His Final Seduction. Lori Wilde

pumped into her.

      With her back still to him, she hooked her index finger through the tiny little scrap that constituted her panties and slowly inched the material down, wriggling her hips seductively.

      His erection was blinding hard. He couldn’t even think, much less breathe. Sweat beaded his forehead from the desire boiling his blood.

      Then she turned, head down as she kicked off her panties, giving him a full and unobstructed view of her. Those perfect breasts sported pert pink nipples. A golden ring glinted at her navel. That sweet patch of hair just above her sex told him she was a natural blonde through and through.

      She raised her head, stared right into his bedroom window and slyly winked just before she reached out and shuttered the blinds.

      4

      Initially, withholding affection heightens longing

      —Make Love Like a Courtesan

      VENICE WAS an architectural symphony. A simmering fantasy of mist and sunshine. A meandering labyrinth of pathways, bridges and canals. A sweet poem of complex dreams.

      Jorgie had often daydreamed of visiting the most romantic city on earth. She’d visualized herself strolling the cobblestone streets, gliding the waterways in a graceful gondola, shopping in the popular Rialto district. She imagined she would stop to watch artisans expertly practice the art of blowing glass or mask-making. She’d thirsted to drink Bellinis at a sidewalk café. And she’d thought about kissing Brian on the Bridge of Sighs.

      Well, so much for that last part. But she didn’t need a man to enjoy Venice. She was young and alive and even though she was scared, she felt a perfect thrill she’d never felt before. It was a delicious combination of curiosity, optimism, hope and excitement. She was on her own in a foreign country and it felt good. Avery had been right. She did need to go it alone for once in her life.

      The group arrived via vaporetto, a water taxi sardined with Eros guests, and by the time they reached the resort, Jorgie was already in love. How had she managed to live twenty-five years without visiting this special place?

      The guests were met at the lavish resort—a restored Venetian palace once occupied by royalty—by Eros employees costumed in period clothing from the Italian Renaissance. She found herself searching for Quint in the crowd, but she didn’t see him. The bite of disappointment was unexpected. She didn’t recall seeing him on the vaporetto, either.

      She checked in and turned to go to her room when she spied Quint and her heart went all wonky again.

      He was dressed like an eighteenth-century nobleman, in rich fabrics and lush colors of the time. He seemed taller than he’d been on the plane, his eyes sharper, his presence wholly regal. His personality filled the room. His jovial laugh, as he said something to the dozen or so women who collected around him, slid slickly off the thick stone walls.

      Here he was, Casanova in the flesh. He glanced over the heads of the other women, caught her gaze and offered a lopsided smile meant only for her.

      The other women gaped at him with dumbstruck expressions on their faces, as if the heavens had opened up and he’d come tripping down the stairs just for them. They hung on to his every word. Groupies.

      Who knew he had groupies?

      Although she longed to join the flock, something inside of Jorgie would not let her puddle at his feet. Yes, he was good-looking. Yes, his smile stirred her soul. Yes, she’d had a crush on him when she was thirteen. Yes, she wanted to kiss him so badly she couldn’t breathe, but she sure as heck was not going to let him know that. And be like all the others? No way. She had her pride.

      She turned, headed toward the exit.

      “Jorgie,” he called.

      Well, she couldn’t very well ignore him now, could she? That would be rude. She stopped, turned back. “Quint, oh, hi, I didn’t see you there,” she lied nonchalantly.

      “Excuse me, ladies.” He threw a smile and a wink to the women. Jorgie thought they were going to melt on the spot. “I need to speak to an old friend.”

      He covered the distance between them, linked his arm through hers and pulled her into the corridor. “Thanks, shrimp.”

      “Shrimp?” She arched an eyebrow.

      “It’s what Keith and I used to call you.”

      “I can’t believe you remembered that,” she said, feeling way more flattered than she should. He’d called her shrimp as a big brotherly term of affection. That meant he saw her as a little sister or an old friend, not a potential sex partner.

      “Well…” He raked his gaze over her. “I shouldn’t use the nickname on you. It’s shrimp no more. You’re all grown up.”

      “So what were you thanking me for?” she asked, glossing right over that comment.

      He punched the button for the elevator. “Rescuing me from my adoring public.”

      Jorgie snorted. “Hey, you can’t handle the adoration, don’t dress up like Casanova.”

      “You have no idea what a huge burden it is,” he teased, and struck a preening pose. “Being such a sexy beast.”

      Jorgie rolled her eyes. “Poor you.”

      “You’re pitiless.”

      “I don’t have much tolerance for nonsense—”

      He nodded. “You’re good for me,” he said. “I need someone to call my bluff. I gotta admit, playing Casanova messes with your head.”

      “Don’t blame Casanova. You were like that in high school and I have a feeling you’ve been like that ever since.”

      He looked into her eyes. “What can I say? There’s nothing that makes life worth living like having a beautiful woman at your side. What room are you in?” he asked as the elevator opened and he got on with her.

      She should have told him it was none of his business, but damn if that endearing grin of his didn’t slip past her defenses. “214.”

      “The blue room.” He punched the elevator button for the second floor. “Lady Pompadour stayed there. Did you know she and Casanova were lovers?”

      “Good for them.”

      “You’re really hard to impress, you know that?”

      “It’s all the number crunching. Tends to give one a ‘bottom line’ approach to life.”

      Quint stepped back and stared boldly at her bottom.

      “Mason,” she said sharply, using his last name to indicate she was displeased with his frisky behavior, but a small part of her was thrilled. It was the same part of her that had been secretly relieved when Brian had left.

      “Gerard.” The elevator settled on the second floor with a ping and they got off together.

      “You’re mocking me.”

      He lowered his eyelids and slanted a sexy look her way. “It’s hard not to. You look so serious.”

      “Here we are,” she said. “214. You’ve escorted me to my room, you can go now.” She slashed her key card through the computerized reader installed in the door handle and kneed the door open.

      “Wait.” He touched her forearm.

      Instantly, the hairs on her arms lifted. He said nothing for a moment. His gaze hooked on her. She forced herself to hold his stare. “Yes?” she whispered.

      “Sit with me at dinner.”

      “Why?”

      “Fend off the she-wolves.”

      “Don’t give me that. You love the she-wolves.”

      “Okay, here’s the deal. You remind