Living the Charade(10)

By: Michelle Conder


‘I don’t.’

She looked at him warily. ‘Everything you need to know is in my dossier. Presuming you read it?’

‘Oh, it was riveting. You enjoy running, Mexican cuisine, strawberry ice cream, and cross-stitching. Tell me, is that anything like cross-dressing?’

Miller willed herself not to blow up at him. ‘No.’

‘That’s a relief. You also like reading and visiting art galleries. No mention of what type of underwear you prefer, though.’

Miller channelled the monks of wherever. ‘Because it’s irrelevant.’

‘You know mine.’

‘Not by choice.’ And she was trying very hard not to think about those sexy boxers under his snug-fitting jeans.

‘So what do you prefer?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Are you a plain cotton or more of a lace girl?’

Miller stifled a cough. ‘That’s none of your business.’

‘Believe me, it is. I’m not getting caught up in a conversation with your client not knowing my G-strings from my boy-legs.’

‘Potential client. And I thought all men talked about was sport?’

‘We’ve been known to deviate on occasion.’ He threw her a mischievous grin. ‘Since you won’t tell me, I’ll have to use my imagination.’

‘Imagine away,’ she said blithely, and then wished she hadn’t when his eyes settled on her breasts.

‘Now, there’s an invitation a man doesn’t get every day.’

Miller shot him a fulminating glare, alarmed to feel her nipples tightening inside her lace bra.

Striving to steady her nerves, she made the mistake of reading out the next item he’d added to the questionnaire. ‘“Favourite sexual position.”’

‘I haven’t finished imagining your lingerie,’ he complained. ‘Though I’m heading towards sheer little lacy numbers over cotton. Am I right?’

Miller faked a yawn, wondering how on earth he had guessed her little secret and determined that he wouldn’t know that he was getting to her. ‘You’ve written down “all”.’

He threw her a wolfish grin. ‘I might have exaggerated slightly. It was getting late when I wrote that. Probably if I had to name one... Nope. I pretty much like them all equally.’

‘I wasn’t asking.’

‘Although on top is always fun,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘And there’s something wicked about taking a woman from behind.’

His voice had dropped and the throaty purr slid over Miller’s skin like a silken caress.

‘Don’t you think?’

Miller released a pent-up breath. She’d had one sexual partner so far and it hadn’t been nearly exciting enough for them to try variations on the missionary theme. She hated that now all she could visualise was her on top of the sublime male next to her and how it would feel to have him behind her. Inside her.

Her heart thudded heavily in her chest and she suddenly found her attention riveted by the way his long fingers flexed around the steering wheel. Imagining them on her body.

‘What I think is that you should concentrate on driving this beast of a car so we don’t run into one of those semis you’re so determined to fly past.’

‘Nervous, Miller?’

He said her name as if he was tasting it and Miller’s stomach clenched. Oh, this man was a master at sexual repartee, and she’d do well to remember that.

Miller shook her head. ‘Are you ever serious about anything?’

He threw her a bemused look. ‘Plenty. Are you ever not serious about anything?’

‘Plenty.’ Which was so blatantly untrue she half expected her nose to start growing.

He passed another car and Miller absently noted that after her earlier panicked response he was driving marginally less like a racing car driver. That thought triggered something in her mind and her brow furrowed.

Determined to ignore him for the rest of the trip, she pulled her laptop out of her computer bag.

‘What happened to the getting-to-know-you part of our trip?’

He threw her a sexy smile that shot the hazy memory she’d been trying to grab on to out of her head and replaced it with an image of the way he had insolently leant against the bar last night.

‘I know you run, swim, work out, and that you take your coffee black. Your favourite colour is blue and you have four siblings—’

‘I also don’t mind a cuddle after sex.’

‘And you don’t have a serious bone in your body. I, on the other hand, take my life very seriously and I am not interested in whether you like sex straight up or hanging from a chandelier. It’s not relevant. What I’m looking for this weekend is someone to melt into the background and say very little. Starting right now.’