If I Can't Have You Read Online Free PDF

were his things? The handmade loafers he’d bought in Italy? The leather jacket he’d bought in Spain? Where were the cashmere suits, the starched white shirts, the dozens of silk ties?
    His breathing grew deep and rapid. What was happening?
    Again he heard her distinctive footsteps on the tiles.
    Quickly he grabbed the ring at the end of the pull string, accidentally ripping it from the short chain near the bulb. He balled up the string in his hand, pulled the chain to rid the closet of light, and closed the door. Without making a sound, he pushed to the back of the tightly stuffed closet. Hidden in the dark, he saw nothing, and smell ed only the sweet perfume that had filled his senses since he’d entered his car.
    He stayed out of sight while the woman moved around his bedroom. When it appeared she wasn’t going to open the door, he pushed aside the hanging garments just enough so he could peer through the louvers.
    Light shone from an overhead fixture and from a small Tiffany lamp next to the bed. The slats in the door made it difficult to see her clearly, but he watched her step out of her heels and unbutton the collar that fastened at the back of her neck. He thought he should close his eyes, that voyeurism wasn’t right, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Her arms were long, her back slender. She unfastened the button at the back of her waist and let the outfit slip to the floor. She was wearing the skimpiest panties he’d ever seen, nothing more than a few little straps across the back. He couldn’t see the front of her, but his imagination ran wild. She bent over the bed, picked up a silky white negligee, and slid it over her head before she turned around.
    He ran his fingers through his hair, frustration more than evident in the depth of his breathing, in the way his body was reacting of its own accord.
    He could see the slight roundness of her breasts through the white satin—small, much less than a handful. The fabric molded to her body, and he could see every curve, her slender waist, her narrow hips, the line of those almost nonexistent panties underneath.
    A thick lump caught in his throat, and he nearly gasped when she reached under the shimmering satin. Her fingers slipped around the straps at her hips and she pulled the panties away, sliding them slowly down her legs, stepping out of the small scrap of fabric one foot at a time.
    Life wasn’t the least bit fair, he decided. She’d put on a strip show, teasing him with just a hint of what was yet to come, then covered up the best before he got a peek. Maybe he had died and gone to heaven, or maybe, just maybe, he was in hell, having to watch naked women for all eternity without being able to touch. Was that to be his punishment for a life that had been less than perfect?
    She lifted the black-and-white garment from the floor, slipped it onto a hanger, and moved toward him. He crouched at the back of the closet, hoping the clothes would quit swaying before she opened the door.
    All he could see when she stepped in front of him were her slender ankles, her feet and toes, all tanned a nice shade of golden brown, and he wondered if the rest of her body would be tanned as nicely if he saw it in bright light without the hindrance of louvers.
    When she closed the door, he moved through the clothing again and watched her shove something black and rectangular into a metal box on top the dresser. She climbed under the frilly white covers, fluffed the pillows, and wiggled until she got comfortable.
    She picked up another black object, pointed it at the dresser, and he saw snow and heard static in the glass-fronted box. Words flashed across the screen. He could just make out the beginning, something about it being illegal to make copies. He tried to make sense of the words, but they disappeared and something familiar met his eyes. The Warner Bros. emblem blazed across the screen in black-and-white, and in big letters, Trevor Montgomery in Captain