She shrugged out of it, letting the silk fall to the floor. "I damn sure never expected you to be the kind of man who pouts."
His brows rose. "Pouts?"
"Yeah. You didn't get your way and so now you have to humiliate me."
"Didn't get my way?"
She heard the hard edge in his voice and knew she'd crossed into dangerous territory.
"Take off the fucking skirt, baby."
She considered protesting, but one look at the hard lines of his body changed her mind. She tugged down the zipper, then let the skirt fall to the ground over her hips, leaving her clad in bra, panties, and a pair of high heeled pumps.
"Christ. You're still as beautiful as you were back then."
She heard the catch in his throat and saw the softening of his features. And right then, she thought that maybe--maybe--her Spencer was in the room with her after all.
"Spence? Please."
His eyes cut up to hers, and they were as hard as steel. "We'll save the rest. I think I might finish getting you naked with my teeth."
For a moment--one brief, wonderful, horrible moment--she imagined the feel of him on top of her. His mouth tugging down her bra, his beard rough against her tender skin. Then his body moving lower as he spread her legs and tugged her panties down with his teeth, just far enough so that he could expose her before his tongue did all those miraculous things she remembered.
She shivered--and she hated herself for it. All the more when he noticed.
"I'm cold," she said.
"Don't worry, baby. I'm about to warm you up."
She swallowed. "So that's your plan? You're just going to use me?"
His brows rose. "Isn't that what you're doing with me?"
She didn't answer, because what the hell could she say to that?
He stood, then came to her, standing mere inches in front of her. He reached out to touch her breast, taking her nipple between two fingers. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to keep her body stiff. To not react.
It didn't work. She felt desire well inside her, and hated herself for it. She didn't want him--or, did she? She wanted Spencer. Not this man determined to torment her. But her body made no distinction, and as his hand traced slowly down her bare skin, a matching desire rose within her.
Gently, he stroked her breasts, then teased a finger down to her navel, then lower still until his hand slipped between her thighs to cup her sex. "You're wet," he murmured, and she wished she could tell him he was wrong, but it wasn't true. She hadn't reacted to a man like this in years. And, she knew, she wasn't even reacting to this man. This was about the man who lived in her memories. A man she missed desperately.
"Open your eyes."
She did, and for a moment he was her Spencer again, and she wanted to cry with relief.
"Spencer, I--"
"Bedroom," he said, and once again the heat of memory was buried beneath the chill of his voice.
"Bedroom," she repeated, then moved that direction. She told herself this would be okay. She would be okay. This was a commercial transaction--sex for the show.
Then she saw the bed, and a wild shiver cut through her body. She shouldn't have agreed to this. Oh, dear God, she should never have said this was okay.
It was a four-poster bed, and black silk ties extended from each of the four posts. A leather paddle and a fur mask sat innocently on the pillows.
She blinked, trying to process what she was seeing. He wanted to tie her up?
Of course, he did. He'd said he wanted her at his mercy, didn't he?