Bedroom Eyes (27 page)

“Ah, Penelope,” he whispered, tracing a line from her lips down her throat, around the silver pendant engraved with the letter p between her breasts, over ribs that showed clearly against her skin, in a slow circle around her navel, then lower, past the scrap of satin that barely covered the part of her he didn’t think he could wait much longer to explore and lay claim to.

She lay with her head thrown back, an almost drugged expression on her face. She whispered in response, “Tony, you’re making me feel things I never knew existed.”

He couldn’t help but smile before he lowered his lips. With his teeth, he tugged at the edge of the satin panty, then traced a path of demanding kisses where satin teased the edge of her thigh.

She quivered violently and he kissed the same path on the other thigh, reveling in her excited reaction.

“I want you to feel everything I do tonight in a way you’ve never felt before,” he said.

“Don’t worry about that,” she half-whispered, half-murmured.

Satisfied, he kissed her thigh, then the damp center of her panties. He’d been ready for her for so long now he thought he’d probably explode, like a balloon released with too much helium, but he willed himself to wait.

He wanted to show Penelope just how good she could feel with Tony Olano.

Not yet freeing her of panties, he stroked her with mouth and tongue. She writhed under him, calling his name. God, but she was hot. He eased his tongue under the edge of the satin, tasting her, teasing her, promising her more pleasure to come.

“Oh, Tony,” she cried out, “Raoul was never like this.”

“Raoul?” Tony stilled his kisses, lifted his head, and gazed toward her face, a face intensely passionate, intensely concentrated on the pleasure he’d been giving her. Dragging the name out into three syllables, he said, “Raoul? Who’s he?”

“Oh, nobody,” she said, opening her eyes and looking rather sheepishly at him.

Tony stroked the side of her thigh. “Your mama never told you not to talk about other guys?” He was too excited to be annoyed . . . yet.

“Raoul’s not just another guy.”

“Oh, no?” Tony edged up on his elbows. “Then who the hell is he?”

“Oh!” Penelope seemed to snap back to the reality around her. She blinked, then said, “Oh, Tony, Raoul’s not another man. He’s, um, he’s . . . well, he’s a figment of my imagination.”

“Uh-huh.” Tony didn’t feel too impressed by that explanation. She might have started off the reference to this mystery man with a less-than-favorable comparison, but Tony wasn’t into any compare-and-contrast point systems.

He wanted Penelope to think only of him.

Penelope pushed up on the pillows. “It’s true. Raoul’s an invention of my imagination. He’s like a . . .” she waved one hand in a slow circle, as if trying to whisk an explanation out of thin air, “an imaginary lover to keep me from missing all the things I’ve not had a chance to experience while I’ve been concentrating on my career.”

“Such as?” Tony wanted to stop talking and get back to business. The way he’d been kissing and pleasuring Penelope had him so excited he couldn’t stand this interruption. But neither could he stand her thinking of another guy.

She giggled, a bit nervously. Tony stroked her beautifully flat stomach, then edged his hand higher, past her ribs, until he captured first one breast, then the other. She sighed and said, “This.”

He followed his hands with his lips, leaning over her, claiming her, tasting her. When he could force himself to pause, he lifted his mouth and said, “You mean this, for instance?”

She nodded.

He returned his lips to hers, to the warmth and excitement of her mouth, her tongue responding to the dancing inquiry of his own.

Then his tongue slowed as the messages she’d been sending him filtered through the haze of desire ruling his mind.
An imaginary lover. To make up for what she’d never experienced.
He added up her words, plus what she hadn’t said, to what her almost-surprised reactions to his love-making signaled.

Lifting off her, he said, very slowly, and very clearly, “Penelope, are you a virgin?”

No answer came; she said nothing.

Beneath his embrace, she ceased her wriggling and soft moaning.

He groaned and sat up. “Shit,” he muttered, tugging at his hair, ready to explode.

“What’s so bad about being a virgin?” She, too, sat up, and glared at him, crossing her arms over her bare breasts.

“Nothing.” He pulled away from her, yanking at his shorts, tugging them up around his less-than-willing-to-give-in-to-reason body. He hated the way she’d closed in immediately, like a flower shocked by too much heat, when before she’d been so open to him. “It’s just that I can’t simply plunge ahead. It’s not right.”

Her chin quivered. “You don’t want me, do you?”

“Don’t want you?” He caught her hand, brought it to his body, showing her quite clearly how much he wanted her. He stared into her eyes.

She returned his look, quite steadily, though a wash of color mounted on her cheeks.

“I can’t do it this way. It’s not right, when you’ve waited this long, to give yourself away on a one-night stand.” He hated putting it that way, but he knew Penelope would wake up in the morning despising herself.

Who was Tony Olano to her, other than a guy in the wrong place at the right time? He tugged at her hand, pulling her delicious body from the couch. “And don’t tell anyone I stopped, for pete’s sake, or I’ll lose my reputation.”

“Great,” she muttered, letting him slip her bra back on. “My one big chance and you’re worried about your reputation.”

He handed her her skirt, intent on dressing her, refusing to give in to the desire raging within him, desire he could see she’d do nothing to derail.

It was probably just as well that a different type of fire sparked in her eyes. She snatched her clothing from him, rose from the couch, and turned her back on him as she yanked her clothes on.

Good. Better for her to be angry at him than hate herself in the morning. Still, he couldn’t believe he, Tony Olano, was now about to deliver this ready, willing, and wanting woman back to her car, follow her home, and tuck her into bed.

Alone.

Since when had he grown a conscience?

“My reputation,” he finally answered when she turned to face him, her suit jacket buttoned securely, “is the least of my worries.”

“I guess you’re worried whether I’ll still respect you in the morning,” she said in a cross voice.

He couldn’t blame her for sounding upset; hell, as worked up as he was, she had to be pretty crazed with need right now, too. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gazed into her eyes—eyes passion had darkened to cobalt.

“As a matter of fact,” he said, trying for lightness, “I do care about that.”

Then he marched her out of the house before she could wear down his unexpected spurt of conscience.

Chapter 20

Penelope had sat frozen as Tony slipped her bra onto her arms, then reached around to the back to fasten the clasp. Her skin burned where his fingers touched it, but not even that heat thawed her mood.

His touch had, however, jerked her back to her senses and she’d snatched the rest of her clothing from his hand, not meeting his gaze, whipping into her nylons and suit.

A volatile blend of humiliation and pride ruled her as Tony now propelled her out the door and into his car. She’d started to argue with him. At twenty-nine, she was certainly old enough to know her own mind. If she chose to have sex with him, what did it matter to him whether she’d never done it before?

But the words he’d used had stopped her cold.

One-night stand.

Forgetting she’d gone off to Olano’s telling herself that’s exactly what she sought, Penelope hugged her humiliation to her chest. Even as her skin still tingled from the touch of Tony’s lips and hands and mouth, her ego reeled.

She shouldn’t have let herself hope, not even for a second, that she could have meant anything more than that to a man so obviously worldly-wise and experienced.

When they reached the restaurant parking lot, Tony took her hand. Against her own better judgment, she let him clasp it softly in his, registering with a rush of emotion how good his touch felt.

Gazing into her eyes, he said, “I want you to remember I stopped because I care about you. Not the opposite, not for any silly reason you’ve got racing through your head.” He brushed his lips across her knuckles. “You’re a sexy, desirable woman and if things were different, we’d still be back there on that couch.”

He sounded so sincere. Penelope softened slightly. Then he tipped her chin gently and feathered a kiss across her lips. She sighed. Could she believe him?

His lips moving slowly from her mouth to her ear, he whispered, “When I can, I’d like to see you again.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t know what to say. Her body, awakened to sensuous pleasures and turbulent sensations she hadn’t even known enough about to include in her fantasy life, trembled and quivered and cried out for more of Tony Olano. Her mind, however, counseled caution.

She thought of the articles she devoured in silly women’s magazines, ridiculing them even as she wished she had more in common with the stories she found there than with the dry fodder of her legal journals.

Such articles always advised women against appearing overly anxious. Only last week she’d read one entitled, “Let Him Chase You—And You’ll Both Be Glad when You Finally Let Him Catch You.”

Taking a deep breath, Penelope slipped free of Tony’s embrace and opened the car door. She turned back toward him, traced the line of his lips, her heart beating faster than was probably healthy. Feeling like a pauper risking her last dollar on a lottery ticket, she forced a casual tone to her voice and said, “Call me when you think you can handle me, big guy.”

Then she whisked out of his car and into hers.

Watching her dash to her car, Tony whistled, his mood a mixture of admiration and extreme frustration. He admired her for playing it cool. And once he had Hinson out of the picture, he knew just how he intended to deal with his frustration.

“And just where have you been?” Her bookmark-sized self still propped up on the dining table, Mrs. Merlin glared at Penelope. “And my, if you don’t look like the alligator that ate the egret.”

Penelope touched a hand to her cheek. “I’m that transparent?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. But so what? You may be transparent, but I’m translucent. And it’s past the prime time for the spell to work, so I do wish you’d stop dawdling and get down to business. I need every ounce of magick I can make tonight to bring myself out of this sorry state, and messing up on the timing of the heavens won’t help.”

Penelope halted in her path across her living room, pretty much oblivious to the scolding words. Instead, she thought of Tony saying she’d cast a spell on him. She kicked off her shoes and, despite Mrs. Merlin’s impatience, paused to select some mood music for the CD player.

Along with Mrs. Merlin, last night’s magick altar still occupied the table. Remembering the magician’s instructions about the importance of centering oneself before performing candle magick, Penelope dropped to the floor on her Oriental carpet and stretched out. If she, Penelope Sue Fields, who lived her life immersed in the black letter of tax law, was going to perform a supernatural ritual, she planned to do so by the book.

She eased first one arm, then the other over her head and began to form the image of her place of peace in her mind. Sounds of water lapping at the riverbank filtered into her consciousness, only to be rudely interrupted.

“We don’t have time for that.”

“What?” Penelope raised her head, not feeling at all like moving. After the fire Tony had stoked in her, she needed some time to return to her usual self. And lying there on the floor, the lilting strains of the music filling the room, she wanted to be left alone to relive the incredibly sweet and passionate sensations Tony had created within her.

“Up. Up.” Mrs. Merlin waved her one-dimensional body forward, then back, like a stalk of wheat. “You’re my only hope.”

Penelope rose slowly to her feet. She sure hoped she’d centered herself sufficiently to assist Mrs. Merlin, so she could get the job done and then be free to snuggle under the covers and dream of Tony.

“By the way, that man of yours called earlier. Three times.”

“He did?” She couldn’t keep the hope out of her voice.

“Yes. I didn’t know how to use that newfangled speaker phone, but I heard every word on your answering machine.”

“What did he say?”

“Well, the last time, he said he knew you were going to accept his proposal, so he was going forward with wedding plans.”

“He what!” Of course Mrs. Merlin wasn’t referring to Tony. “Of all the nerve.”

“He said even though you didn’t have family to notify, he had lots of business associates and needed to spread the news.”

Penelope stormed over to the table, hands on her hips.

“Hey, don’t kill the messenger,” Mrs. Merlin said.

“Sorry, but what a creep. And he seemed so pleasant in the beginning.”

“Those are the ones to watch out for,” Mrs. Merlin said. “I say find a man with a few rough edges, then sit back and watch as he tries to smooth them off to win you.” Unbelievably, she winked. “Ready to help me now?”

Penelope nodded, turning Mrs. Merlin’s words over in her mind. “As much as I want to help you, are you sure we shouldn’t call Mr. Gotho or someone else?”

“Hah!” Mrs. Merlin waved her body again. “Forget Gotho. He told me only last month, and I quote, ‘Don’t come running to me for help the next time you get yourself into a fix. I’ve rescued you for the last time.’ ”

That news sure didn’t bolster Penelope’s confidence. “So what went wrong that time?”

“Is it the lawyer in you that makes you ask all these questions?”

“Search me.” Hiding a smile, Penelope lifted the incense stick from its place on the altar, carried it to the stove, and lit it from the flame of the gas burner. Mrs. Merlin had impressed on her that matches, manifestations of brimstone and sulfur, brought bad karma to all that was magickal.