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The hand covering his tightened and he could feel her breathing speed up. Reluctantly he left her hip, bringing his hand up to push the heavy fall of hair away from her neck so the creamy nape was exposed. She trembled as he moved in close to press a light kiss on her neck, then another, working his way around to the slim shoulder as his hand slid round to her ribs, splaying out until he felt the full underside of her breast underneath his thumb.
Her breaths were coming quicker as she leant against him, arching into his touch, into his kiss, holding on as she turned round to find his mouth with hers. Warm, inviting, intoxicating. ‘Are we allowed to do this here?’ she murmured against his mouth as he found the zip at the back of her dress and eased it down the line of her back. Her own hands were tugging at his shirt, moving up his back in a teasing, light caress.
‘No one will come in,’ he promised, slipping the dress from her shoulders, holding in a groan as one hand continued to tease his back, the other sliding round to his chest. ‘We have over an hour before the lecture. Of course, I had promised you lunch...’
‘Lunch is overrated.’ She pressed a kiss to his throat, her tongue darting out to mark the most sensitive spot as her fingers worked on his shirt buttons.
‘In that case, my lady—’ he held onto her as she undid the final button, pushing his shirt off him with a triumphant smile ‘—desk, sofa or table?’
Daisy looked up at him, her eyes luminous with desire. ‘Over an hour? Let’s try for all three.’
Seb swung her warm, pliant body up. ‘I was hoping you’d say that. Let’s start over here. I think I need to do some very intensive research...’
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘YOU WOULDN’T THINK you were publicity-shy, looking at those. My mother would kill to have that kind of exposure—and she doesn’t get in front of a camera for less than twenty thousand a day.’
There were five large posters arrayed along the front of the lecture hall, each featuring the same black and white headshot of Seb. Daisy came to a halt and studied them, her head tilted critically. ‘Not bad. Did they ask you to convey serious academic with a hint of smoking hot?’
‘That was exactly the brief. Why, do you think I look like a serious academic?’
‘I think you look smoking hot and—’ she eyed the gaggle of giggling girls posing for selfies alongside the furthest poster ‘—so do they.’
Seb glanced towards the group and quickly turned away so his back was towards them. ‘Just because they are a little dressed up doesn’t mean they’re not interested in the subject matter. They could be going out afterwards.’
‘Sure they could.’ Daisy patted his arm. ‘And when I went to the very dull lectures on Greek vase painting it was because I thought knowing about classical figures on urns would be very helpful to my future career and not because I had a serious crush on the lecturer.’
She sighed. ‘Six weeks of just sitting and staring into those dark brown eyes and visualising our future children. Time very well spent. Of course he was happily married and never even looked twice at me.’
‘This is Oxford, Daisy. People come here to learn.’
There was a reproving tone in his voice that hit her harder than she liked, a reminder that this was his world, not hers. ‘I didn’t say I didn’t learn anything. You want to know anything about classical art, I’m your girl.’
‘Seb!’ Daisy breathed a sigh of relief as a smartly dressed woman came out of the stage door and headed straight for them, breaking up the suddenly fraught conversation. The woman greeted Seb with a kiss on both cheeks. ‘I’ve been looking for you. You’re late. How are you?’
Seb returned the embrace then put an arm around Daisy, propelling her forward. ‘This is my fiancée, Daisy Huntingdon-Cross. I assume you’ve got the wedding invite? Daisy, this is Clarissa Winteringham, my agent.’
‘So this is your mystery fiancée?’ Daisy was aware that she was being well and truly sized up by a pair of shrewd brown eyes. ‘Invite received and accepted with thanks. It’s nice to meet you, Daisy.’
‘Likewise.’ Daisy held out her hand and it was folded into a tight grip, the other woman still looking at her intently.
‘And what do you do, Daisy?’
Most people would probably have started with congratulations. Daisy smiled tightly. ‘I’m a photographer.’
‘Have you ever thought of writing a book?’ The grip was still tight on her hand as Daisy shook her head. ‘A photographer who gets propelled into the limelight as a model? Could work well for a young adult audience?’
