"And I—" Her voice hitched, strangled, and he set his glass down in pure panic.
"Don't do that. Don't cry. I'm begging you."
"It's not what you think."
"Don't give me that shit about happy tears. They're all the same to me. They're wet and make me feel like slime."
"I can't get hold of myself." As a defense, she gulped down more champagne, sniffled. "I've been like this all day. Dancing on the ceiling one minute, bawling in the bathroom the next. I'm selling my life away, and it makes me so sad. And people are buying it, and that makes me so happy."
"Jesus." Frustrated, he rubbed his hands over his face. "Let's trade in the champagne for some coffee, shall we?"
"Oh, no." Spurting up again, she danced away from him. "I'm celebrating."
"Okay." When she folded, he would pour her drunk, sexy body into his car and drive her to Templeton House. But for now, she had the right to celebrate, to gloat and be ridiculous. He sat on the desk, picked up his glass again. "To ugly women in secondhand Armani."
She tossed back the champagne and let it fizz down her throat. "To teenage girls with rich, indulgent parents."
"God love them."
"And tourists from Tulsa."
"Salt of the earth."
"And hawk-eyed old men who appreciate long legs in a short skirt." When he only frowned into his glass, she laughed and poured them both more. "And who plunk down cash for Meissen tea sets and harmless flirtation."
Before she could drink again, he caught her wrist. "How harmless?"
"I let him cluck my chin. If he'd bought the raku vase, he could have pinched any and all of my cheeks. It's such a rush."
"The clucking."
"No." She giggled happily. "The selling. I had no idea I'd find it so exciting. So… arousing." She spun back, sprinkling them both with champagne before he could pluck the glass from her hand and set it safely aside. "That's why I came to find you."
"You came to find me," he repeated, too cautious to move forward, too needy to move back.
With a low laugh she slid her hands up his shirt front, over his shoulders, into his hair. "I thought you could finish the job."
She was more than half drunk, he calculated, and told himself to remember the rules. He just couldn't think of them. "What do you want me to sell?"
She laughed again, dragged his mouth to hers for a steamy kiss. "Whatever it is, I'm ready to buy it."
He came up for air, tried for reason. "You've got champagne on your brain, duchess. This might not be the time to do business."
She made quick work of his tie, slinging it over her shoulder while her mouth went to war with his. "It's the perfect time. I could eat you alive, in great… big… bites."
"Jesus." It was hard to focus on reason when all the blood was draining out of his head. "In about ten seconds…" His mouth clashed with hers again as she dragged his shirt clear of his wa
istband. "I'm not going to give a damn if you're drunk or sober."
"I told you I'm only half drunk." She tossed her head back so that he could see her eyes. They were filled with laughter and desire. "I know exactly what I'm doing and who I'm going to do it with. What would you say if I suggested we consider that little bet of ours a draw?"
He was busy tugging her buttons free before he realized his hands had moved. "How about 'Thank you, God'?"
"It's probably a mistake." She attacked his throat with her teeth. "A terrible, terrible mistake. Jesus, put your hands on me."
"I'm trying." He managed to drag her jacket off while they stumbled toward the bedroom.
"Try harder." She wriggled out of her shoes, tripped, and sent them both crashing into the wall. When his hands streaked under her skirt, hiking it high as they greedily cupped her bottom, she arched back. "Don't stop," she panted, "whatever you do, don't stop."