His wife shot him a lethal glare.
Smothering a grin, Zandra held out the vibrator to her. “Would you like to touch it, ma’am?”
She shrank back from Zandra, looking scandalized. “Absolutely not.”
Her husband gently patted her arm, his blue eyes twinkling with laughter as he thanked Zandra for the “informative lecture.”
As he and his wife shuffled off, Zandra didn’t have to wonder whose idea it had been to visit a museum of sex that day. When the old man glanced over his shoulder and winked at her, she chuckled.
As she returned the antique vibrator to the glass display case, Remy sidled close and murmured in her ear, “You’ve been a very bad girl.”
Zandra gave him a cheeky grin. “What do you mean?”
“Come on,” Remy gently guffawed. “Are you gonna pretend you didn’t notice the way that old dude was checking you out during your presentation? Wearing this tight little blouse and short black skirt. Hell, he probably didn’t realize his old dick could still get that hard.”
Zandra choked out a laugh. “Will you stop that?” she whispered, glancing around at the crowd of people browsing about with audio-guide phones pressed to their ears and studious expressions on their faces.
Remy grinned. “I’m just speaking the truth. His wife should send you a thank-you card, because if that smile on his face was any indication, they won’t be needing any Viagra tonight.”
“Stop it,” Zandra laughingly scolded, ushering him toward the next exhibit.
“How did you remember all that stuff anyway?” Remy marveled, briefly stepping out of character. “It’s been almost thirteen years since you worked here.”
“I know, but I’ve always been good at memorization. Spend a year lecturing tourists about antique vibrators and ancient sex practices, and after a while the facts just roll off the tongue.” She winked lewdly. “Pun intended.”
Remy laughed.
After enjoying a day of sightseeing capped by an early dinner, they’d headed to the Institute of Sex, where Zandra had a memorable evening of role-playing planned for them.
The museum’s nondescript three-story building in London’s East End was off the beaten path, but its obscure location had never hurt business. If anything, it seemed to heighten the museum’s risqué appeal, adding to the allure of the forbidden. Back when Zandra had worked there as a tour guide, herds of tourists had arrived daily to view sexually explicit photographs, illustrations, books, stag films and an eclectic collection of artifacts that included vintage condom tins, tokens from burlesque peep shows and prototype sex machines.
Before leaving Chicago, Zandra had contacted the museum’s owner, who still remembered her fondly and had been pleased to hear from her. After Zandra explained what she wanted—sweetening the unusual request with a generous donation to the museum’s coffers—the woman had graciously granted Zandra and Remy free roam of the building tonight. She’d even provided Zandra with an updated tour guide uniform to wear as part of her role-playing.
Remy was thoroughly enjoying himself—and they hadn’t even gotten to the grand finale yet.
Returning to character as an irresistibly sexy stranger she’d just met, he followed her into a cool, dimly lit room that featured pornographic woodblock prints and brothel guides from eighteenth-century Japan. This, too, was one of the museum’s permanent exhibits that Zandra was already familiar with.
“So,” he drawled, “what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
She gave him a coy smile over her shoulder. “How do you know I’m a nice girl?”
“You mentioned earlier that you’re from a small town.” He raised an amused brow. “Aren’t all girls from small towns nice?”
“Only the ones who stay behind,” Zandra quipped.
He gave a low, husky laugh that made her nipples harden.