Oh, am I glad for the partial darkness. And whatever foresight had me wearing my jacket out here. The leather has to be hiding these lovely goings-on—right?

He edges into the cup, and lower still, nudging against my erect nipple. I gasp.

He breaks the kiss, panting. “I have to go.”

I mean to say, “No,” but what comes up is a dreamy, disappointed, “Nuh.”

He nuzzles below my ear, withdrawing his hand from my bra. I whine in protest. “You’re going to have to act as my restraint right now.” His words caress my neck. “Because mine is about tapped. If there weren’t other people’s money tied up in tonight’s call, I’d be begging you to come back to my room.”

To quote Ming: the basement is flooded.

My eyes shutter. “Tomorrow?” I press my body to his. Hard heat pulses against my thigh. Oh, my—

“God, yes.” His head drops to my shoulder. “Please.” He says the word against my neck. It turns out “paperwork” and “absolutely” aren’t the only contenders for pleasure; as long as it’s his lips, I am on fire.

He kisses my neck. And again. And again, until he’s traveled to my lips. I remember his comment about restraint, and this time I’m the one to pull away just to see if I can.

“Until then. Good night, Mr. Darcy,” I murmur.

His lids are heavy, a faint smile displaying his lower lip in a way that leaves me no choice: I pop onto my toes to nip at it. He lets out a low sound that I could really get used to.

“Clear your Sunday, Ms. Bennet.” He strokes my cheek. “You are going to take a lot of time.”

CHAPTER

21

Ming joins me at the makeup station, peering into my open bag. “Are you changing?”

“Yup.” I wiggle out of my girdle and toss it onto the vanity.

She laughs her throaty cackle. “Your Darcy’s coming in at ten, isn’t he?” His name stirs the anxious new breed of butterflies twitching in my midsection. Darcy hornimus, if I had to classify them.

I pluck a pair of rose-gold rhinestone pasties from my bag. The disks are designed like little starbursts, with the center providing coverage and smaller rhinestoned points branching out. I hold them in front of my boobs, tweaking the pasties so they catch the light. “Maybe.”

Ming shakes her head, reaching for my roll of fashion tape. She cuts a piece off, then takes the pasties. “Girl, you have it bad.”

I withdraw a sheer bra from my bag. The tag still dangles from one of the straps. “You have no idea.”

Ming’s jaw drops at the sight of my costume-to-be. “Shut. Up.”

My stomach flips at her reaction. I wanted to step things up tonight, but if the getup is enough to scandalize Ming, I may need to reconsider. “Too much?”