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The king-size bed felt strange to Elissa, which was no surprise, really, since it wasn't her own. It belonged to Kingston Roper, and it was a good thing they were friends or she'd never have done him this "little favor" on a minute's notice. Elissa's own safe, single bed was in her little cottage on the white Jamaican beach near Montego Bay, only a short walk from King's enormous villa.
In the past two years Elissa knew she'd gone from being just an irritating neighbor to the only friend King had. And friend was the word; they certainly weren't lovers. Elissa Gloriana Dean, for all her eccentricities and uninhibited appearance, was an innocent. Her missionary parents had given her a loving but restrictive upbringing, and not even her budding success in the sophisticated world of fashion design had liberated her in any physical way.
This trip down she'd been on the island only since that morning, missing King, who wasn't at home, and halfheartedly working on her newest collection of colorful leisure wear for the boutique that carried her exclusive designs. Then, just an hour ago, King had phoned her with this wild request and had hung up without a word of explanation the moment she'd agreed to help him out. She couldn't imagine why he wanted her to be found in his bed. He didn't seem to be dating anyone. But then again, maybe he was being hounded by some bored socialite and wanted to show her that he was already involved. This tactic did seem a bit drastic, though, especially since King was adept at speaking his mind. He never pulled his punches, even with people he liked. Oh, well. All the wondering in the world wasn't going to give her any answers. She'd simply have to wait to hear what King had to say.
She stretched luxuriously in his huge bed, the smooth satin sheets feeling cool and sexy against her skin. She was wearing a nightgown, but it was made of the finest cotton and slit to the hips on both sides. In front, it made a plunge to her navel. The daring pink negligee was part of her fantasy life, she admitted to herself. In some ways she might be repressed on the surface, but in her mind she was a beautiful siren who lured men to their dooms.
Only with King could she safely indulge that fantasy woman, however, because he never approached her physically. With King, she could flirt to her heart's content. Although she was friendly to most men, she was careful not to tease. The instant a man mistook her playful friendliness for a come-on, she retreated into her shell, the fantasy shattered. It was one thing to pretend to be sexy, but quite another to follow through. A frightening experience in her teens had left her extremely wary in that regard.
