“Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?” he whispered as he moved red gauze aside to expose the red lace of her bra. He ran his tongue under the scalloped edge.

“Not since yesterday,” she managed.

“What terrible manners. I like your lingerie.”

“I thought you might.”

“Next time, don’t wear any. Remember what I said before.”

Did she ever. “You like to look.”

“That I do. May I?” He pulled the edge of the cup down and exposed her nipple.

“Please, Mitch.” She arched her back and moved as if to force herself into his mouth, but he pulled back.

“Not so fast. I want to look first.”

The man was an expert at torture, but at the same time, it was tremendously exciting to be the focus of that hot gaze. He released the front catch and her bra sprang apart. And then, unexpectedly, he arranged the wrap front of her blouse over her naked breasts and pulled her up until they sat facing each other. The fabric was like a breath of sensation on her flesh, teasing her aching nipples while it hid them from his sight.

“Very nice,” he breathed. “I can see your luscious nipples right through it.”

Or not. Her breasts felt heavy with desire, and she was positive the nipples he loved had never been harder or more ready to be touched.

Slowly, he untied the bow in the front and unwrapped the blouse, pushing it and the bra off her shoulders. She kicked off her skirt, and he backed up against the headboard, where he pulled her into his lap so that she straddled him.

“Oh, my.” She settled onto his erection, shielded by her wet panties and his trousers. Ooh. Very nice. Her breasts jiggled as she adjusted her position.

“Miss Best, I’m overcome by my need to taste your nipples. They are quite simply driving me mad. May I?”

If you don’t, I’ll scream. No, a Southern lady would never say that. “Please do.” She resisted the urge to giggle and instead, rocked a little on his cock.

She settled her arms around his neck as he cupped her breasts in his hands and groaned with pleasure as her flesh filled them. “Lovely,” he breathed. “So round. So firm.” Then he lowered his mouth to her nipple and swirled his tongue around it before he suckled it. Delight darted along her veins as his clever tongue and teeth pleasured her, as he nibbled and sucked and licked his way from one to the other and back again.

“Miss Best,” he said, his voice muffled against her skin, “I would like your permission to lick your nipples every day.” He slid two fingers between their bodies, and she jumped with the sudden, unexpected pleasure as his fingers found their target. “And since we’re on the subject, your clit, as well.”

“Shall we write that into the contract?” she asked, and gasped as he hooked her panties with his thumbs and pulled them off. In return, she undid his belt and fly and yanked his trousers and boxers down, tossing them to the floor.

“If not the contract, then certainly your calendar.” He pulled her into her former position, and she settled onto his naked cock as he gazed up at her. His mouth was swollen and his eyes glazed and dark with passion. He tongued a nipple, drawing it into his mouth and releasing it with a sound like a kiss. “I can’t live a single day without at least looking at your magnificent breasts. Naked, of course. We’ll need to specify that in writing.” His hips rose under her, and she ground herself against him. “And making you come. In your office will be fine. On your desk, preferably, but I’ll make do with the carpet if I have to.”

“On my desk?” she asked weakly.

“Yes indeed. You can lie on it and I’ll sit in your chair and eat you for lunch.”

“Goodness,” she whispered. “Lucky me.”

“Miss Best, there’s a condom in that wallet on the nightstand. Would you be so kind?”

In seconds she had it unwrapped and rolled down on him. He repositioned her above him and she sank onto the tip. A moan escaped her as she stretched to accommodate him.

“Miss Best,” he ground out, cupping her breasts so that his thumbs abraded her nipples, “I can’t wait any longer. Please use me ruthlessly for your pleasure.”

She kissed him deeply and sank onto him, feeling his tongue slip into her mouth and his thick erection slide deep into her body. Feeling his hands on her breasts as she rose and fell in slow motion. Feeling his fingers slide between them to touch her clit and stimulate it, as slippery with her creaminess as it would be if indeed he did have her on her own desk, bringing her to orgasm with his tongue-

She shuddered as the pleasure detonated under his clever fingers, spreading through her body like a flash bomb. Her body contracted around him and he groaned. He gripped her waist and, even as she cried out with the magnitude of it, thrust into her again and again, his hips flexing against the mattress.

He drove into her a final time and gasped, and she clutched him tight with every internal muscle she knew how to use. “Eve!” he cried, and she felt his body shudder as his chest heaved with the effort to breathe.

And then they were spiraling down to the mattress again, twined around each other, holding on as if they were two survivors in a high sea.

“Yes,” Eve said on a long sigh. “This is definitely going on my calendar.”

12

EVE SAT ON a padded stool in the center of the set, facing the live audience. The spotlight felt hot on her scalp, but she was used to it-and besides, she never stayed on the stool very long. The electricity of the unpredictable usually goosed her off it within about five minutes-and goosed the ratings, too.

Atlanta loved these things.

Usually she did, too, but today her concentration was shot. The fact that she’d left Mitch’s hotel room with barely enough time to skate home, change her clothes and get down to the station probably had something to do with it.

She’d had an Army shower-three minutes flat. It was impossible that she could still smell the scent of Mitch’s aftershave, hours later. Impossible that her panties could still feel damp, or that her secret places could still be sensitive and slightly sore.

Something moved off to the side, and she saw the man himself take a seat at the far end of one of the right-hand rows.

What strings had he pulled to get a seat? People started lining up on the sidewalk outside at six in the morning. Getting in was a crapshoot. People who looked interesting, had interesting opinions or simply happened to be wearing a hat that their two PAs liked were admitted. Eve figured it was kind of like a New York club. It didn’t matter how much money you had or who you knew. If the PAs nixed you, better luck next time.

Her music died away and she grinned at the camera. “Good afternoon, Atlanta-I’m Eve Best, and I’d like to keep this Just Between Us.”

The crowd screamed and propelled Eve up off the stool. “We’re swapping today with Friday, folks, in order to give you a two-part show. I want to talk about Understanding His Motives-Is What He Says Really What He Thinks?”

The studio rang with shouts and applause.

“For those of you brave enough to come up here and tell the truth-or not-you’re going to be filmed, and then tomorrow Dr. Barbara Birdsall, who specializes in male/female communications, will analyze-” she put a hand on her hip and struck a pose “-just what exactly is goin’ on.”

The next half hour took all her ingenuity and stage management skills as two women took their boyfriends to task on live television. A husband made promises to his wife. A middle-manager type of about forty who was clearly skipping out on his day job talked about how difficult it was to get anything done in his all-female shop.

One of the angry women with the cheating spouse was a housewife who taught neighborhood women how to strip for their husbands or boyfriends. The crowd’s response to her was so terrific that Eve made a mental note to get her booked for a show later in the month.