Red Hot Rose Boxed Set Read Free Page B

drink up to my face, resting in on my cheek to cool myself down.   “Sorry about that.   It’s a little hot in here.”
    “No need to apologize.   If you’d like, I could show you a cooler area of the house.”
    I examined his expression closely, wondering if this were some sneaky move to get me alone.   But he seemed innocent enough; he stood with a bland look on his face, just waiting patiently for my response, his hands casually at his sides.
    “Uh … okay.   That’d be nice.”   The room was making me feel suffocated, causing his offer to sound all the more inviting.   Sweat was coming out on my upper lip, so I quickly wiped it away as he turned for a moment to lead the way.  
    He reached his arm back and put his warm hand on my elbow, giving me shivers.   It was blowing my mind that I was burning up enough to sweat, and he was warm enough that I felt the heat on my arm; yet, I was quaking with something that felt like cold.

    As we walked out of the room, my nipples got hard under my dress and I felt myself getting wet down there.   Holy crap, I need to get out of here.   I looked left and right trying to catch a glimpse of my friend, as the man led me from the main room and into the front foyer.   Jessica!   Where are you, you stupid hooker!   I need to go home!
    I should have jerked my arm out of his grip, but the polite girl in me who’d been taught never to be rude to nice people who looked like politicians refused to allow it.   I walked along with my uncomfortable stiletto heels clicking on the shiny marble floor, praying I wouldn’t slip and break something.   Or split my dress.
    We went down a long hallway lined with artwork that looked like it belonged in a museum, the noises of the party fading behind us.   I began leaning back the farther we went, eventually to the point where I felt like I was being pulled along.   The man stopped a few feet from the end of the hall, turning to look at me.
    “We’re nearly there.   Are you having second thoughts?”
    “Yes.   I mean, no!   I mean … maybe.”
    “It’s a yes or no question.   Do you, or do you not, want to sit for a while in a cooler room?   Or perhaps you prefer to stand in the middle of the party, sweating your hair out of its coiffure …”
    The way he said coiffure made me think he must speak French or something.   For some insane reason it made me feel more secure.   Someone truly sophisticated enough to speak that romantic language couldn’t possibly be a threat, could he?   I decided in the negative and stood straighter, lifting my chin, suddenly a little pissed at myself that I was being such a baby.   The instructions for the job had been really simple: act sophisticated and smile.   I schooled my features appropriately, channeling my roommate’s enthusiasm and dedication as best I could.   “I prefer to be cool, actually.   Lead the way.”
    He nodded his head once and stepped forward to open the door in front of us, gesturing for me to proceed into the room ahead of him.
    As soon as I walked through the door, I was struck by the heavy, masculine furniture and dark, wood-paneled walls.   This room screamed man-cave.   Sophisticated, cultured man-cave.   The only thing saving it from looking like a gentlemen’s smoking club was the large vase of fresh, blood-red roses on a pedestal near a desk.
    The end of the room was dominated by this huge desk, also in a very dark wood, topped with a hunter-green leather inlay.   A set of fountain pens, a large black-enameled box, and a lawyer’s lamp made up its only decoration.   There were two chairs positioned in front of the desk, both of them without arms.   A couch sat against one wall, done in caramel-brown leather, buttons making cushioned dimples all along the seat and back.
    The man left me to go to the corner of the room where a wet bar stood waiting.   He came back to me, handing me a heavy crystal glass of clear liquid with ice cubes floating