“This way.”
Gilli stumbled along behind him, her mind racing as she wondered how she’d gotten into this position. Why couldn’t she ever say no to her mother? More to the point, why couldn’t her mother act her age and grow up? Weren’t six husbands enough? She didn’t need a seventh.
“Come on in, you can use the bathrobe while your dress dries,” Jack offered.
Ducking past him, Gilli surveyed the room. A massive king-size bed peeked from the open door of the bedroom. A high bar separated the living area from the kitchenette, and another door was ajar. It didn’t take long for her to determine it to be the washroom. Gilli froze when Jack slipped into the adjoining room, already unbuttoning his shirt.
“If you want a shower, it’s in here,” Jack called from the bedroom. “The robe’s hanging on the back of my door, but I’ll only be a minute. Do you want me to call room service and see if they can get your dress dry cleaned for you?” Jack appeared a moment later, shirt hanging open, his muscled chest flexing with each sweep of his arms.
“No, that’s okay. Mom rented it—so she can have it cleaned before it goes back.” Gillian eased past him, a weak smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “I’ll just rinse it out though, if you don’t mind.”
Jack strode from the bedroom, his shirt unbuttoned, pants hanging from toned hips. He smiled at her and ducked behind the bar. “Not at all, Gilli. Coffee?”
“Sure.” Gillian hurried into the bathroom to stare at her reflection in the mirror. A huge dark stain ran from her breasts to her hips. The fabric was bleeding it across her abdomen until it darkened the entire bodice of her gown. “Why me?” She twisted and reached for the zipper, her back cracking like bubble wrap as she tried to reach the desired tag. Stumbling into the counter, she watched the contents of his shaving kit skip across the countertop before they rolled to the floor.
The clatter of glass on the stone floor drew a wince as she kneeled to pick it up. Her fingers closed around the aftershave as the door swung open, upending her into a tangled mass of satin, tulle, and nylons.
Please, God, if you’re there—take me now!
Heaving a sigh, she grabbed for the counter. She struggled with untangling the heels from the tulle beneath the satin as she muttered under her breath. Barefoot, she might have some success at looking like a grown woman and not some bumbling twit.
“Let me help you.” He hefted her onto the counter and moved between her legs. His hands trailed down her calves to her ankles to undo the straps of her shoes and toss them aside. “You okay? Looks like the straps were too tight.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me.” Gilli sighed. The counter was cold beneath her ass, a sharp contrast to the heat skittering along her legs with each brush of his fingertips. Desire trailed along her body, the familiar itch she’d often refused to scratch. It hadn’t proven to be of any delight or pleasure. She met Jack’s gaze, a half-smile on his face, his fingers wrapped around her thighs.
“Can you help me with this zipper?” Gilli tucked her heel behind his knee, her fingers plucking at the ribbons of her dress. “I can’t reach…” A wiggle of her hips and she was perched against him, her fingers wrapped around the edge of the granite.
“Sure. Do you want me to get you a robe?”
“I think if you can just get the zipper down I’ll be fine.” Gillian offered what she hoped was a seductive smile. Running a heel up the back of his leg, she reached up to play with the loose end of his bowtie peeking out from beneath the collar of his dress shirt.
Why not do it? He’ll be gone in the morning, and it’s not like it’ll be anything that unpleasant. A few fast thrusts and he’ll be finished, and then a shower and you’ve successfully managed to have sex. After all it’s been what, three … no, four years since…
Ruthlessly, she slammed the door shut on the faint stirrings of memory. There was no point in reliving the experience, not that she could remember too many details, but still. Why risk ruining the opportunity?
Jack glanced from her hand to her face, a brow raised. “You’ll have to let go…”
Gilli tugged gently on the dark fabric, wrapped her legs around his hips, a hesitant smile on her face. “Let me help you with this dirty shirt. I really am sorry about it.”
His Adam’s apple bobbing, he wrapped his fingers around her wrists, firm but gentle as he took a half step back. “I’m not sure…”
“Shh.” Gillian pressed a kiss to his lips; if she let him talk, she’d chicken out. The gentle touch sent shards of moisture to her core. With a soft sound, she let him take the lead, deepening the kiss. His tongue stroked along hers before he pulled back.
“Are you sure? I mean, you’re more than a little tipsy, and I don’t want to pressure you into…”
Gillian winced at the nervous titter that escaped and shook her head. “You aren’t.” It was the truth, however shadowed it might be. He wasn’t, she knew firsthand what being forced felt like—the pain, the disgust, the desperate need to hide… Jack wasn’t forcing her to do this. She bit her lip at the hesitant look on his face as he stared at her. His brows drew together in a frown before smoothing out to a quick, charming grin. Pushing aside the familiar panic, she met him halfway, her hands clutching at his open shirt. Shivers raced along her body.
She lifted her hips when his hands crept under her dress and paused at the hooks of her garters. A prickle of unease flared at the
