Intimate Seduction - Brenda Jackson [2]
He reached to open his pantry when he noticed a pair of women’s sandals on the floor by the sliding glass door to his screened patio. Where had they come from and whom did they belong to?
Had the cleaning lady left her shoes? Was she still there?
He picked up the sandals to study their design. Sleek and snazzy. He’d only seen his housekeeper once or twice, and although she wasn’t a bad-looking older woman, he couldn’t imagine her wearing a pair of stylish and trendy shoes. But then he might be wrong. He couldn’t judge every fifty-something-year-old woman by his mother and his aunt’s taste in fashion.
He cocked his right brow, his curiosity piqued, and for the moment his hunger was placed on the back burner. He went back into his living room and then the dining room and glanced around, noticing that the rooms were neat as a pin, tidy as could be and well-dusted. That was enough evidence to indicate his housekeeper had been here.
On the main level, he also had a guest bedroom and a spacious bath, with the master suite and his office and another bathroom upstairs. If and when he felt inclined to invite a woman to stay for the night, the downstairs guest room was where they would sleep. He considered it his entertainment room. At one time he’d installed mirrors in the ceiling over the bed until his nephew Marcus—who would come spend the night on occasion—got old enough to question why they were there.
The master bedroom was off-limits. He considered it his personal domain. No woman could lay claim to ever sleeping in what he considered his real bed. A number of them had tried, considered it a challenge, their ultimate goal. But so far none had ever made it up those stairs.
After checking the other rooms, he made his way upstairs. It didn’t take him long to check the bathroom and his office before heading down the hall that led to his master suite. His bedroom door was closed, which wasn’t unusual, but what was unusual were the sensations he began feeling in the pit of his stomach, similar to the ones he felt when he was standing on the sidelines waiting for the race to begin.
He opened the door, and his eyes quickly circulated the room, stopping first on the vacuum cleaner that was still plugged into the wall and then on the feather duster that was sitting on his dresser.
He stepped into the room and held his breath when he saw a woman asleep in his bed.
What the hell?
Quickly, he crossed the floor to his bed and stared down at the sleeping woman. She was definitely not his regular cleaning lady. This woman looked to be in her early twenties and was absolutely, undeniably beautiful.
She was lying on her side but her face was angled in a way that showed an ample portion of it. What he saw flooded his gut with something he’d never felt before, a sensual attraction so hard, gripping and intense that he had to struggle to get air past his lungs.
Her skin, a beautiful chocolate-brown, looked soft, satiny and smooth. Her long eyelashes fanned her eyes, and in sleep she looked totally at peace. Her hair, a dark brown shade, flowed to her shoulders with bouncy-looking curls at the end. He had encountered beautiful women countless times but never before did one have such a gripping effect on his libido. And that very thought downright unnerved him.
Pulling in a deep breath, he inhaled, then took his time releasing it after deciding it was time to wake her. Although his first instinct was to remove his clothes and get into the bed with her. Instead of feeling his privacy violated by the woman in his bed, he was feeling something else altogether. Lust. Bone-chilling, gut-wrenching lust to a degree he’d never experienced before.
He tried tamping down the sensations by thinking that he definitely had a number of questions for her…but first he had to get her out of his bed.