Eager for Turner's unveiling and curious about the way he was going to do it, Bridget made herself comfortable on the large stack of pillows she kept on her bed.

"Your turn, Victor. Give me a good show."

It had been fascinating watching his reaction to her striptease. The permanently impassive, hard mask he wore like a shield on his face had slipped, revealing the smoldering desire in his intense eyes.

His fingers had twitched when she'd shed her bra, and her breasts responded by puckering in invitation. She couldn't wait to have his hands all over her body. Turner was an intense man who kept himself under tight control. She wondered if he was as reserved in the bedroom.

Probably.

Even though she'd given him the freedom to treat her as he would a paid escort, his pre-assignation negotiations hadn't mentioned anything out of the ordinary. Except, she hadn't given him a chance, distracting him with her striptease.

It didn't matter. Soon enough he would learn that she wouldn't allow him to hold back. The last thing Bridget wanted was to be treated like a breakable china doll when she was the opposite of that.

Immortal females were predatory by nature, which meant that they craved powerful partners who could fight them for dominance. One of the reasons Bridget found human males so underwhelming in bed was the knowledge that she could overpower them if she so wished.

It wouldn't be as easy with Turner. He was built like a predator, all hard muscles without an ounce of fat on him, and by his own admission, he was highly trained in several martial arts disciplines.

A worthy opponent who had her mouth watering.

Turner started pulling off his jacket. "I've never stripped for show, and after your performance, I'm afraid mine would be anticlimactic."

Bridget stretched her arms over her head and laced her fingers behind her head. "I doubt it. I've already seen you half naked, and I've been very impressed."

Turner's moves as he started undressing were precise and economical. Shrugging off his jacket, he folded it on the fly and put it behind him on the dresser, the fold line aligned with its edge.

His T-shirt was next. Pulling it over his head with the same fluidity, he folded it into a neat square and put it on top of the jacket. The fold lines were precisely aligned even though his eyes remained focused on her.

It was sexy even though he wasn't trying to make it so. The complete control he had over every movement was impressive.

As Bridget had remembered from his checkup, the man had a defined eight-pack. Now that she could observe with impunity, Bridget almost salivated at the beauty of Turner's upper body. He was magnificently built, with everything perfectly proportional and nothing overblown. As someone who'd seen many impressive male torsos, human and immortal, she counted herself as an authority on the subject, and in her qualified opinion, Turner deserved first prize.

His chest was mostly hairless, and the little he had was light blond and barely visible against his pale skin. By the looks of it, the guy hadn't been to the beach in years. The only light his skin had probably been exposed to came from the fluorescent bulbs in his office or the glow from his computer screen.

Turner toed off his shoes, pushing them against the dresser, then lifted one foot at the time to remove his socks. She couldn't help noting that his good balance was another indication of how well he maintained his body. One of the first signs of aging in humans was declining balance. At forty-six, Turner had the balance of a man decades younger.

With only his pants remaining, Bridget wondered if Victor would be shy and turn around to take them off, or face her while doing so, and whether he would take the pants off together with his underwear, or one at a time.

Or maybe he went commando.

He didn't.

Removing his pants first, he neatly folded what he'd taken off and put it on top of the other garments.

As much as Bridget wanted to keep looking into his eyes, her gaze was drawn to the impressive bulge his black boxer shorts were lovingly stretched over.

He walked over and stood by the side of the bed, then climbed on top, kneeling by her side. "How about you take them off for me?" he asked in a voice that had gotten deeper and huskier with arousal.

Sitting up, she hooked her fingers in the elastic, pulled the fabric away from his straining length, then tugged it down.

Beautiful.

She wasn't one of those women who paid much attention to that part of a male's anatomy. Using it right was more important than the size or shape, but Turner's was just as perfect as the rest of him. Long, smooth, and jutting out from a patch of blond hair that looked soft rather than coarse.

She wrapped her palm around it, then dipped her head and licked it like a cone of ice cream, starting at the top and going all the way down, around, and up again.

Turner hissed from between clenched teeth, his fingers threading through her hair and holding her to him. "I don't know if I want you to stop before I come in your mouth, or keep going because it's so good."

Bridget lifted her eyes to him. "We can do both. For five grand, you get the deluxe package." She winked.

He chuckled. "Is that so?"

She gave him another thorough lick. "Indeed."

"In that case, I would like to save this for last, if you don't mind."

Bridget shrugged, pretending indifference when in fact she was burning with curiosity as to what he had in mind for her. "You're the customer. Whatever you say goes."

"I have a beautiful naked woman in bed, and I want to touch and taste every inch of that sexy body and lick every inch of that incredibly smooth skin."

Sounded more than good to her. They could take turns worshiping each other's bodies.

Bridget lay back on her stack of pillows and cupped her aching breasts. "At your service, sir."