A Passion Denied by Julie Lessman Page B

the truth.
    Cluny grinned from ear to dirty ear. “In your bedroom.” He banged on the doorframe. A deafening bark shook the walls of the flat.
    Brady groaned and slowly opened his bedroom door. Miss Hercules lay, in all her matted glory, like the Queen of Sheba. She lifted her head and barked, dominating his nice, clean bed with muddied paws and panting tongue, as only an English sheepdog can.
    “Gee whiz, Brady, there was so much ruckus in the hall every time somebody would be a-comin’ or a-goin’, that ol’ Miss Hercules would keep trottin’ to the door and barkin’ like a fiend.” Cluny leaned close and winked, as if man to man. “I need my beauty sleep for the ladies, ya know. After all, it’s you and me, Brady. We got a lot of hearts to break, if you know what I mean.”
    Brady hung his head. A faint smile touched his lips despite the sick feeling in his gut. Yeah, he knew. He was already well on his way.

    Charity flipped a strand of long, golden hair over her shoulder and nervously dabbed a hint of lilac water behind each ear. Nibbling on her lip, she applied the scent to her throat, then lowered her robe enough to reveal the deep cleft of her new, satin nightgown. She exhaled the breath she’d been holding and smiled into the mirror with her best come-hither look. “Feel like a back rub, darling?”
    Her lips skewed into a wry grin as she let the robe drop to the floor, unveiling a protruding belly. Her grin faded into a sigh. “Or maybe a really firm pillow for your head?”
    “Charity! Are you coming? You know I can’t sleep without you.”
    “I’m coming, I’m coming!” And, yes, she knew. She straightened her shoulders and smiled into the mirror. “And tonight, Mr. Dennehy, I am not going to sleep without you.” She braced a hand to her back and squatted in an attempt to pick up the robe without success. With a frustrated grunt, she flipped it with her toe and launched it on the chair.
    “Charity!”
    “Coming!” She doused the bathroom light and hurried into their darkened bedroom, pausing to adjust her eyes. She scanned the room for their golden retriever Runt, who lay sprawled in the middle of the floor. With a flick of her toe, she quickly massaged his ear. “Good night, big guy,” she whispered and slipped into her side of the bed. A shaft of moonlight illuminated her husband’s six-foot-four frame stretched out with eyes closed and chest bare. Her pulse picked up as she eased under the covers and nestled as close as her stomach would allow. “I’m here, for heaven’s sake. Did you remember to lock the doors?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Put the milk bottles out?”
    “Yes, dear.”
    She snuggled closer and stroked playful fingers across the blond coiled hair on his chest. “Love your wife?”
    She could feel his smile in the dark. He looped a powerful arm around her shoulders to draw her close, then stopped. His hand started feeling the back—or lack thereof—of her new nightgown. His eyes flipped open. “What the devil have you got on, and where’s your nightgown—the warm, flannel one?”
    She giggled and pulled back so he could enjoy the view from the front. She saw his hard-chiseled chin drop a full inch. She preened like a peacock when a lump bobbed in his throat. “Do you like it? Lizzie’s friend Millie says it’s all the rage in lingerie.”
    “How in the devil would Millie know?” Mitch rasped, eyes trained on her full breasts as they strained against the sheer fabric. He sucked in a ragged breath and exhaled slowly. “Yes, I like it. Too blasted much, I like it. Turn around,” he growled, “so we can spoon and I can get some sleep. I’m exhausted.”
    Her chin notched the slightest degree, and he knew he was in trouble. “Oh no, you’re not going to sleep—not yet.” With a mischievous smile, she casually flicked the silk strap of her gown. It slithered off her shoulder. “I’m warning you—don’t make me seduce you, Mitch Dennehy, I’m way