LEAD ME ON Julie Ortolon (mind reading books .TXT) 📖

threshold of the bathroom. She needed to wash her face before going to bed, but her gaze landed on the shower curtain and she remembered the scene from one of Scott’s books where the villain had hidden inside the shower with a knife in hand, watching the woman as she stripped off her clothes.

Logically she knew he would never go so far as to act out that scene, yet nerves skittered up her spine as she sidestepped into the room, never taking her eyes off that curtain. She bent sideways to reach the plunger by the toilet. Chanting the words “there is nothing behind that curtain, there is nothing behind that curtain,” she swiped it open.

And screamed.

Then instantly laughed because there was nothing behind the curtain. She was alone in the apartment, and being utterly foolish. Too unsettled to wash her face, she went back into her room and sat on the bed. Maybe she and Chloe were wrong. Or maybe his revenge was as simple as making them wonder what he was planning. That sounded diabolical enough to be true. What better way for him to get back at them than to let their imaginations do it for him?

Then again ... Her gaze wandered to her dresser. On a hunch, she crossed the room, stood with her head craned back just in case something jumped out, and eased the top drawer open.

Nothing jumped out.

She chanced a peek inside and her eyes went wide. Rather than neat stacks of cotton undies, she found a pile of slinky black lingerie! Sheer bras, lacy panties, garter belts, and stockings. All of it black.

Laughter bubbled up as she scooped up a handful. His revenge was perfect. Brilliant. Holding up a pair of crotchless panties and a bra that seemed to be missing the requisite cups, she laughed even harder. She’d swapped his black underwear with wildly tacky colors; and he’d swapped her sensible cottons with black underwear so sexy it fell over the border into raunchy.

Gathering up the whole pile, she headed upstairs and rapped on Scott’s door.

“Who is it?” he called cheerfully.

“Who do you think?”

“The underwear thief?”

“Me a thief?” She tried the knob and found the door unlocked. “What about—” The minute she stepped into the room, she froze. Scott sat on the bed with his legs crossed at the ankles, dressed in nothing but the pair of boxers with the lipstick kisses. Mounds of her prim cotton underwear surrounded him. “Oh, my God!” She slammed the door, afraid one of the other guests would pick that moment to walk into the hall.

Whirling back to face him, she watched him dangle one of her many pairs of white panties printed with butterflies and flowers.

“Very sweet.” He gave her one of those laconic smiles that made her heart bump. “This is much closer to what I expected you to wear than that sexy number you had on at the Hotel Galvez. Although”—he considered the panties—“I’m not sure which is sexier.”

“Give me that.” She lunged forward, spilling black lingerie onto the bed.

“Not a chance.” He held the panties away from her, making her climb onto the mattress. “I’m keeping all of it as my spoils of war.”

“I’ll spoil your war.” She lunged again and fell across his chest. “I want my panties back.”

“And I want my black boxers.”

She pressed her forearms against his chest to prop herself up. “You need variety.”

“And you don’t?” He scooped up a fistful of cotton undies. “Come on, Alli, I’ve never seen so many flowers and butterflies outside a garden.”

“I like flowers.”

“So do I.” His amber gaze shifted, making her aware of the warm skin beneath her palms, the crisp mat of black hair, the honed muscles. “But I also like you in black.”

Taking up a scrap of satin, he brushed it against her cheek. Heat flowed through her. “I like you a lot in black.” Cupping the back of her head, he applied the slightest pressure, not jerking her to him, but leaving the decision up to her. The moment hung, shimmering with anticipation and all the reasons they shouldn’t do this.

Slowly, she lowered her lips for a tantalizing brush, the barest taste.

Scott closed his eyes in surrender. Consequences be damned. He wanted her. Whatever happened afterwards, he’d deal with it when the time came. For now he just wanted her. He tightened his hand in her shoulder-length curls and gave himself over to the moment, the utter joy of holding her, touching her, breathing her in.

“Tell me you want this,” he managed between nibbles. “I want to hear you say it.”

“So you can reject me again? Tell me you’re too busy?”

He pulled back, stared at her. “You know I want you.”

“Maybe I’m the one who needs to hear you say it.” Color rose up in her cheeks.

“You want to hear me say how much I want you? How I can’t think about anything but you? I lie awake at night fantasizing about touching you.” He ran his hand down her throat to cup her breast through her T-shirt. His thumb rubbed small circles over her nipple and her eyes went heavy. “You want words, I’ll give you words.” He turned to press her onto the mattress where she lay surrounded by innocent white cotton and provocative black lace. The contrast more than suited her.

“The very thought of you is enough to make me hard.” He nibbled at her lips. “When you walk into a room, I can’t think about anything but how much I want to get inside you.” He moved his mouth to her ear and whispered. “I want you beneath me, so lost in your own passion, in the things I’m doing to your body, you can’t stop calling my name and begging me to take you.”

“Yes,” she sighed as her body trembled. “I dream of the same thing, where you touch me and take me, hard and fast, and I’m helpless to stop you because I want you so much.”

Hunger coiled inside him at