about stockings?”

She laughed lightly. “Why don’t you take a peek?”

“In awhile.” He pushed the silky fabric of her dress down until her breasts rumbled into his palms. “I’m content with what I’m doing now.”

He pinched her nipples lightly, rolling them back and forth between his thumb and index finger, and Charity let out a soft whimper and grabbed hold of his butt.

“You like that,” he asked, when her fingers dug into him.

“Mmmm. Do it some more.”

“Later, maybe.” He drew his hands away from her soft, sweet breasts, lifted her veil of silky hair, and feathered kisses down the curve of her spine until he reached satin and buttons. “I’m gonna take your dress off now.”

“Oooh, that sounds ... naughty.”

She gathered her hair into her delicate, long-fingered hands, leaving his fingers free for other pursuits, like getting rid of everything but barely-there panties, a lacy garter belt, and secretive stockings.

With nimble fingers he caught the top button on the back of her gown and released it from the fabric loop. One down, thirty-nine to go. There were forty buttons holding the dress snugly against her body. He’d counted them as they’d stood in line waiting to get their marriage license. That meant forty long seconds or more before he could let the dress slip from her body, before he would taste her breasts, before he would have her completely.

She was a temptress. A seducer, and he wanted her desperately. He knew—even though she hadn’t told him in so many words—that she’d never been with a man before. And he wanted her first time to be special. Slow—and sweet. He wanted to hear her sigh again and again. Wanted to see her wriggle beneath him, do those bumps and grinds she did so well, and he wanted to keep her begging for more.

He fought for breath, dragging in the scent of her perfume as he worked at the buttons.

Ten.

He skimmed his tongue along the ridges of her spine.

Twenty.

The bodice crumpled around her waist, and he figured he could work a button loose with one hand, and reach around her to capture at least one breast, one soft, curvy, heavenly mound of pliable flesh, in the other.

“Is there any possibility you can unbutton me faster?” she asked, her words a breathless whisper. “Of course, you could just rip it off of me.”

He chuckled, and gave her nipple another light pinch, eliciting another moan from his wife. “Have patience, sweetheart. This isn’t the only thing I plan to do slowly.”

Thirty.

His own patience was another story. The need for her grew stronger with each button, with each swirl of his tongue over her skin, with each shudder of her body.

Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine. Forty.

At last, the gown cascaded down her body until it puddled at her feet.

Kneeling in front of her, he spun his wife around, splaying his fingers over the curves of her bottom, holding her close, taking a long, pleasurable look at the woman he’d married.

Silky black hair whispered over her shoulders, chest, and belly, parting where her breasts peeked through. He liked her hair that color. He’d liked it brown, too, but—his gaze darted quickly to the white thong she wore, to the curls hidden beneath—he liked her natural, the way God had made her.

He pulled her against him, kissing her belly, inhaling the spicy fragrances of cinnamon and cloves that reminded him of exotic lands, a belly dancer, a gyrating woman.

“Dance for me,” he said, looking up into her hot hazel eyes.

“Be patient, my love.”

Taking Mike’s hands when they reached once more for her breasts, Charity drew him to his feet. Even through his tuxedo she could feel his heat, could feel the surging need in the tense muscles in his arms. What a blessing it was to have a man like this in her life, a man who held back, tromped on his own desire while he satisfied his lady.

It wouldn’t be long and she’d dance for him. She’d give him a million-dollar show, but she wanted to see his reaction—and not just the emotion in his face.

She smiled as she nudged his jacket from his shoulders, pulled it from his body, and tossed it over the back of a chair.

In only a few heartbeats she’d removed his tie and went to work on his shirt, her fingers suddenly frustrated with the buttons, wanting, needing desperately to dance.

“Need some help?” he asked.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Mike went to work on his buttons and she dove for his belt, discretion be damned! She wanted him naked. In only an instant Mike had ripped the shirt from his chest and she slid down the zipper on his pants.

Brazen hussy that she was, she shoved his pants and his boxers down his hips and thighs and got a standing ovation from Mike that couldn’t possibly be topped.

He kicked aside his clothes while she stood still, gazing in awe at his glorious bronzed body.

He took her breath away. His wasn’t a dancer’s body all sleek and slender and lithe. No, Mike’s arms and thighs bulged from labor-intensive work, from spending dawn till dark on the open range, branding cattle, rounding up strays, and mending fences. He rode long and hard in the saddle.

She wanted him to ride long and hard in hers.

“You keep staring at me like that, Charity, and so help me, everything I’ve struggled to hold back is going to kick and scream and come to a rip-roaring finale, the likes of which you’ve never seen.”

She only smiled at his angst, and let her eyes drift upward. “Mind if I touch you?”

His jaws ground together, and she stepped a little closer, slipping her fingers around him. “Mmmm, I can’t quite tell if it’s a velvety feel, or silk, but it is rather smooth.”

“What did you expect?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She went down on her knees in front of him for a closer inspection. “Duane was rather limp and—”

“I don’t want to hear about anyone else.”

Her eyes rolled. “I’ve never had sex with anyone, but you dance as close as I have with hundreds of men and let me tell you, you’re going to feel something. You’re going to see something, too, especially during costume changes, but trust me, Mike, none of them looked like you.”

She tore her gaze away from his awe-inspiring penis and smiled at her husband. “Mind if I try something else.”

His eyes slammed shut. She saw the muscles tighten in his hips and thighs. “What?”

“Just this.” She leaned forward, sliding her tongue around the smooth, tasty ridge. “That’s rather a nice sensation.” She flicked her tongue over the tip.

“Stop!”

Mike yanked her up from the floor, swept her ‘ up in his arms, and carried her toward the bed. Thank God, he was going to make love to her. The time had finally come to give up her long-lived virginity, and a burning tingle rippled out of her stomach and excited every sensitive pulse point in her body.

But Mike didn’t lay her down on the satiny sheets. Oh, no, he stood her in the center of the king-sized bed and walked away, not stopping until he reached the chair across the room and sat down. Then he stared at her, a slight smile touching his mouth.

“Dance for me.”

“Is there anything in particular you want to see?”

“Surprise me.”

Closing her eyes, she dredged up an exotic tune, something from an Arabian Nights production she’d once been in, and she began to hum. Stretching her hands leisurely above her head, she pressed her palms together, and slowly, erotically swiveled her hips and belly, feeling suddenly like a cobra rising from its basket to the mesmerizing tune of a pipe.

This dance was for Mike. They’d all be for Mike. Her body was on fire. Her breasts ached for his touch. And she realized, as Mike’s blazing green eyes focused on her moves, that her movements had a new kind of passion—she wasn’t entertaining crowds any longer, she was pleasing the man she loved.

Mike was hot. He could barely sit still in the chair and watch as Charity’s belly and hips undulated, tempted, and tormented, as her bewitching hazel eyes gazed at him. All of him. Every rock-solid expanding inch.

The song she hummed was just as seductive as her movements, and it was easy to think he’d been transported to the far-off place where her perfume came from, to one of those sheik-riding-across-the-desert-sands-with-a-woman-in-his-arms movies that Cros liked to watch. Only he was the sheik this time and there was no sand, no horse, only one exotic woman and a hypnotic tune. This movie wasn’t in black and white, either, it was in living color. And it breathed. Deeply.

She stepped off the bed as if she were parading down a grand staircase, graceful, serene, her belly and hips still rotating gently, her hands still weaving high above her head, drawing her breasts up high, tight, her pale pink nipples thrust forward, pebbled, hard.