Brock padded silently to the closet, then slowly pulled open the accordion door. He quickly sifted through the row of dresses and pantsuits hanging there, searching for the skirt. He froze when he heard Kate roll over in bed, a soft, breathy sigh escaping her lips. The sound made his body instantly harden. It was a sound a woman made when he touched her in just the right place.
A sweat broke out on his forehead as he turned back to the closet. Where the hell was that skirt? He sorted through the clothes again, more carefully this time. At last he stepped back and closed the closet door. It wasn’t there. Hell.
He turned to look at Kate, wondering if she’d hidden it. But where? At that moment, she opened her eyes, then gasped aloud when she saw him. She bolted upright in bed, struggling with the tangled bedcovers.
“It’s all right,” he whispered, realizing this was the second time he’d scared her in less than twenty-four hours and hating himself for it.
“Brock.” Her voice was husky from sleep. She twisted to switch on the table lamp. Light flooded the room, making them both wince at the brightness. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”
“I heard you cry out,” he improvised, moving closer to the bed. “I thought you might be having a nightmare.”
“Oh.” Another blush suffused her cheeks and she didn’t quite meet his eyes. “No, it wasn’t a nightmare. It was just a dream.”
Torture. That was the word for this mission. Kate lay in bed, not two feet away from him. Her hair was tousled and her cheeks rosy. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. His entire body throbbed.
Brock sat down beside her on the bed to conceal his uncomfortable, and no doubt visible, condition. He reached out one hand and tipped up her chin with his finger. “Are you sure?”
She stared into his eyes, then licked her lips. “Positive.”
“I’m glad,” he said huskily, then he leaned forward, unable to help himself. He was already in this far. And a man could only take so much temptation. He closed the distance between them until his lips met hers.
She tasted even better than he had imagined. Like a spring rain on the parched earth of his soul. His hands found her waist as he deepened the kiss, nipping lightly at her lower lip. She made that sound again, that soft sigh that instantly sent his body into high alert.
At last she pulled back and stared at him, her beautiful brown eyes wide and confused. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
He completely agreed, but asked the question anyway. “Why not?”
“I’m involved with someone,” she said, then cleared her throat. “Sort of involved. I don’t want any complications in my life right now.”
“The man you told your parents about,” he guessed. “The one who is supposed to see you in that skirt.”
She nodded. “I think he’s the one.”
Brock wanted to change her mind. And he knew a dozen ways to do it. Ways that could bring them both to the pinnacle of satisfaction. Ways that could induce her to tell him anything he wanted to know. But something made him pull back. A nagging sense of integrity that he’d never let affect his work before.
He straightened and stepped away from the bed. “Then I’ll say good night.”
“Good night, Brock.”
He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. He wanted the skirt. He wanted Kate. But he didn’t have his hands on the former and couldn’t have his hands on the latter. This mission was becoming more complicated by the moment.
He headed into the bathroom for a second cold shower.
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