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His assistant nodded and left. Karim gripped Orla’s elbow and began to direct her through the crowd, back towards the entrance she’d come out of less than fifteen minutes before.
‘Karim, is everything okay?’ she asked, the nervousness in her voice only making him more aware of the arousal darkening her gaze.
‘No, everything’s not okay,’ he managed. ‘But it soon will be.’
He walked past the cloakroom set up by the entrance. ‘Wait, Karim, I left my—’
‘I’ll get Jason to collect it,’ he snapped. He could feel her pulse battering his thumb as he pressed it into the soft inner flesh of her elbow—trying not to grip her too hard.
‘Tell my driver we’re ready to leave,’ he said to one of the doormen.
‘But, Karim, we’re going to miss the auction,’ Orla said, then chewed her damn lip.
His gaze fixed on the plump flesh trapped between small white teeth. The desire to touch his tongue to the reddened skin was so strong he spoke through gritted teeth.
‘Are there any more horses you think we should bid on?’ he asked.
She shook her head, but the flush of pleasure—because he had asked for her advice—only made him feel more on edge.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Then there is no need for us to remain here.’
He stood on the grassy verge at the entrance to Kensington Gardens waiting for the chauffeur-driven Mercedes to arrive, aware of her starting to tremble beside him. He probably ought to reassure her. But how could he, when he couldn’t even reassure himself?
He was behaving like a madman, the way he had at the ball. But he couldn’t wait any longer to get this damn desire out of his system. Why hadn’t he done this a week ago? Or any of the nights since? Instead of torturing himself for days? He would be over this driving hunger now if he had… Surely.
The car pulled into the park gates what felt like several eternities later.
After they were finally inside, cocooned in the leather interior, he tapped on the driver’s window. ‘Take us back to the house, Mark, park in the back and don’t disturb us.’
The driver nodded, then closed the partition.
Finally they were alone. The spurt of adrenaline—and anticipation—had his heart beating heavily as the car drove off.
‘Are you angry that I came?’ she asked as she reached for her seat belt.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Come here,’ he added, gripping her arm before she could anchor the belt.
He dragged her up, and over him, until she straddled his lap. Her knees dug into the leather on either side of his hips, her fingers grasped his shoulders and the colour on her face intensified as he ran his hands up her thighs, felt the shudder of reaction. And caught the musky scent of her arousal.
Shock flickered across her face, but did nothing to lessen the vivid desire he could see in her eyes. Or the rush of blood pounding into his pants and thickening his shaft.
‘Karim, what are you doing?’ she gasped.
He caressed the glorious curve of her bottom through her panties and tugged her closer to murmur against the pummelling pulse in her neck: ‘Changing the terms of our agreement.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
NEED RUSHED THROUGH Orla’s system like wildfire, scorching everything in its wake, the hard press of his erection against her thigh only increasing the giddy sense of desperation—and validation—at his murmured comment.
His thumb glided beneath the leg of her panties, finding the slick seam of her sex as his lips devoured her neck, her collarbone.
‘Tell me you want me, too,’ he growled, his voice a husky rasp of command.
‘Yes, yes, I do,’ she said.
‘This changes nothing,’ he said as he deftly undid the buttons at the front of her dress, exposing the white lace bra. ‘Tell me you understand that.’
She nodded, unable to speak now, the anticipation starting to choke her as she heard the snap of her bra releasing in the quiet interior of the car.
