Shades of Temptation by Virna Depaul Page B

of her
skull, he tilted her head to give him better access to her mouth. He explored
every sweet corner with his tongue, lingering over the smooth sharpness of her
teeth. She rose on tiptoe, trying to gain control of the kiss by sucking on his
tongue. With a groan, he ripped his mouth free to take in desperate bursts of
air.
    His hands didn’t know what to do. They wanted to stay in her
hair and around her waist, but at the same time it wasn’t enough. He wanted to
touch her everywhere, all at once, to cup breasts and buttocks and, yes, that
sweet hot core between her thighs before one of them came to their senses and
realized they shouldn’t be doing what they were doing.
    He licked the hollow beneath her ear just as she gasped, “Jase.
Jase, stop. We can’t.”
    He rested his forehead against her shoulder, and although he
wanted to howl in denial, he took several deep breaths, released her and stepped
back.
    She looked like an erotic fantasy, her lips bee-stung and her
hair a wild cloud around her face. Most of all, her blue eyes glittered with a
fierce desire that he’d never forget, no matter how much she denied it later.
She raised her hand and gingerly touched her mouth, and he remembered the sting
of pleasure that had bolted through him when she’d pressed that mouth against
his scars. Automatically, he lifted his hand and touched the scars at his side,
as if by touching himself he was touching her, too. Her eyes followed the
movement before darting back to his.
    With a whimper, she turned and walked away.
    * * *
    O DELL B OWERS ’ S SMILE disappeared as soon as the
door to his office closed. He’d just finished a consult with yet another woman
willing to pay thousands of dollars for elective cosmetic surgery that she
really didn’t need. It was the bread and butter of his practice, and enabled him
to live in the manner to which he’d grown accustomed, but he was so damn bored
with boob jobs and tummy tucks. Even the face-lifts, which he’d always viewed
differently, weren’t challenging him any longer. All he could think about was
his girls. The magnificent results of what he’d done to them. How proud Laura
would have been of him and his work.
    Unlike the women he saw day in and day out, Laura had been
comfortable in her own skin. She’d made it her duty to help Bowers become the
same. She hadn’t cared that he’d liked to borrow her clothes or play with her
makeup. In fact, she’d reassured him that he looked better in them than she
did.
    Laughing affectionately, Bowers rose and locked his office
door. Then he buzzed his receptionist and told her he needed an hour of privacy.
Using his private bathroom, he washed his hands thoroughly, the way Laura had
taught him. By the time he was done, and he retrieved his briefcase from under
his desk, he was trembling with anticipation.
    He always had his briefcase with him. Always.
    The snick of the lock as he disengaged it made him jerk.
    The smooth glide of the lid as he slid it up made him gasp.
    The sight of the small box inside, an intricately carved ivory
container Laura had given him for his birthday, made him moan.
    Lightly, he brushed his fingertips over the surface and
imagined he could still feel the warmth from her having held the box so long
ago.
    But he knew it wasn’t real.
    That was okay. Because the contents of the box were very
real.
    Each time he added more items to the box, he paid homage to
Laura and repented for the way he’d failed her. He was good at his job, the
best, but what he did with his girls was the work he was most proud of. He’d
give up everything—his practice, his money, his social standing, everything—for
the time with Laura that he’d been denied. But since that couldn’t happen, he
took comfort in the ones that he could help.
    He closed his eyes and recalled the last one. How smooth her
skin had looked. How creamy. He’d over-plucked her brows, just the tiniest bit,
but he was confident the brow corrector had