God help him.
And he could see that she had shifted into her work mode, as he liked to call it. She’d become the other version of herself. Magda. Her gaze became haughtier, sharper. The way she stood changed—to encourage, not touching, but looking. A fierce stance that commanded attention. She was suddenly imperious as she stared at him, almost as if she was challenging him. Did he dare to come before her without a camera to begin worshipping her with its lens, as most did when they beheld her?
And why not? Molly was a masterpiece.
She was all long, elegant lines and surprising curves. Two perfect breasts sat high on her chest, the nipples tightening as he looked at them. If Molly noticed, and Constantine was sure she did, she gave no sign.
Instead, Molly continued to hold his stare in that challenging manner of hers as she bent, stripped off her thong, and tossed it to the side as well.
Then she stood again, looking utterly at her ease. Her hands by her sides, her weight shifted to put her at her best advantage, and how could he not appreciate the view? He more than appreciated it.
“Well?” she asked, and not in the tone of one who had any doubts about what she was presenting.
“You have a very strange take on the idea of servitude,” Constantine pointed out. “I find this amazing, given your mother’s initial profession.”
“Yes, cleaning a house is like brown eyes,” Molly agreed, her tone like a lash. “Passed down generation after generation, by genetics. I was personally born with a broom in one hand.”
“Here are the rules,” Constantine said, ignoring that. “As you are well aware, this is the house where my father always insisted we live without a full staff. I assume because it gave him pleasure to make your mother do the housekeeping. I will not do the same.”
“Whyever not? I was sweeping up before I could walk. A family trait.”
“My assistant stays in the guesthouse and is rarely here in the main house. And never without advance warning. There are guards at the gate, as I’m sure you saw, but they do not venture within. I tell you this to forestall the inevitable argument you’re going to attempt to have with me when I tell you that while we are here, unless I specifically tell you otherwise, you will be naked.”
“Naked,” Molly repeated. “I’ll just be wandering about, draping myself on the furniture, naked. That doesn’t sound hygienic.”
“Do you have a medical issue that should be taken up with a doctor?” he asked, silk and menace and entirely too much delight. “Do I need to bring in a medical team?”
“I’m sadly all too healthy and not about to die from a stroke, which is a tragedy.” She glared at him. “But in case you’ve forgotten, I sunburn very easily.”
“That will not suit me at all,” Constantine assured her. “But no need to fear.” He nodded toward the table beside the chair where she’d tossed her clothes. “I brought you some sunscreen. Bring it to me, please. I’ll apply it.”
Then he watched, fascinated, as she looked from the tube of sunscreen to him, then back again, clearly fighting with herself.
He sat back and enjoyed the show.
And, if he was honest with himself, enjoyed the moment or two to pull himself together, because he had not quite anticipated the effect this would have on him.
Constantine had seen more beautiful women naked than he could begin to count, but this was different. She was different.
He was so hard that he ached. He ached. He wanted to throw all his years of careful planning aside and simply take her, as he knew he could. He had not imagined the way she’d responded to that kiss. He had not liked the way he had, come to that. He had meant it as a show, more than anything else. But somehow, what had started as an object lesson had turned into something else.
He was Constantine Skalas and he had spent the last two days reliving a bloody kiss, of all things. As if he was the gawky, awkward sixteen-year-old this time around. As if she had bewitched him, and that easily.
He would not allow it. He refused to allow the daughter of the unacceptable tart Isabel Payne, of all creatures, to affect him in this way. Or at all.
It was a physical reaction, that was all. She had made an entire career out of her beauty. She knew very well how to elicit the reactions she wanted. He should not be so surprised that he was susceptible to it. What man would not be?
Because naked, Molly was even more beautiful than she was draped in all the dramatic clothing she wore on this or that runway. Once again, he was struck by the stark, glorious lines of her body. A work of exquisite art, angles and curves together, creating a woman no one could deny was exquisite.
And now, for as long as he wanted her, she was his.
Molly came to her decision. He could see it on her face in the split second before she swiped up the tube of sunscreen with one hand, then closed the distance between them. With a challenging look on her face as she stood there, naked, as commanded.
“Come closer,” he told her, the terrible wolf to the not-quite-a-lamb, and when she did, he grinned. He held out his hand for the sunscreen, then waited.
And watched his favorite enemy as she fought, then surrendered, right there before him.
The way Constantine intended to see she did over and over and over again, until there was little left of Molly Payne but shattered pieces, and all of them in his hand.
CHAPTER FIVE
MOLLY HAD NEVER been more grateful for her chosen profession.
Because if it weren’t for all her years as a model, could she have handled this? Could
