“Because the fourth floor is off-limits to everyone but me.”
The elevator began its slow ascent as Warren turned and faced her.
“What are you going to do to me?” she asked, backing up against the wall as he closed the distance between them.
“Whatever I want.”
“What about what I want?”
He placed his hands on her hips and gently pulled her forward. “You’ll want what I want to do to you,” he said, his tone self-assured.
Her palms slid up his arms, stopping just below his shoulders. “How are you so sure?”
He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers with the perfect amount of fire to make her insides boil. “Because I know you. I know what gets you hot.”
“And how would you know that?”
“Because I’ve read your books,” he whispered with an undertone of heat. “I’ve seen inside your mind.”
The truth was he probably knew her better than anyone. Because he had read her books. He knew not just Jenna, but also Lillian Bangs. He was privy to all her innermost fantasies as she had played them out between her characters. So of course he knew her. How couldn’t he?
When the doors opened, he stepped back and gestured for her to go ahead.
Leaving the elevator, she entered a miniature foyer decorated with a small table, flowers, and a pair of modern paintings filled with blotches of color she could have stared at for hours. He took her hand and guided her down a short hallway to a closed door. When he opened it, she got her first glimpse of his bedroom.
It looked like any other bedroom she’d seen, only bigger. A lot bigger. It easily took up at least half of the fourth floor, with furnishings that would have been more at home in the living room, with one exception: an elaborately constructed St. Andrew’s Cross that was set up in the corner.
A favorite toy of his perhaps?
Other than that, there were a pair of brown leather chairs, a large matching couch, two bureaus, an armoire, and a California king bed against the far wall. A thick charcoal gray comforter covered the mattress, and large plush pillows were neatly stacked against the massive, baroque headboard. Even from across the room, she could see the intricate hooks and eyes carved into the sturdy wood. Same with the footboard.
She knew what those accoutrements were for. Would she find herself tied to that headboard before the night was over? All bets were yes.
Taking in the room as her stilettos clacked demurely on the hardwood, she couldn’t help wondering if this was where he’d been during all their phone calls? Had he been lying on that magnificent bed fantasizing about her naked and bound beside him? Or had he been seated on the couch staring at the St. Andrew’s Cross and imagining her shackled to it?
Warren crossed to the window, grabbed the curtains with both hands, then flung them open with dramatic fanfare, revealing New York at night. “If I remember correctly, you like the curtains open.”
Her cheeks warmed as she smiled.
And wasn’t it sweet that he had remembered?
He dimmed the lights, then returned, stopping in front of her. “Take off your mask.”
She reached behind her head and untied the bow, then handed it to him, hoping against hope that he would take off his mask too. But he had told her he wouldn’t, and he made good on his promise, leaving his on.
His gaze swept over her french twist. “Take down your hair.” His voice remained calm and unemotional, yet commanding, as if he expected her to do as he said without question.
Which, of course, she would. She had already broken enough rules for one night. If she ever wanted to see his face, she needed to start impressing him sooner rather than later.
She began pulling out the pins holding her hair in place, loosening the twist little by little, using her fingers to comb the strands free.
Once she’d finished, he took the pins from her, set them and her mask on top of the nearer bureau, then took her hand and led her into the center of the room, closer to the bed.
He took two steps back, then slowly raked his gaze up and down, from her freshly spilled and slightly mussed hair to her glamorously adorned toes.
Biting her lip under such intense scrutiny, she began to shift her weight, but he held up his hand, stopping her.
“Don’t move. Just . . . stand there.”
Squaring her feet side by side once more, she gripped her clutch in both hands in front of her as he walked with studious deliberation around her. His eyes examined every inch of her body and the way the dress hung over her slight curves, but he never touched her, keeping himself at arm’s length.
When he circled behind her, he loosely gripped her hair between his thumb and fingertips like he was examining it, then made a quiet, thoughtful noise as if he’d seen something he especially liked. Then he came back around to the front and took his place only a few feet away, giving her a long, appreciative perusal.
“What are you doing?” she asked quietly. She had begun to shiver. Not because she was cold, but from anticipation.
His eyelids flicked upward behind his mask. “Deciding where to start.”
“Where to start?”
He held her gaze without answering.
Ah, yes, he enjoyed the unwrapping process, didn’t he? And tonight, she was his gift. He had carefully selected her wrapping paper, and now he would just as carefully remove it.
In one smooth motion, he closed the distance between them, gently took the clutch from her hands, then placed it on the bureau next to her mask.
When he returned, only inches separated them as he brushed her hair off her shoulders.
“Are you wearing a bra?” he asked.
She nodded. After debating whether she should or shouldn’t, she had decided to wear a strapless one.
A small, crooked grin turned up one corner of his mouth as if her answer pleased him. And why wouldn’t it? A bra gave
