Excerpt of Mr. and Mistress by Heidi Betts

"Hello?"

"I'm in town. Thought I might come over."

His voice reached through the telephone wire and slid down her spine like warm maple syrup on a cold winter's day, into every nook and cranny of Misty Vale's traitorous body.

"All right," she replied softly. "I'll be waiting." She hung up and quickly began moving around the room, straightening magazines and throw pillows, dimming the lights before heading for her bedroom. Shedding her skintight bike shorts and sports bra, she slipped into a new black teddy she knew Cullen would love.

If it weren't for him, she probably wouldn't own half as many pieces of fancy lingerie. But he liked the sheer, sexy stuff, and she liked wearing it for him.

She quickly pulled her long, wavy hair out of its ponytail holder and ran a brush through to fluff it up.

A second later, the doorbell rang. She hurried across the room, glancing around one last time to be sure everything was in order. And then her hand was on the chain, releasing it. On the knob, turning it.

"Hi."

He was leaning against the jamb, black hair glistening in the porch light, blue eyes sparkling with barely banked desire. She swallowed hard, wishing she knew how to settle the butterflies flitting around in her belly.

"Hi. Come on in," she said, stepping back to allow him entrance.

She closed the door and refastened the security chain, then turned to find him watching her like a hawk might watch a mouse just before swooping down and carrying it away.

He was dressed for business in charcoal gray slacks and a white dress shirt, both of which were slightly wrinkled from a long day of meetings and travel. His tie was silk, with pastel swirls that reminded her of a painting she'd seen once in an art gallery. It was pulled away from his neck and hung limply from the collar with the top two buttons undone. The jacket that matched his slacks was folded over one arm.

He looked tired, and as much as she wanted to drag him straight to the bedroom, she thought he might need to relax a bit first.

"Do you want anything?" she asked, tipping her head in the direction of the kitchen at his back. "A glass of wine? Something to eat, maybe?"

With the flick of his wrist, his jacket fell to the floor and he was striding forward, his gaze focused intently on her face.

"Later," he growled in a low voice that sent every cell of her being into erotic overdrive. His arms wrapped around her and a second later, his mouth hovered above hers. "Right now all I want is you."

As always, his kiss scorched, setting her afire from head to toe. She buried her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, caressing his scalp. His lips moved over hers, sucking, biting. His tongue delved inside to lick and stroke.

Her breasts swelled beneath the satin material of her teddy, pressing against his solid, muscled chest. His hands ran along her spine, over her waist, and finally cupped her buttocks, pulling her into the evidence of his arousal. Misty moaned, holding him tighter and hitching a leg up to hook on the jut of his hip.

Tearing his mouth away, he breathed heavily against her cheek. "Bedroom. Now."

"Yes."

Bending slightly, he lifted her into his arms and strode with purpose across the living room. He knew the layout of her apartment as well as she did. Not surprising, since he'd bought the building for her three years ago, after an accident on stage had damaged her knee and ended her career as a showgirl on the Las Vegas Strip. Her dance studio was downstairs, and she lived above.

Cullen lived in New York, working hard for Snap — one of his family's many successful magazine ventures — but he visited Nevada as often as possible. And whenever he was in town, he spent the night with her...in her bed.

She lived for those nights. Waited for them, craved them, even though everything inside her told her it was wrong.

He was five years her junior, his family — the Elliotts — one of the wealthiest and most prominent in New York. They couldn't have been more different if they'd been born in opposite hemispheres.

But from the moment she'd seen him, standing backstage after one of her nightly performances, there had been something about him. Something that drew her, kept her connected to him no matter how many times she told herself they should call off their blazing red-hot affair.

Reaching the edge of the bed, Cullen laid her on the mattress and followed her down, covering her body with his own.

"I love this," he said, fingering the black fabric that barely covered her from chest to thigh. "But it has to go. I want you naked."

"You're the boss," she told him with a small smile. One side of his mouth quirked up in sensual amusement as his fingers slipped beneath the teddy's spaghetti straps, sliding them over her shoulders and down her arms. She moved to allow him to uncover her breasts and pull the garment down past her hips and thighs.

His beautiful blue eyes seared through her like laser beams. He openly admired her breasts, her belly, the triangular area between her legs hidden behind a swatch of black lace.

Rising up from the bed, she helped him remove the lingerie completely. He tossed it aside, returning his attention to her bare, curvaceous form.

She wiggled anxiously, wanting to touch him. Wanting him to touch her.

"You're overdressed," she told him, grabbing the end of his tie and giving it a tug. The action brought him several inches closer, until their noses nearly touched.

His chest rose and fell with his harsh breathing and she took a moment to run her hands over the wide planes of his pectoral muscles before her fingers moved up to the knot at his throat.

She loosened the tie, taking her time pulling the length of silk free of his pristine white collar. Then she went to work on the buttons of his shirt, slipping them through their holes one by one. When she reached the bottom, she tugged the tails out of the waistband of his slacks, revealing his smooth, tanned chest and six-pack abs.

She swallowed, overwhelmed by the sheer perfection of Cullen's toned build. He'd mentioned once that he worked out several times a week in the company gym of Elliott Publication Holdings (EPH).

And she reaped the benefits.

Pushing the soft cotton off his shoulders, she pitched the shirt in the direction of her discarded negligee. Next came his belt, unbuckled and pulled through the loops of his pants. When her painted, manicured nails dipped behind the button at his waist, he sucked in a breath, sending his stomach rippling.

"I hope you're enjoying yourself," he said through gritted teeth, "because I fully intend to repay the favor."

"Uh-oh. I'm in real trouble, then, because I am enjoying myself. Very much."

She flicked the button of his trousers open with her thumb, creating even more space for her fingers to delve and explore. The heat of his body — so close to the throbbing, insistent center of him — enveloped her, soaking through her skin and down into her soul.

With the backs of her fingers brushing over the sprinkling of hair leading downward from his navel, Misty used the heel of her hand to push the zipper down. Slowly, the individual snicks echoed through the room.

Cullen held his breath, the sensations she was creating were almost too much to bear. Each click of the zipper teeth separating seemed to reverberate through his bones, his teeth, his rigid, straining shaft.

He'd been half-hard all day, anticipating the moment when he could tie up his Snap business in Vegas and sneak away to make love to Misty. The things she was doing to him now didn't help matters, either. His blood was boiling, his head pounding. Much more, and he thought he might implode.

She was amazing. Every time they were together, it was like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Hot, vibrant, spectacular. He was surprised they hadn't set the sheets on fire years ago.

If he told anyone, even his brother, how Misty made him feel in bed, they would have given him one of those sly, knowing looks and said, "Sure. She used to be a showgirl. What do you expect?"

But it was more than that, because as explosive as they were in the bedroom, they worked just as well out of it. He wanted to make love to her as often as his schedule and physical endurance would allow, but he was equally happy to sit on the sofa with her and watch a movie or pick at day-old Chinese takeout.

That's what no one would have understood. What he didn't particularly understand himself.

The zipper reached its end and Misty dipped her entire hand into his pants, into his briefs to circle his pulsating length. His diaphragm seized, and his nostrils flared as he fought to pull air into his lungs. She stroked him, squeezed him, teased him until he wanted to scream.

"Enough." Before he lost it to her fingers instead of inside her where he most wanted to be, he grabbed her wrist and extracted her hand from his trousers.

In a few jerky moves, he kicked off his shoes, socks, pants and underwear.

Once he was naked, he climbed onto the bed, pushing her to her back as he straddled her thighs. Bracing his weight on his arms, he leaned forward and took her mouth the way he'd fantasized all through the long flight from New York.