“Let me help you,” he offered, lifting his gaze to her face.

It was shadowed. Her expression was hard to read, but he saw her touch her tongue to her lips. Then she bit down on the lower one and, looking down at him, held perfectly still.

He took that for agreement. “Hang on,” he instructed her, and hoped to God he could do the same.

It was hardly the height of intimacy, sliding his fingers up beneath her dress to find the tops of her stockings or panty hose or whatever she was wearing.

On the other hand, it was pretty damned erotic. The stockings felt like real silk, smooth and warm against her legs, so fine that he was afraid his callused fingers would snag them.

So he proceeded slowly, trying to be careful, to move lightly. But the hint of firm flesh beneath that silken barrier was enticing. He loved to touch. He wanted to stroke as his hands snaked over her calves, past her knees, up her thighs. He could feel her legs tremble.

Fingers suddenly clutched his head, gripping his hair. He sucked in a breath. “S-sorry,” she muttered. Her fingers loosened their grip, then as his continued their journey, hers tightened again. They sent a shiver down his spine.

But that sensation was nothing compared to the shaft of desire that shot straight to his groin as the silk beneath his fingers turned to lace and then, an inch later, to warm bare skin.

Nick sucked air, then tried to steady his breathing, to be matter-of-fact. This wasn’t a seduction—unless he was the one being seduced.

Now he hooked his fingers inside the top of one stocking and drew it down, then slipped it off her foot. Then he skimmed his fingers back up the other leg. But knowing what he would encounter didn’t make it any easier to feign indifference.

He wasn’t indifferent. And when he stood up—provided he could manage to stand up—she would know it.

So he took his time, sliding her feet into the flip-flops, then picking up the stockings and folding them.

“I’ll do that.” Edie nearly snatched them out of his fumbling hands. Hers seemed to be full of thumbs as well. But at least her focus on them allowed Nick to wince his way to his feet and adjust his trousers so that his reaction was not immediately obvious.

He cleared his throat. “Right. We can go up this way.” He picked up the flashlight on the worktable and headed toward a door at the far end of the room. “Be careful.”

If she were being careful, Edie thought, she wouldn’t be here now. She’d be back in her room listening to the faint sounds of the orchestra through the open window while she read a book.

But she wasn’t. She was climbing a steep, winding, extremely narrow stone staircase behind a man who had just slid his hands up her legs. Her body was still tingling from the touch of his fingers. Her brain was still jangled from a hormone overload after over two years of complete disinterest. And her emotions were as unreliable as a teenager’s. She should be in bed with a book—preferably one that would bore her to sleep!

Instead here she was trying to keep her eye on the beam of the flashlight that Nick was aiming at the steps as he climbed. He had angled it so that she could see it playing against the stairs and the wall without having to watch it through his legs.

But she preferred to study his legs.

She tried not to—and that was when she stumbled.

“Oh!” She gasped as her foot slipped. She reached out to grab at the side of the wall as she felt her footing fail. But before she could grab anything, Nick had spun around and grabbed her.

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