Time to rein back some control over herself. ‘And what do you want right now?’
Hooded eyes held hers. ‘I want you to go back to your hotel tonight.’ His voice dropped. ‘I want you to stay in London tomorrow while I fly to the South of France.’ His lips touched her ear, whisper-soft, starting a chain reaction of fine tremors. ‘I want you to keep your panties on under that dress so I can’t go down on you in the back of my car.’
Libby’s knees buckled and she wobbled on her heels.
Bastard. He knew the effect he had on her.
Pulling away, he twitched his decadent lips. ‘But, ladies first. What do you want, Olivia?’
He’d become so good at her game. Too good. But why did breaking the rules with him feel better than getting her own way? And wasn’t she still getting what she wanted?
Him.
Still, she tried to discipline herself and her spiralling feelings. ‘I’m tired. I want an early night.’
His face fell.
‘I’ll meet you in the foyer in five minutes if you wouldn’t mind giving me a ride.’
She spun on her heel, ignoring the flash of uncertainty in his eyes.
When she emerged from the ladies’ room, her panties tucked inside her clutch bag, and rounded the corner to the main hotel foyer, Alex was waiting for her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants, an intense, heated stare following her progress.
She couldn’t resist. She loved holding him on the brink, disarming him as much as he disarmed her. Redressing the balance so that when she walked away she’d have no regrets.
She made it outside with the minimum of wobble, every step, every second she kept him dangling increasing the throb between her legs.
Alex’s driver opened the door of the sleek limo and Libby ducked inside, Alex’s hand on her arm, guiding her.
Once inside, the driver said, ‘Where to, sir?’
From his seat opposite her Alex raised a questioning brow, a hint of challenge and a large slice of vulnerability in his eyes. How had she missed that before? It was her call—as always with him. Aside from pressing the wedding date, he’d always extended her the ultimate control. It was the main reason she was still here. Should she give in one more time? Or should she ration her encounters with him, wean herself from her addiction. He’d never know about the panties.
She licked dry lips. ‘Where do you stay when you’re in London?’ Her throat was scratchy.
Eyes dark, he watched her from the seat opposite. The air crackled with tension, electricity arcing between them when not even their knees brushed. Libby regretted the spaciousness of the luxury vehicle. Right now she’d give anything to be sandwiched next to him in the back of one of those charming Mini Coopers.
He shrugged. ‘I have a place in Belgravia.’
Of course he did. She nodded, holding his bold stare with one of her own.
‘Eaton Square, please, Roger,’ he said.
The car rolled into motion, entering the central London stream of traffic, as constant as the flow in New York.
Alex raised the privacy screen between them and the driver with the touch of a button.
His gaze pinned her. Hot, defiant, demanding.
‘Show me.’
The bite of command entranced her—hers to obey or deny. Fire raged inside her, hot enough to melt her clothes away. Placing her clutch on the leather seat with a shaky hand, Libby slowly lifted her dress, millimetre by millimetre, so the fabric bunched at the top of her thighs.
‘Wider.’ His nostrils flared and he spread his own thighs, as if seeking comfort for the confined bulge at his crotch.
She loved to push him. To see him teeter on the brink of that glorious moment when he shucked his impeccable buttoned-up manners and proper English upbringing and dived for her, eyes glazed with lust.
‘Bossy, much?’ She pressed her thighs together. This was her game.
He nodded. ‘I want to give you what you want. What I want.’ His tongue touched his bottom lip. ‘Let me.’
Yes.
With a sigh she couldn’t contain, Libby conceded. Her legs parted, knees spread wide, her heels digging into the luxury carpet. She met his stare, bold, daring, counting the seconds until he snapped.
With a curse, Alex dropped to his knees, his hands gripping her thighs and spreading her open wider to his brazen look.
‘Do you understand what you do to me?’ His eyes sought hers in the car’s gloom, his gruff voice pricking her nerve endings alive. It was a whisper. ‘Do you feel the power you wield? Power over me?’
Libby stopped breathing. His questions were as close to any true emotions as they’d ever expressed, and they struck close to her own, so close her skin seemed to tighten and shrink.
She gripped the leather beneath her palms to stop herself from pushing him away and jumping from the moving vehicle.
What had started as a game—a risqué diversion of give and take—now erred perilously close to a chasm of emotion she daren’t cross.
Sex. This could only be about sex.
She focussed on breathing, her inhalations matching the tempo of his while they waited, watched, warred.
Alex broke first, a sigh gusting from him. ‘I can’t do this any more.’
Libby’s stomach flipped. ‘Do what?’
The rumble of the car’s engine faded away as the world stuttered to a halt. She only had days left with him. She wasn’t ready for this to be over—wasn’t ready to think about the end of this wild, hedonistic ride.
With the candour she’d grown to expect from him, he said, ‘I want you too much.’
His hand skittered along her inner thigh, his eyes seeking her permission before his fingers probed her entrance, which was slick, ready for him. His thumb circled her clit and her head dropped back, her thighs trembling with the effort of staying open to his avid stare.
He leaned over her, his gravelly voice sin-dipped. ‘Come with me.’
She was about to.
‘To France.’
The fog cleared and she opened her eyes to his penetrating gaze.
‘No games, Olivia.’
His fingers continued their lazy swirling, fogging her mind.
‘No jet-skiing. No work.’
He pumped his fingers faster.
‘Just two people attracted to each other, enjoying a social gathering in a stunning part of the world.’
Libby fought to make sense of his words while her body sang under his hand. He made it sound so simple. And on the surface, it was. But his idyllic scenario was pitted with potholes—landmines of repressed emotion that threatened to blow her carefully constructed and life-saving control apart.
‘I…’
He grunted, perhaps interpreting the denial on her face or hearing her unspoken refusal. He shifted, lowering his head between her thighs, his lips kissing her intimately and his tongue flattening against her primed clit.
All thoughts, all arguments fled. Only Alex remained, and the pleasure he wreaked expanded to fill her mind with every swirl of his