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“I refuse to accept that.”
She couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips. “Arrogant American.”
That was one of the things she found desirable about him. Not his arrogance, which infuriated her, but his calm assurance and soul-deep dedication to a course of action.
She turned, to find him watching intently, waiting for her answer. Tugging one of her hands free, she reached up and stroked the side of his face. “You see extremely clearly for one not on the path.”
He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch.
“I want you. And yes, I arranged all of this to get you here where I could tell you that. But you didn’t have to come.”
He stroked his fingertips along her hairline, from her forehead to her ear. Eileen shivered with desire. She wanted to turn to him, capture his mouth with kisses, strip off her jeans and his slacks, and make love to him on the wide leather seat.
“I’m here now. But wanting, having, and keeping are three different fish.”
He cupped her cheek in his palm, splaying his fingers into her hair while his thumb outlined her lips. With his other hand, he cupped her breast, his thumb flicking the nipple.
She gasped, instantly wet as her body remembered the lesson he’d taught her during their morning together. Her nipple beaded into a tight, aching bud.
He flicked his thumb against it twice more, than pinched it lightly. She moaned, arching into his touch.
“I see the wanting,” he whispered huskily. “And you can be having as soon as you give the word. Let the keeping take care of itself.”
She opened her mouth, letting his thumb glide over her lower lip. Eagerly, she sucked on it, sweeping his thumb with her tongue.
Dermot’s breath hitched, then he whispered, “Say the word, Eileen.”
“What word?”
“Yes.”
Dimly, the shreds of her common sense struggled to be heard through the sensual haze of his hands caressing her body.
“And what question would I be answering ‘yes’ to?”
“Stay with me tonight and be my lover.”
She let out her breath on a shaky sigh. “Yes.”
He also released a shaky breath, then moved so that he was kneeling on the carpeting in front of her, his hands braced at her hips.
“Let me love you, Eileen. Now.”
“Yes,” she whispered again.
Slowly, he unsnapped her jeans and slid down the zipper. He reached inside the waistband of her panties, skimming her stomach with his thumbs, then caressed her hips, and finally shoved his hands inside the panties to cup her ass.
Eileen moaned softly. His hands on her body felt so right, as if this was where she’d always belonged, and just hadn’t known until now.
Dermot kneaded and caressed her ass, lifting her from the seat so that she sat on his hands. As he rocked her gently, his hands slowly worked further under her panties, until she was balanced on his wrists, then his forearms. His fingers stroked between her legs, light teasing brushes that started at her ass cheeks and gradually approached her aching heat.
His fingertips dipped into her slick folds, and she moaned again, flexing her hips. He circled his fingers at the edge of her vagina and she lifted her hips again, urging him to press further inside.
“Like that?” he asked.
“Yes. Oh, yes,” she answered. That seemed the only thing she could answer him.
In response, he stroked her clitoris with his thumb. Eileen grabbed the leather seat with both hands and lifted her hips, tilting them to allow him greater access.
