Eighty-two

I stood in John Declan's hallway, breathing heavily as my husband in name only, ogled me. Was I going to give it all to him? In a freaking hallway? And even worse in the hallway of some pervert photographer who was probably recording the whole thing?

My senses seemed to recover at that moment and my face burned in shame. The paparazzi were right outside and I had just bared myself naked to the waist.

Quickly, I tucked my breasts inside the damn dress and tried to finish my zipper. Xavier held my hand down.

"We don't have to stop," he protested, his voice thick with need.

"We need to," I said and turned my back to him. "The paparazzi are right outside. Please zip me up."

I gasped in shock when instead of the idiot zipping me up, he slipped both hands through the back of the dress and grabbed my breasts from behind, flattening me against his chest. A position that seemed oddly familiar because not so long ago, I had been pressed up against his chest and his hands fondled me.

"Oh,..