Read Online Lady Be Good by Susan Elizabeth Phillips - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Elizabeth Phillips
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fingers and squeezed. . . .
It was the sweetest pain she’d ever felt. Tears spilled over her lids and dripped onto the pillow. On the brink of orgasm, she opened her legs and willed his hand to go there. Just a brush. The merest touch. That’s all she needed.
He squeezed again, and she gave a small sob.
His head came up, and he frowned as he spotted her tears. “Am I hurting you?”
She was incapable of responding. Instead, she lay there like a wanton, her breast exposed, its nipple wet and puckered, her legs splayed under the rumpled silk.
She saw that his pants were unzipped, and he was fully erect, but a straining pair of silky black boxers kept her from seeing the imposing column beneath. She tried to gather enough air so she could ask him not to stop, beg him to touch her again, plead with him to strip off those slacks and burn his black briefs.
He moved to the edge of the bed and shoved his hand through his hair. “What do you say we slow things down here a little?” His voice sounded hoarse, as if he were pushing the words through the narrowest of openings.
“No!” She shot up into a sitting position.
He stared at her.
She licked her lips. Wiped her tears on the sleeve of the robe. Gulped in air. Left the robe open over her breast.
“No.” She tucked her legs beneath her. “It’s—it’s quite all right.”
“I got a little carried away there.”
“Actually, you didn’t. I mean, you did, but . . . I wasn’t . . . that is, I liked what you were . . .”
Good heavens, she was babbling. She looked away to collect her thoughts and realized music was playing. She drew a breath and took in the details of the room. A wallet sat on the dresser next to a pile of change. Socks lay on the floor. Behind them, the mirrored door of a walk-in closet was partially opened.
She pulled in another breath.
There were several books on the bedside table, including a volume of Texas history and a biography of Theodore Roosevelt. A few golf magazines. The one on top had a picture on the cover of someone familiar. Someone she recognized.
Odd. Who would she know—
She looked more closely and felt all the blood drain from her head.
Chapter 4
E mma didn’t remember picking up the magazine, but it was in her hands, so she must have. As she stared down at it, the words on the cover swam before her eyes.
PGA BAD BOY KENNY TRAVELER
TALKS ABOUT HIS GAME, TOUR POLITICS,
AND HIS MILLIONS
“Uh . . . Emma?”
She dragged her legs over the side of the bed farthest from him and, with her free hand, clutched the robe together.
The photograph was an action shot, with Kenny in the middle of his golf swing, body turned, club angled back. PGA BAD BOY KENNY TRAVELER . . .
Fingers of rage uncurled inside her. She hadn’t thought anything could be more painful than the humiliation she’d suffered when she’d shared her feelings with Jeremy Fox, but this was a dozen times worse. She was the stupidest, the most naive woman on earth. He wasn’t a professional escort! He was a millionaire athlete who’d seduced her.
She flung down the magazine, vaulted from the side of the bed, and blindly made her way to the bathroom to reclaim her clothes.
“Don’t you think we should talk about this?” he said from behind her.
She hurried past him, clothing stuffed in her arms, and headed for her bedroom.
“Lady Emma?”
She shot inside, twisted the lock, and began pulling on her underwear.
He tapped at the bedroom door. “I know that magazine cover must be piquing your curiosity, so why don’t we finish our bottle of wine while I answer all your questions?”
She ignored his blather, threw her clothes in one suitcase, and snapped the latches on the other. Then she gathered them up along with her carry-all and purse and marched through the door.
He was standing on the other side. Although his pants were zipped, he hadn’t bothered with a shirt. Hatred, spurred on by self-disgust, rushed
It was the sweetest pain she’d ever felt. Tears spilled over her lids and dripped onto the pillow. On the brink of orgasm, she opened her legs and willed his hand to go there. Just a brush. The merest touch. That’s all she needed.
He squeezed again, and she gave a small sob.
His head came up, and he frowned as he spotted her tears. “Am I hurting you?”
She was incapable of responding. Instead, she lay there like a wanton, her breast exposed, its nipple wet and puckered, her legs splayed under the rumpled silk.
She saw that his pants were unzipped, and he was fully erect, but a straining pair of silky black boxers kept her from seeing the imposing column beneath. She tried to gather enough air so she could ask him not to stop, beg him to touch her again, plead with him to strip off those slacks and burn his black briefs.
He moved to the edge of the bed and shoved his hand through his hair. “What do you say we slow things down here a little?” His voice sounded hoarse, as if he were pushing the words through the narrowest of openings.
“No!” She shot up into a sitting position.
He stared at her.
She licked her lips. Wiped her tears on the sleeve of the robe. Gulped in air. Left the robe open over her breast.
“No.” She tucked her legs beneath her. “It’s—it’s quite all right.”
“I got a little carried away there.”
“Actually, you didn’t. I mean, you did, but . . . I wasn’t . . . that is, I liked what you were . . .”
Good heavens, she was babbling. She looked away to collect her thoughts and realized music was playing. She drew a breath and took in the details of the room. A wallet sat on the dresser next to a pile of change. Socks lay on the floor. Behind them, the mirrored door of a walk-in closet was partially opened.
She pulled in another breath.
There were several books on the bedside table, including a volume of Texas history and a biography of Theodore Roosevelt. A few golf magazines. The one on top had a picture on the cover of someone familiar. Someone she recognized.
Odd. Who would she know—
She looked more closely and felt all the blood drain from her head.
Chapter 4
E mma didn’t remember picking up the magazine, but it was in her hands, so she must have. As she stared down at it, the words on the cover swam before her eyes.
PGA BAD BOY KENNY TRAVELER
TALKS ABOUT HIS GAME, TOUR POLITICS,
AND HIS MILLIONS
“Uh . . . Emma?”
She dragged her legs over the side of the bed farthest from him and, with her free hand, clutched the robe together.
The photograph was an action shot, with Kenny in the middle of his golf swing, body turned, club angled back. PGA BAD BOY KENNY TRAVELER . . .
Fingers of rage uncurled inside her. She hadn’t thought anything could be more painful than the humiliation she’d suffered when she’d shared her feelings with Jeremy Fox, but this was a dozen times worse. She was the stupidest, the most naive woman on earth. He wasn’t a professional escort! He was a millionaire athlete who’d seduced her.
She flung down the magazine, vaulted from the side of the bed, and blindly made her way to the bathroom to reclaim her clothes.
“Don’t you think we should talk about this?” he said from behind her.
She hurried past him, clothing stuffed in her arms, and headed for her bedroom.
“Lady Emma?”
She shot inside, twisted the lock, and began pulling on her underwear.
He tapped at the bedroom door. “I know that magazine cover must be piquing your curiosity, so why don’t we finish our bottle of wine while I answer all your questions?”
She ignored his blather, threw her clothes in one suitcase, and snapped the latches on the other. Then she gathered them up along with her carry-all and purse and marched through the door.
He was standing on the other side. Although his pants were zipped, he hadn’t bothered with a shirt. Hatred, spurred on by self-disgust, rushed
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