What little blood was left in his brain whispered that this might not be the best approach.

Hadley was a prickly cactus. He could take his time to slowly, delicately find his way between her defensive spines. Or he could craftily trick her into shedding the spines on her own.

He crooked a finger. “Come here.”

She hesitated, then closed the distance between them, stopping a foot away.

“This is what we’re going to do,” he said, removing his suit jacket. “I’m going to take off every stitch of clothing.” He hung the jacket on the metal footboard of her bed and watched her eyes following its path. “And you get to keep your clothes on”—he slid a glance over her breasts—“for now. But only if you help me undress.”

She made a small noise, looking him over as if his clothes were an unsolvable puzzle.

He unfastened a cuff link and dropped it in his pants pocket. “You’ll be touching me while I keep my hands to myself. You’re still in control.” She absolutely wasn’t, and he hoped like hell she wouldn’t notice. Like a cardsharp using sleight of hand to trick his mark, he added a little misdirection. “Now, I’m going to remove everything above my waist while you take off my boots. Whoever finishes last has to take care of my pants.”

Her wide eyes fell to his bulging fly.

Suppressing a smile, he dropped the other cuff link in his pocket. “You’d better hurry,” he warned, tapping heel against toe. “These things are a bitch to unlace.”

Without a word, she crouched at his feet, dark head bent just south of where he wanted it, and untied the long bow at the top of his right boot. Then her fingers raced to loosen the crossed laces, from knee to ankle. Each pluck reverberated through his bones and sent muted thumps of pleasure through his tightening balls.

He nearly forgot they were racing. Vest, tie tack, necktie . . . he practically ripped them all off before yanking his shirt out of his pants.

Glancing up, she whined and frantically wiggled the boot’s heel. He curled his toes to impede her progress. “No fair!” she said, breathless, before tugging the leather off with a grunt and nearly falling backward.

“Told you they wouldn’t be easy,” he said with a chuckle.

Undeterred, she quickly loosened the second set of laces. My, she was motivated. But so was he. A shortcut made quick work of his shirt—once the first four buttons were unfastened, he easily slid the linen over his head while she wiggled the second heel.

“Socks, too.”

“That’s cheating!” she said, yanking the boot free and tossing it to the side with a thunk.

“Socks, Hadley,” he insisted.

She cursed under her breath but began stripping his socks off. He reached over his shoulder and waited until she believed she still had a chance to win before pulling off his undershirt in one smooth movement. “So sorry, min käraste. You lose.”

“You’re not sorry at all,” she said, throwing down the second sock as she pushed herself to her feet.

He clucked his tongue and pushed disheveled hair out of his eyes. “Don’t be a sore loser.”

Her blinking gaze flicked over his chest. She blew out a long breath and stepped closer. He inhaled the scent of her hair while they both stared down at the space between them. Slender fingers unbuckled and pulled his belt free from the belt loops, one by one. His curved dagger and its leather sheath slid free into his waiting palm.

Determined, she unbuttoned his fly, each tug of her fingers exquisite torture. Christ, he was harder than a brickbat. When she let his pants fall to the floor and hesitated, he took pity on her, tucking his thumbs into the waist of his shorts to spring his proud erection. Her little gasp and the accompanying scarlet blush that bloomed over her face made him want to throw his hands up in victory.

“Good God,” she murmured.

“It’s one of my better features,” he teased. Bet George didn’t have half of this. He wanted to ask, but didn’t want the bastard’s name floating around her bedroom. She already had enough baggage, and he wanted to deal with that first. “C’mere.”

“Lowe . . .”

Ignoring her weak protests, he gathered her in his arms and pulled her down to the rose-covered rug until she straddled him while he lay on his back. “Pin me down,” he said, throwing his hands over his head in surrender.

“What—oh . . .” She slanted him an irritated look. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Then humor me. Pin me down. Go on.”

Hesitantly, she stretched out and bowed over him. The black beads of her long necklace cascaded against his chest as her hands pinned his to the rug. Sweet Jesus, her body felt good on his. Her face hovered over his, strands of her bobbed hair tickling his cheeks with every hard inhalation of breath. Stockinged knees pressed against his outer thighs. It took every ounce of control he had not to pull her against him and roll her onto her back.

“Most interesting,” he murmured in a voice that sounded shakier than he intended. “What does it feel like to hold down a man twice your size?”

“You’re letting me.”

“Pretend I’m not. What would you do next?”

“This is silly.”

“Is it?” He slowly thrust his hips toward the thighs arching above him.

She groaned. He closed his eyes and waited, listening to her quickening breath. After a long moment, he felt warmth on his forehead. Her lips, kissing him. Once, then twice, on his eyebrow. And as she kissed a slow path from his temple to his jaw, chills raced over his skin. She picked up speed and confidence, opening her mouth against the frantic pulse on his neck, swiping a hesitant tongue over his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.