Page 65 of Sasha’s Secret

“Typical man.”

He could almost hear her rolling her eyes. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Okay, decision time. You know what we’re aiming for. This one will make it easier to conceal the mic wire.” He draped an elegant sleeve over his palm. It belonged to the short jacket that matched the sparkling, black sleeveless gown.

“I kind of knew it would be, but just for a while, it was nice to think I might wear something different.” She sighed. “Practicality always wins.”

“Not always.” Rocco kissed her hand. “If it’s any consolation, I’d have loved to see you in the red one. You’d outshine everyone there.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a peck on the cheek, and in the next moment, she was rubbing her thumb over the same place.

“More lipstick?”

“Uh-huh. All gone now.” A triumphant smile lit up her face.

“I’ll end up wearing more of that than you before we get out of here,” he grumbled.

“That’ll teach you to say the color suits you. Will you help me with the wire?”

“Of course.”

“Great. There’s something else I need first, now that I know what I’m wearing.” She vanished into the walk-in closet again.

Unable to help himself, Rocco watched, drinking in everything about her. She opened one of the drawers beneath the mirror in the walk-in closet and withdrew a slim package. Stockings. Rocco drew in a deep breath. His imagination was running riot with how they’d look on those amazing legs. “Need any help with those?”

She glanced in the direction of his hands. “Only if you can do it without putting a run in them.”

“Is that a challenge I hear, Ms. Morgan?”

“I believe it may be, Mr. Equizi.”

Rocco lifted his arms, pushed his sleeves up, and waggled his fingers as if he were about to perform a feat of magic. “You see these hands, Ms. Morgan? These hands have been known to defuse the odd bomb in their time. Challenge accepted. Hand them over.”

The branding on the pack screamed quality. While he knew next to nothing about the finer points of lingerie—his expertise lay more in the field of parting a woman from hers—he did recognize the name of the fashion house. Sasha’s taste was impeccable. “Okay, then. Take a seat.” He gestured toward the bed.

The black stockings were gossamer-fine and more dangerously delicate than any explosive device Rocco had ever encountered. One false move, and they’d be ruined. Then again, hadn’t the British Army invested millions in his training, so he could confront any enemy, conquer any obstacle, achieve any objective? Adapt and overcome. He could handle this.

He draped the nylons carefully on the bed beside Sasha and dropped to his knees in front of her. “You look wonderful.”

Her lips—pink and luscious with their fresh application of lipstick—curved in a small, wry smile. “I look almost naked.”

Rocco shrugged. “Details. Besides, it’s a look that suits you.”

She was leaning back, her palms flat on the bed behind her for support, all legs for miles and utter perfection. With great care, he cupped her heel and lifted her foot to rest on his thigh. He liked that she didn’t paint her toenails—they didn’t need the enhancement.

Now came one of the most perilous phases of the op. Defusing a bomb with a trembler device would be easier than handling these babies. Rocco very carefully rolled up the first of the stockings. As he did so, for the first time in his life, he wished he’d been an accountant or a lawyer—soft hands would make the task of applying the damn thing much less risky. Still, he managed to get her toes in, then the rest of her foot and her ankle followed.

“Would you mind standing, please?”

And now that gorgeous limb was right in front of him, in all its golden, sun-kissed glory. It was criminal to cover it up, but on the other hand, with the side split in that dress, Rocco’s inner Neanderthal was celebrating the fact that she wouldn’t be totally nude beneath the gown. He drew the stocking up slowly, pausing to stroke her calf before covering it, then her knee and her thigh, and finally to phase two—fastening the delicate nylon to the garter straps.

His special ops training might not have encompassed this precise activity, but it had taught him to assess a situation and come up with an appropriate course of action. With that in mind, within a second or two—maybe three, given the distraction of her mound just inches from his mouth—he had the tricky little clasp fastened. “Turn, please.”

Again, Sasha complied without a word—and Rocco was in serious trouble. His body was reacting the only way it could to the sight of her sweet ass right in front of him, mere inches from his nose. The fact that he had to put clothes on his woman instead of removing them was downright criminal.

“You okay, Rocco?”

Sasha’s question and the way she looked over her shoulder at him slammed home how domestic this scene was. The way he thought about her—repeatedly and more frequently—reminded him how much he was starting to hate the prospect of leaving her for his next assignment. “Sure, everything’s fine. Almost done.”

He fastened the second garter clip and stood, pausing briefly to kiss the peach-like curve of her ass. When she pivoted to face him, she was smiling.