Lady Be Good Part 5

Those swollen, pouty lips.

They blurred before his eyes as he ducked his head and claimed them.

It was like kissing warm rose petals. She smelled like roses, too, and it pa.s.sed through his mind that this b.a.l.l.s-to-the-wall female had the softest, sweetest mouth he'd ever kissed.

She kept it primly shut, even as her body sagged against his. He slid the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip, then along the crease. She didn't have an ounce of stubbornness left, and she opened to let him in.

He liked his French kisses slow, but thorough. Lots of women couldn't get the hang of that, but Lady Emma was smart, and she didn't have any trouble. She let him take all the time he wanted, while her tongue moved gently against his and the blood roared through his body.

Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s settled deeper into his hands, and he realized he'd been so involved with her mouth that he'd forgotten to attend to them. That was a first for him.

He gently squeezed. She twisted against him and her mouth opened wider. Once again, he rubbed her nipples. They grew even tighter, and he wanted so badly to slide his tongue over them, but he still hadn't gotten enough of their kiss.

And maybe she hadn't either because now he felt the tip of her tongue slip into his mouth, and despite all that bullc.r.a.p bragging he'd been doing about what a stud he was, he thought he was going to explode right there.

With a moan, he pulled her backward on the bed, but the change of venue didn't provide nearly the distraction he needed to get himself back under control. He had to see more, and, as they sank into the mattress, he eased back a few inches.

She was breathing hard, and her breath stirred his hair like a warm spring breeze. "Would you-could you take your clothes off now?"

It was a whispered entreaty, not a command, and his hand moved to the fastener on his slacks. He opened it, but he was so hard that he ended up fumbling with the zipper like a teenager, and then he got distracted by the rapid rise and fall of her chest. He couldn't hold back a moment longer.

Hooking one edge of the black silk robe with his finger, he pushed it away from her breast. The fabric caught on her nipple, then fell aside, leaving her breast exposed to him, a round of pale, blue-veined marble tipped with a puckered apricot bud, all of it framed in a V of black silk. He bent down to taste.

Emma felt his mouth touch her nipple, and the breath left her body. His lips closed warmly around her. The tip of his tongue brushed back and forth. She felt as if her body were going to fly away, and she curled her fingers into the bed's silky comforter to keep herself anch.o.r.ed.

He began to suckle her.

Her body s.h.i.+vered with fire and ice. Tears clouded her eyes. She wanted him to do this forever. She would die if he stopped. He was no longer a beautiful wastrel who'd hired himself out for the night. Instead, he was her first lover. Slow and gentle. Infinitely precious.

Her limbs melted into the bed. She felt the lightest sc.r.a.pe of his thumbnail through the silk that covered her other nipple, and her body turned back into fire.

"I can't ... I can't stand this." She choked out the words.

In response, he suckled deeper. Took her other nipple between his fingers and squeezed....

It was the sweetest pain she'd ever felt. Tears spilled over her lids and dripped onto the pillow. On the brink of o.r.g.a.s.m, she opened her legs and willed his hand to go there. Just a brush. The merest touch. That's all she needed.

He squeezed again, and she gave a small sob.

His head came up, and he frowned as he spotted her tears. "Am I hurting you?"

She was incapable of responding. Instead, she lay there like a wanton, her breast exposed, its nipple wet and puckered, her legs splayed under the rumpled silk.

She saw that his pants were unzipped, and he was fully erect, but a straining pair of silky black boxers kept her from seeing the imposing column beneath. She tried to gather enough air so she could ask him not to stop, beg him to touch her again, plead with him to strip off those slacks and burn his black briefs.

He moved to the edge of the bed and shoved his hand through his hair. "What do you say we slow things down here a little?" His voice sounded hoa.r.s.e, as if he were pus.h.i.+ng the words through the narrowest of openings.

"No!" She shot up into a sitting position.

He stared at her.

She licked her lips. Wiped her tears on the sleeve of the robe. Gulped in air. Left the robe open over her breast.

"No." She tucked her legs beneath her. "It's-it's quite all right."

"I got a little carried away there."

"Actually, you didn't. I mean, you did, but ... I wasn't ... that is, I liked what you were ..."

Good heavens, she was babbling. She looked away to collect her thoughts and realized music was playing. She drew a breath and took in the details of the room. A wallet sat on the dresser next to a pile of change. Socks lay on the floor. Behind them, the mirrored door of a walk-in closet was partially opened.

She pulled in another breath.

There were several books on the bedside table, including a volume of Texas history and a biography of Theodore Roosevelt. A few golf magazines. The one on top had a picture on the cover of someone familiar. Someone she recognized.

Odd. Who would she know- She looked more closely and felt all the blood drain from her head.

Chapter 4

Emma didn't remember picking up the magazine, but it was in her hands, so she must have. As she stared down at it, the words on the cover swam before her eyes. was in her hands, so she must have. As she stared down at it, the words on the cover swam before her eyes.

PGA BAD BOY KENNY TRAVELER.

TALKS ABOUT HIS GAME, TOUR POLITICS,.

AND HIS MILLIONS.

"Uh ... Emma?"

She dragged her legs over the side of the bed farthest from him and, with her free hand, clutched the robe together.

The photograph was an action shot, with Kenny in the middle of his golf swing, body turned, club angled back. PGA BAD BOY KENNY TRAVELER PGA BAD BOY KENNY TRAVELER ... ...

Fingers of rage uncurled inside her. She hadn't thought anything could be more painful than the humiliation she'd suffered when she'd shared her feelings with Jeremy Fox, but this was a dozen times worse. She was the stupidest, the most naive woman on earth. He wasn't a professional escort! He was a millionaire athlete who'd seduced her.

She flung down the magazine, vaulted from the side of the bed, and blindly made her way to the bathroom to reclaim her clothes.

"Don't you think we should talk about this?" he said from behind her.

She hurried past him, clothing stuffed in her arms, and headed for her bedroom.

"Lady Emma?"

She shot inside, twisted the lock, and began pulling on her underwear.

He tapped at the bedroom door. "I know that magazine cover must be piquing your curiosity, so why don't we finish our bottle of wine while I answer all your questions?"

She ignored his blather, threw her clothes in one suitcase, and snapped the latches on the other. Then she gathered them up along with her carry-all and purse and marched through the door.

He was standing on the other side. Although his pants were zipped, he hadn't bothered with a s.h.i.+rt. Hatred, spurred on by self-disgust, rushed through her. She pushed past him and hurried down the stairs as fast as her awkward burden would allow.

"Emma!"

A terrible drumming echoed inside her head. She reached the front door and fumbled for the k.n.o.b.

"Emma, it's dark. You can't go out there." He came up behind her and grasped her arm.

She tore it free and slammed the corner of one suitcase into his crotch. He let out an oof oof of pain and staggered backward. of pain and staggered backward.

She dashed outside.

The humid night air enveloped her. She had no idea where she was, and she didn't care. She only knew she had to get away.

She nursed her anger until it drove out her need to weep. He hadn't been dense or dull-witted or any of the other things she'd thought about him. He'd simply been manipulating her for a night's amus.e.m.e.nt, and she'd fallen for it.

The heavy suitcases dragged at her arms as she made her way to the end of the court, but she didn't feel their weight. What if she hadn't seen the magazine? What if she'd gone through with it before she discovered who he was? It didn't bear contemplating, so she distracted herself by gazing down the street that intersected the court. She needed to get to a phone and call a taxi, but she saw only expensive homes, some with luxury cars parked in the drive. No one was walking about, and, other than the hiss of underground sprinkling systems, everything was quiet.

She listened harder and thought she detected the faint sound of traffic far in the distance. The suitcases banged against her legs as she turned toward the noise. She kept walking until she had to set the bags down to rest her arms, and that was when she heard the purr of a luxury car coming from behind her.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed up the suitcases and dragged them on. From the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar champagne-colored Cadillac. The driver's window slid down. "Don't you think you're overreacting just a little bit?"

Her cheeks burned. She looked straight ahead and didn't slow her pace even though her shoulders had begun to throb.

"There isn't a hotel within ten miles of here. And, in case you haven't noticed, there aren't any taxis pa.s.sing by, either."

She kept walking.

"G.o.d, I hate sulky women."

"Sulky!" She whirled on him. "Leave me alone! Or haven't you had enough amus.e.m.e.nt for the night?" She whirled on him. "Leave me alone! Or haven't you had enough amus.e.m.e.nt for the night?"

He pulled ahead of her, angled his car so that it blocked the street, then stopped and got out, leaving the motor running and the warning bell dinging. With his s.h.i.+rt hanging open and his bare feet stuffed into loafers, he approached her.

She felt a flicker of satisfaction as she saw that he wasn't standing completely straight, along with a s.h.i.+ver of panic. Although she didn't physically fear him, she had only the most fragile hold on her composure, and she had to escape.

Waddling slightly from the weight of her luggage, she hurried to the far side of the street. He closed the distance between them and manhandled both suitcases away from her.

"Give those back."

Ignoring her, he grabbed her carry-all and purse, then took everything to the car. He opened the rear door and tossed it all into the back seat as if it weighed no more than a handful of beach pebbles.

"You owe me a thousand bucks for that."

She bit her lip, blinked her eyes, and began walking.

He dropped his hands to his hips. "Tell me how far you think you're going to get without your pa.s.sport, your money, and your clothes. Not to mention those umbrellas."

She had clearly been wronged, but instead of apologizing, he was making things worse. She tried to review her options, but they were so limited as to be nonexistent. Her steps slowed. "Drive me to a hotel at once," she finally managed.

"Gladly."

She hesitated, but she had little choice, and she forced herself to walk to the car. He opened the pa.s.senger door for her. Without looking at him, she slid inside, then tried to make herself invisible by staring out the window. Her lips felt swollen, and she remembered the feel of those deep, insincere kisses.

"Just go ahead and let me have it. I know you're dying to get it off your chest." Earlier he'd driven like a demon, but now the car crawled down the street.

She said nothing.

"All right, I was having a little fun with you, pretending I was in the flesh trade. But I didn't expect you to take me seriously. And then, when you did ... Well, I'm only human, and before you condemn me for being a man, I suggest you take a long, hard look at yourself in the mirror. Then imagine what you would have done if you were me, and you were faced with somebody who looked like you."

How cruel of him to mock her because she wasn't beautiful. She could no longer hold back her words. "I wouldn't have lied! I would never have humiliated another human being as you did."

"Humiliated?" He sounded genuinely insulted, but then she remembered what a good actor he was. He pulled out through a set of gates onto a busier street. "Humiliation played no part in it. What I was doing had to do with opportunity-I'll admit that-but mainly it had to do with l.u.s.t."

"Please, Mr. Traveler. I wasn't born yesterday. This had nothing to do with l.u.s.t. You're a rich, good-looking professional athlete. I'm certain you can have any woman you want. You don't have to settle for an aging schoolteacher."

"I guess I know l.u.s.t when I feel it! And you've got to admit you made it easy for me. Although why you think you'd have to pay a man is beyond me."

"Yes, I made it easy for you. Painfully easy."

He stopped at a flas.h.i.+ng red light and looked over at her. "Look, Emma, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. It's true I got carried away. But you were h.e.l.l bent on having a fling with a stranger, and I guess I couldn't see the harm."

"You lied to me about everything. You're a famous professional golfer, not an escort. And according to that magazine cover, you're a multimillionaire." Realization struck her. "That wasn't your friend's house at all. It's yours, isn't it? Everything you told me was a lie."

"You aggravated me." He pulled away from the light.

"Me! I didn't do anything."

"That's a bald-faced lie. You started bossing me around the minute you laid eyes on me, making out lists, giving orders, and poking me with that umbrella."

"I never poked you with my umbrella."

"It felt like it."

"I apologize," she said icily.

"Good. I apologize, too, so now we're even."

"Not even close."

For the first time, she thought of Francesca's part in this. But as she recalled their conversation, she couldn't remember Francesca ever telling her that Kenny was a professional escort. Instead, she'd described him as a friend. Still, somehow Emma had gotten the idea that he did this professionally, and she distinctly remembered asking Francesca if seventy-five dollars a day would be enough to cover his fee.

Only now did she remember the way Francesca had laughed. "Tell him I said he'd work for fifty." Her friend could have had no idea how her small joke would backfire.