Free Bitter Spirits by Jenn Bennett

screen, propped an elbow on the top edge, and handed the envelope over. “The séance would be after a dinner party this weekend. The job pays well. Read it.”
    Holding her dress closed with one hand behind her back, she reached for the envelope.
    He snatched it back an inch. “Sure you’re fully dressed?”
    â€œOf course I’m sure,” she lied. “Unlike someone in this room, I don’t parade around naked in front of strangers.”
    â€œI’m not a stranger.”
    â€œAnd you’re no gentleman, either, or you wouldn’t—stop that!” She leaned back as he stuck his head over the screen and tracked her movement, his face towering inches away and closing the distance ever so slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. If she continued to retreat, she’d be falling backward.
    His voice was a warm, velvety lick up her nerves. “Need help buttoning that dress, cheetah?” When she made a panicked noise, he added, “I can see you in the mirror.”
    She glanced toward the side of the screen without moving her head. The dressing counter was in her sight, just past his hanging fedora, but he still couldn’t . . .
    â€œBehind you.” He tilted his eyes to a spot on the wall at her back, where a long dressing mirror stood—dammit!—then looked back down at her face and smiled. “A few advantages to this point of view.” He raised a level hand above his head.
    â€œA few disadvantages, too—if you lean any harder on the dressing screen, it’ll be reduced to matchsticks.”
    â€œNot seeing how this is a problem.”
    A host of rebuttals formed and dissolved inside her head as she took a step back. “You probably couldn’t even manage the buttons with those beefy fingers of yours.”
    â€œOh, I don’t know. I think you’d find I’m skilled at managing all kinds of buttons. Big, small, round. Pearl buttons—I like those quite a bit, and I’m
very
good at manipulating them.”
    What in the world were they talking about? Alarms blared in her head. “It’s not like you’ve caught me in a scandalous position.” Why was she talking so loud? “All you can expect to see is a bit of back. You can ogle more skin in the middle of the day on the beach.”
    â€œâ€˜A bit of back’ is not going to drive me to depravity, Miss Palmer. I’m offering to do you a favor, not asking for one.” The calm and sensible way he said this made her feel foolish.
    And really, it might be nice to feel his fingers on her skin. Just the thought of it made her nostrils widen.
    â€œThe chorus girls will be back any second, so hurry.” She turned around and bared her back. “You’ll have to come around here.”
    She waited, heart hammering, and listened to the floorboards creaking under his feet. Heard him stop behind her. Waited . . .
    Waited some more.
    What was he doing? It took every ounce of willpower she had to stop herself from spinning on her heels to face him. Then she remembered the dressing mirror and darted her eyes to the side. If she leaned forward an inch, she could see him in the mirror—not his eyes, but she could see him below the nose. He was standing behind her, looking down at her back, tugging on the tips of his gloves to remove them.
    A thrill shuttled through her bones, sending an anticipatory wave of goose bumps across her bowed back. She’d called him a pervert, but sadly, she was the guilty party, because her breath was coming faster and a familiar pleasurable heat was blooming between her legs.
    She watched him surveying her back in the mirror. His mouth was open, as if he were poised to say something. Maybe he was having trouble breathing, too.
    Without warning, he straightened and tugged his glove on again before marching back around the screen.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” she asked, standing on tiptoes to peer at