Page 31 of Playing Mr. Perfect

“No, I did not,” she whispers.

“We can show them. How about it, beautiful? One scorching kiss, right here.”

“Don’t you dare.”

The lust in her voice tells me how much she wants it. I let that desire simmer and trail my fingers over hers on the silk scarf. “I think your mother would love this scarf.”

“No, they’re right,” she says, sounding deflated. “She has no place to wear it.”

“Gifts aren’t about that. I think she’d like knowing you saw that scarf and thought of her.” I pick up a gorgeous emerald-green and gold scarf and brush it over her hand. “How about this one for you? It’ll bring out your eyes.”

She is quiet for a beat. “I don’t have anywhere to wear silk either.”

“My little fibber. I’ve seen your sexy silk panties,” I rasp in her ear, and she shudders against me. I skim my hand up her hip on the side her sisters can’t see. “I think the scarf would look nice wrapped around your wrists.”

She turns, her wide eyes gazing up at me with the enticing mix of lust and restraint that has been warring in them all day. “I…um…”

“Like that idea?” I offer.

“I’m going to look over there” tumbles from her lips fast and breathy, and she scurries away.

I fight the urge to follow her.

I carry our purchases from that shop and others, and we spend the afternoon taking in more sights. I talk sports and joke with her brother and brothers-in-law, and she and the girls take pictures, chatting about who knows what. I love the way Pepper handles them, joining in with their jokes and rolling her eyes when they get silly. But when she looks at me, her smile heats up the brisk winter air.

As the hours pass, she and I dance around the sparks threatening to ignite between us. She does her best to give our mounting desires a wide berth, as if she can escape them, but our every interaction reels her back in. Hell, my every taunt, touch, and tease, meant to fray her restraint, eat away at mine, and I’m powerless to stop.

By the time we reach the last landmark on Amber’s itinerary, the Musée de Cluny, a museum of medieval art housed in a palatial Gothic-style hotel, I want Pepper so badly, I can practically taste her. We’re taking a guided tour with a large group of people. As usual, Pepper and I hover near the back of the group. As we move from room to room, pretending to listen to the history of sculptures, tapestries, paintings, and other artifacts, Pepper and I whisper among ourselves.

“We could make good use of the baths,” I say as the guide talks about the second-century Roman baths and the frigidarium we’ll be visiting during the tour. “I’ll wash your back, you wash mine.”

She laughs softly.

“We could make our own history. Give you something to brag about when you pick up the shot glass the next time you play Never Have I Ever.”

“That would be a no,” she says as we follow the group into another stone room with several massive archways leading to dimly lit corridors.

The group stops to admire ivory carvings, and as the guide gives a history lesson, I whisper, “That sly grin tells me you’re thinking of all the places we could sneak into.”

“Do you ever behave?” she asks with a playful smile I want to see more of.

“Yes, often. But apparently it’s impossible when I’m with you.”

She gives me a yeah, right look.

I scoff. “You know you’re taunting me with that high-necked sweater.”

“How is this sweater taunting you?” she whispers with amusement. “It covers everything.”

“Exactly. You know how much I like your neck.”

“Why do you think I had to wear it? You gave me a hickey last night,” she whispers harshly.

Some kind of primal satisfaction takes hold, and I want to howl at the moon.

“Get that look off your face,” she says as we move around the periphery of the group. “You left your mark on my thighs, my breast, and my neck. It’s ridiculous.”

“If my memory serves me correctly, I marked your ass cheek, too.”