Don’t look. Don’t look.
I wasn’t going to look. I wasn’t curious. I didn’t need to see what was happening behind me.
Of course I looked.
And the way the rear-view mirror was positioned gave me the perfect view of one of his large hands cupping her breast over the fabric of her dress, his thumb moving lazily back and forth over her nipple.
I blinked, a weird flashback hitting me. Of how Mark had grabbed me from behind, squeezing me and pinching me, and how it had hurt. He’d been rough and I’d been taken by surprise, unable to jerk away until it was too late.
Yet the woman didn’t seem to find what Mr Evans was doing to her unpleasant. She was arching into his hand as if wanting more. And…it seemed as if he was holding her carefully, his thumb moving gently, lightly…
Unexpectedly, my own nipples hardened, pressing against the cotton of my bra, and I had to jerk my gaze away, my face flaming.
Bloody hell, what was I thinking? Staring at my clients wasn’t at all professional. And as for getting turned on by it…
No. Just no.
The light changed colour and I put my foot on the accelerator, determined to ignore what I’d just seen.
But Mr Evans made another of those deep, purring sounds and it shivered through me, making my mouth go dry and the throb in my sex even more intense.
Was it the blonde making him sound like that? And why? What was she doing?
Madness. I shouldn’t even want to look again, let alone be battling the sudden and intense desire to do just that.
Another set of lights was up ahead, turning red as soon as I approached.
I wasn’t going to look. I wasn’t.
But I couldn’t help myself. I did.
His hand had moved to her butt, curving around it possessively, while hers had shifted from his chest and down between his powerful thighs, her fingers spread as she cupped him through his jeans, her red nails standing out against the blue denim.
I swallowed, trying vainly to get some moisture into my bone-dry mouth.
Her fingers were lazily stroking up and down, tracing the outline of something very long and very thick, and his thighs were spread wide, giving her room, as if he was enjoying very much what she was doing to him.
A hungry feeling pulsed inside me, my palms sweaty as I gripped the steering wheel.
This time I couldn’t drag my gaze away. I was glued to the view in the mirror, mesmerised and not even sure why.
There was something hypnotic about the way her fingers moved on him, about the shape of his cock beneath the denim, that caught my attention, twisting my curiosity tight and refusing to let go.
What did he feel like? Was he hot? Was he as hard as he looked? Would he make that soft bass rumble for me if I touched him?
Need throbbed between my thighs, my hands itching to touch.
I loved driving, and chauffeuring satisfied that need in me, but I also loved design. There was nothing that gave me as much pleasure as the clean lines and curves of a beautifully designed car, form and function perfectly melded.
I wanted to see Mr Evans’s form. I wanted to see the lines and curves of him, and whether he’d be as beautifully designed for power and strength as he seemed to be. I already knew his torso was a work of art, but what about the rest of him?
My heartbeat accelerated like one of the Pythons, revving hard.
The mirror didn’t show his face and suddenly I wanted to see it. Wanted to know what his scarred features looked like when he was turned on and whether those intense blue eyes were still full of heat and not just lightning.
With a hand that shook only slightly, I reached up to adjust the mirror so I could see. Then froze as his gaze clashed with mine.
Electricity sizzled through me and this time there was no static to blame.
It was all him.
‘The light is green, Miss Little,’ he said in his deep, rough voice.
And it took me at least five seconds to process what he was saying. And then I did.
Oh, crap.
My face burned and I wrenched my gaze away, pressing my foot down hard on the accelerator. Too hard. Much to my shame the car bunny-hopped a couple of times before I managed to bring it under control again. I stuttered an apology, keeping my attention resolutely forward this time.
He didn’t answer, but I was just about combusting with embarrassment, angry with myself for staring when I knew I shouldn’t, and also at my own reaction. At the pulsing, insistent ache between my thighs.
I didn’t understand it. Australis’s continued existence was on the line and here I was, letting some stupid sex stuff distract me. And now he’d caught me watching him…
He’ll probably fire you.
Shit. The thought made my palms even more sweaty.
I tried to dismiss it, plaster my smile in place, get back into a more professional space, but I was still blushing furiously by the time I pulled the car up outside Mr Evans’s hotel.
‘Stay there, Miss Little,’ he growled as I reached to undo my seat belt.
Oh, great.
He said something to the woman that I didn’t catch, but I didn’t dare look this time to see what was going on.
Instead I waited, staring out of the widow, listening to the rear door open and then close with a thunk.
There was a long silence.
Eventually, I had to glance in the mirror, because the suspense was killing me.
The blonde had gone, but Mr Evans hadn’t.
He was still sitting in the back seat.
And he was staring straight at me.
Ash
I HAD NO idea what Miss Ellie Little was playing at, but one thing I did know: she needed to stop.
Because I was finding that having my fresh-faced chauffeur steal little glances in the rear-view mirror, watching me while the blonde stroked my cock through my jeans, was surprisingly erotic. And that if she kept on doing it, she was going to find herself spread out on the back seat of the limo, naked, with me on top of her.
Which obviously could not happen.
I should be thinking about screwing my beautiful blonde friend instead, because she was sexy and experienced and definitely not working for me. Unlike Miss Little.
Which meant I should not be thinking about Miss Little’s sneaky glances in the mirror, watching us from her place in the driver’s seat, her gaze darkening as she realised what was happening. Colour flooding her clear skin, making her freckles stand out, and her lush red mouth open.
Or thinking about how watching the blonde and me was turning her on.
Or about the realisation that it wasn’t so much what the blonde was doing to me that was making me hard as it was Ellie’s reaction.
It was obvious she didn’t want to look and yet hadn’t been able to help herself, and I liked that very much.
Too much.
I’d got under her insufferably chirpy skin, flustered