"The expression in Steven's eyes showed both understanding and amusement, and he watched with undisguised interest as Emma hastily covered her still-pulsing bosom. "I know," he sighed, with a crooked, teasing grin. "You're not that kind of girl." Emma knew her face was crimson with embarrassment and umbrage, and only then, when it was too late, did she think to do her buttoning with her back turned. "I most certainly am not!" "You liked it," Steven said, settling back with a smug sigh. "And from now until the day I take you, you're going to be wondering what else I might have made you feel." "You are insufferably arrogant, Mr. Fairfax!" "But right, nonetheless," he responded easily. And then he had the bald effrontery to yawn. "You're all warm and wet, and certain parts of you are feeling downright disappointed, whether you'll admit to the fact or not." A lame protest died in her throat. Everything Steven said was true, and she couldn't deny it because she knew he'd see through the lie. "Emma the librarian," he said huskily. Then he chuckled as though he found her occupation extraordinarily humorous. Emma's knees felt weak as noodles, and a soft whimper rose in her throat at the brazen truth of his words. She swallowed it. "You overestimate your appeal, Mr. Fairfax," she said. And then she turned on one heel and left the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Only"