“Lie down like a good girl,” he instructed.

  She did, and he stretched out beside her, making no move to undress either her or himself. He still wore his formal evening attire, and the firelight played in his black hair.

  He was gorgeous, the stuff as the hottest of erotic dreams were made of, the kind of dreams that aroused her so completely that she’d have to fish for the vibrator behind her bed before she could go back to sleep.

  Now, a man that handsome lay in a bed with her and promised her a sample of what he could do for her. If only she had her vibrator right now.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

  “Um…”

  “Shhhh.” He put his finger against her lips. “Don’t talk.”

  Talk? Words? How could she even think of something to say with him next to her, looking down into her face with those glacier-blue eyes? His lips only inches from her own. She could hardly breathe. She wasn’t likely to produce speech any time soon.

  He removed his finger and smiled. After a minute of that heart-stopping beauty, he closed his eyes and his mouth moved toward hers. Slowly, so slowly. She could have died from the anticipation. The minute he kissed her, the room began to spin.

  Ooh, but it was good. Ooooh. He caressed her gently, the pressure of lips on hers as light as a feather and as deep as an ocean. Her heart pounded, and her blood thrummed in her veins. This beat anything from her dreams, never mind reality. After a few heartbeats of heaven, she whimpered into his mouth and answered his kiss, begging for more.

  He pulled her against him and claimed her lips with more authority. All along the length of her body, his heat burned into her flesh while he claimed her breath, her sanity, with his caresses.

  She sank back into the cushions and pulled her mouth away from his. “You really are the devil, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve been called a lot of things.” He grinned wickedly. “Does it matter who I am?”

  He knew the effect he had on her. He’d probably thought up those images to tempt her to stay. She shouldn’t surrender. He hadn’t kept his part of the bargain, and she could demand that he release her. But, if she did, she’d miss out on sex so good it was unworldly. She might not be the most beautiful woman on Earth, but she wasn’t stupid.

  “Anything you want,” she said.

  Chapter Two

  Cyn awoke in the same room where the devil, or whoever he was, had kissed her into insanity. Covers and a pillow had materialized on the couch while she slept. Maybe he’d covered her up, or maybe he’d waved his hand to make the bedding appear. She needed to convince him that he hadn’t paid for her soul, had to send her back.

  She sat up and rubbed her hands over her face. The fire had gone out, but cracks of light slipped in between the drapes. One of them fluttered in a warm breeze. Last night, they’d stuck to the walls so firmly she couldn’t budge them.

  She got up, walked to the drapes and grabbed them. They parted easily to allow bright sunlight in.

  She glanced outside: not what she'd expected hell to look like. On the other side of an open pair of French doors, a flagstone terrace ran along the length of the room. Past that, a rose garden with a dozen plants in full bloom. Beyond the roses, perfect lawns sloped outward and downward toward a stand of trees in the distance. The breeze hit her smack in the face, bringing the perfume from all those flowers. Birdsong in the distance made the whole scene something straight out of heaven, definitely not Hades.

  Then, another scent wafted into the room, a blend of coffee and bacon. Her stomach rumbled.

  The delicious smells came from a newly opened door. The couch had returned to normal size, and the bed clothing had disappeared. A black lace robe lay over the end of the couch – the rest of the peignoir set. It wouldn’t cover her much better than the gown, but the two of them together might give her a bit of modesty. She walked to it, slipped it on, and then stepped out the door to go looking for breakfast.

  She found a long corridor with thick carpeting on the floor. Wooden occasional tables stood here and there, and each held a huge vase filled with roses, calla lilies and snap dragons, brightening the room. She followed the luscious smells through a corridor to a greenhouse.

  She crossed the threshold and found her devil sitting at a wrought iron table in the middle of a room full of exotic plants. He wore a silk robe with the collar of pajamas peeking out.

  “There you are, finally.” He smiled. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes.” She’d slept better than she had for years. Ever since she’d gotten her job working for Stewart. He’d wrecked her sleep, and she hadn’t even noticed.

  “Hungry?”

  “Who are you?”

  He wiped his mouth with a napkin. A plate of half-eaten breakfast sat in front of him - bacon, eggs, and a muffin - and next to that a bowl of grapefruit sections. Beelzebub ate breakfast like normal folks?

  “Why is it important for you to know who I am?” he asked.

  “It would be nice to have something to call you besides ‘you.’”

  “I’m the only one here.”

  She crossed her arms and did her best to scowl. Unfortunately, the movement pushed her breasts up and out, and the man’s gaze focused on them as his smile grew wicked.

  “You said you wanted to make love to me, didn’t you?” she asked. Actually, he’d offered to spice up her sex life. The two things weren’t the same at all.

  “I think you agreed to let me,” he said.

  “I like to know the names of men I sleep with. I’m funny that way.”

  “Do you sleep with a lot of men?”

  “You know well I don’t,” she said. “I told you that yesterday.”

  He rested his elbow on the arm of his chair and stroked his chin. “Ah, yes. You did.”

  “Look, you know everything about me. The least you could do is tell me your name.”

  “Sam,” he answered.

  “Sam?” she repeated. “That’s it? Just Sam?”

  His lips curved. “Do you need any more?”

  Sam sounded like a next door neighbor, a dorky one with a run-down pickup truck and a beer belly. This guy didn’t look like any Sam she’d ever met.

  “Now that we’ve been introduced, wouldn’t you like some breakfast?” he asked. He gestured toward a sideboard, laden with bacon rashers, hashbrowns, slices of toast, waffles, syrup, sausages, baked beans in tomato sauce, grilled mushrooms and glistening fried eggs.

  “Thank you.” She picked up a plate. Poached eggs sat over a steamer along with Canadian bacon and English muffin halves, and a chafing dish next to it held hollandaise sauce. Chilled bowls held strawberries, melon slices, and grapefruit sections, their tangy scents teasing her nose. Croissants, muffins, coffee cakes, and – ye gods – even a cheesecake.

  She scooped up a poached egg, added half of an English muffin, and gave herself some melon and grapefruit.

  After pouring herself a cup of coffee from the carafe, she took the whole thing to the seat opposite him and sat down.

  He frowned at her plate. “Is this all you're having?”

  “Do you have any artificial sweetener?”

  His upper lip curled. “I do not.”

  “Fine. I’ll drink it black.” She sipped. It tasted bitter, but she refused to grimace.

  He waved an arm at the sideboard. “What rational human looks at this and decides she wants that?” He jerked his chin at her plate.

  She glared at him and bit into the dry muffin.

  He harrumphed, tossed his napkin onto the table and grabbed her plate.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” she said. “That’s my breakfast.”

  “No, it isn’t.” He set the plate onto the sideboard with a clatter and picked up a new one. Onto that, he placed two English muffin halves, added Canadian bacon and poached eggs, then covered the whole thing with half a gallon of hollandaise. Eggs Benedict. Her stomach fairly groaned in anticipation.

  Then, he heaped the rest of the plate with sausages and hashbrowns and brought it back to her. “Eat that, and I’ll let you have some fruit.”

  The sausages tempted with their spicy smell. “What happens if I don’t?”

  “Eat, Cynthia.”

  She did her best interpretation of a military salute. “Yes, sir!”

  She took a bite of her eggs. And then another. The eggs melted on her tongue, and the sauce tasted buttery and bright with lemon. She tried the sausage next – just the right amount of spice to get her taste buds dancing. The potatoes were toasted on the outside and fluffy inside. Whatever he’d done to this breakfast had made it into perfectly heavenly food. Heavenly food in hell - wasn’t that a kick in the head?

  He watched her shoveling food into her mouth. “Now, isn’t that better?”

  She mumbled her agreement. Speaking would have kept her from eating.

  He laughed at that – an honestly pleasant sound. He had a gorgeous smile when he wasn’t smirking or scowling. She could get used to it if she ever got to trust him. But they still had one major issue to settle. He’d brought her here as part of a bargain in which he was supposed to make her thin. Instead, he’d coerced her into consuming more calories in one meal than she’d normally eat in an entire day. And he still wouldn’t return her to her normal life.

  He finished eating his own meal while she plowed through hers. How odd to sit across a breakfast table from a to-die-for hunk in a greenhouse full of – whoa! – orchids. Even odder, the man insisted she eat huge portions of the best eggs Benedict, sausages, and hashbrowns she’d ever tasted. Hell? It felt more like heaven. There had to be a catch.

  She ate the last bite of sausage and pushed her empty plate away with a satisfied sigh.

  He gave her another one of his sweet smiles. “Good?”

  “’Good’ doesn’t begin to describe it.”

  “It’s fun to watch you enjoy it.”

  “I can’t eat like this every day, Sam. I’d blow up like a blimp.”

  “How do you know?” he answered. “Have you ever tried eating what you want and stopping when you want?”

  “Not since I was five.”

  His eyes widened in horror. “You’ve been dieting since you were five?”

  She shrugged. “Probably.”

  “That’s absurd. That’s no way to live.”

  Jenny had said pretty much the same thing. Thin people didn’t understand.

  “Life is a banquet, Cynthia,” he said, “and most people are starving.”

  After a moment, she got the reference. “Auntie Mame to Agnes Gooch. You’re quoting old movies now?”

  He blushed – actually blushed – and looked sheepish. “I didn’t think you’d be old enough to remember that movie.”

  “I saw it when I was a kid.”

  “The sentiment still holds,” he said.

  “As I remember, Agnes Gooch ended up single and pregnant. So much for banquets.”

  “I won’t get you pregnant.”

  Great. Back to sex. Her breath caught. She’d agreed to this the night before, and only a woman made of stone would turn down the opportunity. Still, she’d met him yesterday and hadn’t learned first name until this morning. Did he even have a last name?

  She cleared her throat. “You promised me fruit if I finished my breakfast.”

  An evil blue glint entered his eyes. “That I did.”

  Eating fruit wouldn’t buy her much time, but if that melon tasted as good as the eggs, she wouldn’t want to pass it up.

  He rose from the table and strutted to the sideboard like a cowboy moseying up to a bar, or a rooster patrolling his hens in the barnyard. He loaded a plate with grapefruit sections, sliced oranges, melon cubes, fresh cherries and strawberries. Then, instead of serving her, he sauntered back to his own place and sat down. “Come and get it.”

  It. Why did she get the feeling he wasn’t talking about grapefruit?

  Well, she could strut, too. She set aside her napkin and rose slowly. Her knees might have trembled a bit as she walked toward him, but he seemed not to notice. His eyes widened as he watched her approach, and his nostrils did their little flaring thing. Signs of masculine appreciation, if she could believe the books she read. The ones with the half-naked people on the cover. Was this going to be like the sex in a romance novel?

  Life’s a banquet, Cynthia.

  When she reached him, he held up a strawberry – just a bit out of reach of her lips. The fruit's sweet scent and the man's musky one blended into a single temptation. She bent to catch the strawberry between her teeth, and he pulled it down farther. She moved closer, and he yanked the strawberry completely away and stretched up to press his lips against hers.

  Whoa, Nellie, and here we go again.

  His lips had lost none of their sweetness from the night before. He moved them slowly, teasing and cajoling as they left a path of warm honey over her lower lip and then the upper one.

  She swayed into him and answered. She kissed him with everything she had and slid the tip of her tongue into his mouth. He groaned and reached up to cup the back of her head. His fingers twined into her hair and pulled her to him.

  Miracle of miracles. He wanted this, too. The shallow puffs of his breath, the way he held her fast, the seeking movements of his mouth didn’t come just from pleasuring her. He was getting as hot as she was. Amazing. She pulled back and looked down into his face.

  His eyes had half-closed, and his breath came hard. He gave her a lazy smile. “Very nice.”

  If she were wearing buttons, she’d bust them with pride. She gave him a smug smile right back. “May I have my strawberry?”

  He lifted the berry to her lips. “You may.”

  Chapter Three

  A sweet eternity later, Sam opened a door that led to the flagstone terrace and went out, still wearing his pajamas.

  Cyn hung back. “Shouldn’t we get dressed first?”

  “Not for what I have in mind.” He gave her a lascivious grin. The expression looked good on him.

  “But what if someone sees us?”

  “There’s no one here but us.”

  An estate this size would need a whole staff to maintain. And someone had cooked all that glorious food. Or, had someone?

  “No one?” she asked.

  “We’re completely alone.”

  She stepped across the threshold to join him, and he took her hand in his to lead her The sunlight had warmed the stones beneath her bare feet, and out here, the perfume of the roses made her senses swim. When they got to the edge of the terrace, he bent over a bush, picked a crimson blossom, and presented it to her with a little flourish.

  She took it, dropped a tiny curtsey, and felt her skin heat in embarrassment. Who was she kidding? She was no delicate lady accepting a token of devotion from her lord. But with this man on this beautiful day, she could let her imagination run wild.

  He smiled down at her. “That’s very appealing.”

  Her skin got even hotter. “What?”

  “Your blush. Few women blush any more.”

  “I’ve always done it. Curse my fair skin.”

  “Well, don’t stop.” He bent and kissed her. No great heat there, just tenderness. She rested her hand against his chest very daintily, like the women in her books. In her real life, that would be laughable. With Sam in this place, it felt righter than right.

  After a minute, he straightened and wrapped her arm around his, a gesture at once formal and intimate. She rested her hand against the silk of his robe and moved closer to him as they walked. The fabulous breakfast and incredible love-making would lift the spirits of anyone but the most jaded of sophisticates, and his scent of moss and musk was irresistibly male.

  Sophistication didn’t fit her, given her stature and station in life. But if Weltschmerz meant missing out on these experiences, you could keep world-weary. She’d take wide-eyed and grateful any day.

  They walked along in silence. The air was full of the smell of freshly-mown grass and the sweet heady scent of roses. The perfectly manicured blades of grass tickled the bottoms of her bare feet pleasantly, and the sun warmed her skin through the black lace of her peignoir.

  Eventually, they reached the corner of the huge house and turned it. On the other side lay an even more ornate garden than the roses next to the terrace, radiating out in spokes from a central point in the distance. There, low marble balustrades surrounded a circular terrace, with statues of imps and fantastic animals adorning the tops of the walls - hardly hellish images.

  “You’re quiet,” he said.

  “I’m overwhelmed. It’s all so…“

  He chuckled. “It is, isn’t it?”

  As she glanced down, a sight from her childhood made her stop right where she was. She handed Sam the rose and bent to touch the velvet pouch of a ladyslipper.

  “Amazing,” she said. “I thought these only grew in the wild.”

  “You like them?”

  “They were my favorite wildflowers when I was growing up.”

  “I’ll cut some for you later.”

  She gazed at the flower’s perfection. “Never pick a ladyslipper. They’re too rare.”

  “I didn’t know you were a botanist.”

  “I’m not. But I know a rare and precious flower when I see it.”

  “So do I.”

  His tone sounded oddly like awe - or, heaven help her, affection or even love. He had a sly, little smile on his face , almost bashful again, and his gaze zoomed in on her as if she was more precious and rare than any ladyslipper. Men didn’t gaze at her like that, especially men who looked like he did. It made her stomach jump and her heart race. In another minute, she’d be blushing and fidgeting, so she looked away.

  “So, are we going to stand here talking about flowers?” she said. “I thought you had something else in mind. We are going to screw, aren’t we?”

  “We’re going to make love.”

  She threw her hands up in the air. “Then, why are we talking? I thought you were horny.”

  “Just when I think I’ve seen it all.”