"Penn Station? Six o'clock? Will you have any trouble getting a train?"
"Penn Station at six will be fine, but I'll drive. I don't want to take the train home late alone."
"Good idea."
More exquisite kissing followed. Finally Ian raised his head and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I've got to go so you can get your dinner."
"I could fix something for both of us," she said hopefully, swaying toward him.
He shook his head. "We've got to take this slowly. An invitation to coffee was the only way I could see to get you out of the shop and alone. I can't tell you how glad I am that there's a scarcity of coffee shops in this town."
"Absolves you of guilt?" she teased.
He grinned. "Something like that."
Still holding her hand, he hooked his sportcoat over his shoulder and went to the door. "Till Friday?"
She nodded. "Till Friday."
They stood very close, the tips of her breasts lightly grazing his shirtfront. Long ago she'd given up trying not to look at him, to pretend indifference. Having survived the weeks of loneliness since their first meeting, she feasted her eyes on him, as he did on her.
She watched, mesmerized, when his fingers came up and untied her bow tie. She felt the fabric first tightening then relaxing around her neck, or she might have thought she was imagining the whole thing. The first button on her blouse fell free. The second. She held her breath. She wouldn't stop him, no matter what he did, but she couldn't believe this was happening.
He went only as far as the third button. With heart-stopping slowness, he carefully parted her blouse. His hand slid around the column of her throat. He pressed his thumb against the pulse point at its base. It was beating erratically. "I had to touch you with some degree of intimacy." He sighed. She closed her eyes just as his mouth fused with hers.
The kiss was hot, wet, and turbulent, evoking the very act of love. His thumb kept up that hypnotic massage along her neck. It was only a suggestion of the things she wanted him to do. It was only a suggestion of the things his eyes had told her he wanted to do. He could well have been caressing her nipples for their hard contraction against his chest. His answering groan as she pressed closer told her his thoughts were running along similar lines.
The forbiddenness of such thoughts, the forced suppression of the passion they shared, only heightened the sexuality of their kiss. Deep inside, the core of her femininity exploded with sensations that rose into her chest, setting her breasts afire and making her heart swell with what felt like love. Rationally, she knew that such a possibility was both electrifying and insane, but the desire that rushed through her veins diffused its message.
Ian didn't speak again, only withdrew his hand from around her neck, regret written on his handsome face. He shut the door softly behind him.
She listened to his footsteps receding down the hallway and wondered mournfully how she was going to survive until Friday.
Chapter Six
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Somehow she did survive, though during the following days she was absentminded at work, going through the motions but lacking any interest in her customers. Every time the bell on the door jingled, her eyes flew toward it in the hope that he had come to see her. If he were finding it as difficult to keep his mind on his work as she was, his arrival wouldn't be too farfetched a possibility.
Vandiveer noticed her lackadaisical attitude. "That woman would have bought that vase if you'd cared enough to talk her into it," he chastised when an indecisive customer left the shop. "Snap out of it, Shay, or go home and sleep it off. You're useless to me here walking around like a zombie."
"I'm sorry." She sighed. "I … I haven't been feeling well the last few days."
Vandiveer coughed behind his hand. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were in love." Her head snapped to attention. "Well, well, well." He laughed.
"Have I struck a nerve? New beau, Shay?" His tone was silky and taunting. He'd asked her this question many times over the years she'd worked for him, with the salacious curiosity of an old maid. Her answer had always been an unqualified no.
"Possibly," she said blithely, taking up a newly framed lithograph and trying it in several display positions on the wall. "He's a minister." The days since Ian's departure from her door had been dreary enough. She might as well have some fun at old Vandiveer's expense.
She got the astonished reaction from him she had anticipated. "A minister!"
"Yes, a minister. Like in church. Have you ever been to a church, Mr. Vandiveer?"
"Once.When my mother had me christened. And then I didn't have anything to say about it." Shay chuckled. "I must admit my image of clergymen run along the lines of Bing Crosby in Going My Way. Where in the world did you ever meet a minister? In church?" he asked cattily.
"No," Shay replied vaguely. "No … uh … somewhere else." This was only for fun, after all. She wasn't going to divulge the ins and outs of her private life to Vandiveer. Tiring of the game and more than a little piqued by her employer's lewdly cunning expression, she added, "I know that last customer's house. I helped her with a wall arrangement. If I choose some silk flowers to match her living room and call her, she may come buy the vase."
Vandiveer seemed mollified, but at the moment Shay couldn't have cared less. Her thoughts had already gravitated back to where they had been all week—on Ian.