Pleasure Seekers by Rochelle Alers

him. “Please excuse me, Judith, but I must see to my guest.”
    He forcibly removed the hand resting on his forearm, welcoming the intrusion because he suspected his neighbor’s wife had been coming on to him. Even if he’d been desperate to bed a woman, he never would sleep with another man’s wife.

CHAPTER 22
    R eaching for Faye’s right hand, Bart brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss on her fingers, his gaze never straying from her face. Her eyes, sans the smoky hues of eye shadow, shimmered with gold warmth. However, it was her mouth, full and temptingly curved, and with a hint of gloss, that held his rapt attention.
    “Welcome to Southampton. I’m so glad you could make it. I also trust you had a pleasant ride.”
    Faye felt a slight shiver snake its way up her arm. It wasn’t from Bart holding her hand but from the way he was staring at her. She’d been on the receiving end of that type of stare enough to recognize lust.
    He reminds me of someone I’ve seen before, she thought, mentally running through images of men she’d encountered. Anderson Cooper. His classical features were more refined than the TV journalist, but their resemblance was remarkable.
    A hint of a smile softened her mouth. “Thank you for inviting me, and, yes, the ride was wonderful.”
    Gently squeezing her fingers and tucking them into the bend of his elbow, Bart returned her smile. “Wouldyou like something to drink before I make the introductions?”
    “No, thank you.” She’d had a bottle of imported mineral water from the Maybach’s built-in bar.
    She stood with Bart as he introduced her to his Southampton neighbors and the members of DHG’s executive staff. As cautioned by Enid, Alana and Ilene pretended not to know her.
    With the introductions behind them, she studied her host. He still held her hand, his touch cool and protective without being possessive. Bartholomew Houghton looked nothing like the men to whom she’d find herself attracted. And even if he’d been black he still was too old for her.
    The music lowered and the DJ’s crooning voice came through the powerful speakers around the tent. “Ladies and gents, I’m going to take it down a notch and spin a few old school jams from back in the day. Come on, people, everyone up and dancing.”
    The classic number-one hit, Force MD’s “Tender Love” filled the air and Bart wrapped his arms around Faye’s waist, his fingers splayed over her back, she chuckling softly as he sang off-key along with the vocals.
    Lowering his head, he pressed his mouth to her ear. “What’s so funny?”
    She laughed again. “The only thing I’m going to say is that you dance much better than you sing.”
    Pulling back, gray eyes filled with amusement, he angled his head. “Are you saying that if I had to sing for a living I’d starve to death?”
    “I don’t know about starving, but there’s no doubt you’d go hungry unless someone took pity on you.”
    Bart pulled Faye closer, twirling her around and around in an intricate dance step. “Would you take pity on me and give me a morsel to keep me from starving?”
    There came a moment of silence as she tried concentrating on following his fancy footwork. “Of course I would,” she said in a breathless whisper.
    She was fighting for breath, not so much from dancing but from the contours of the lean, hard masculine body pressed intimately against hers, and the clean, metallic scent of the cologne that complemented Bart’s natural scent. There was something about him had evoked strange sensations she didn’t want to acknowledge.
    I don’t know how you do it.
    Alana’s declaration invaded her unsettling thoughts. Her best friend could not understand how she could go months, and as of late, more than a year without sleeping with a man. And as she danced with the man who was her client, a man under whose roof she would reside for three nights, a man who’d paid P.S., Inc. thousands for her companionship, she realized