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Swallowing hard, I managed to keep the tide of emotion at bay, content to let his big, hard body anchor me to the couch, his breath hot in my ear.
Eventually, though, he lifted his head and his blue gaze pinned me. ‘Petra booked us a suite with adjoining rooms in Dubai, but I’m telling you now that the moment we land, I’ll be wanting to take you into that suite, spread you out across that bed, and keep you there the entire bloody night.’ He paused, searching my face. ‘If you don’t want that, you need to tell me now.’
What could I say? I’d crossed the line and I didn’t want to go back, no matter the raw feeling that stuck in my chest.
I could ignore that. It was just sex, right?
‘I want it,’ I said without hesitation.
And hoped I didn’t regret it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ash
THE FUCKING LIMO felt too goddamn small.
Ellie was sitting beside me, dressed in a green gown that appeared to be constructed out of nothing but tissue. It had a neckline that plunged almost to her belly button and fitted like a glove around her hips and thighs, the skirt falling silkily to her ankles, and I wanted to rip it off her body, and bury myself inside her.
Again.
I thought I’d be satisfied after our first night in Dubai, screwing each other senseless in the suite Petra had booked for us as soon as we got off the plane. But apparently not.
Apparently screwing her only made me want to screw her more, and now I felt nothing but hungry and possessive and feral, all of which were a bad combination.
Especially since we were on our way to the club event where I was supposed to be talking Delaney out of his precious islands. I was going to need my focus for that and couldn’t afford to be distracted by my lovely chauffeur.
Except she didn’t look like a chauffeur tonight. She looked like one of my expensive socialites, with her brown hair lying gleaming and glossy over her shoulders, her face newly adorned with make-up.
It was strange seeing her like this, but not at all unwelcome.
She looked gorgeous and I’d already decided I liked her just as much in a gown as I did in her uniform, though the shorts won because they showed more skin.
However, she was obviously nervous because when she wasn’t tugging up the neckline of her gown, she was touching her hair or straightening the fabric of her skirt. Small gestures that betrayed her.
‘You don’t need to be nervous,’ I said into the silence. ‘You look beautiful.’
She gave me a quick glance. ‘And you look hot in that tux.’
I grimaced and tried not to pull on my tie; I hated wearing a suit.
‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘I’m not nervous.’
‘Yes, you are. If you pull at your gown one more time, you’re going to rip it.’ I reached out and took her hand from where it was tugging at her neckline for a fourth time, threading my fingers through hers and drawing it away from the gown to lie on my thigh instead.
Touching her was probably a bloody stupid thing to do, especially when the chemistry between us was so volatile, but I thought my touch might reassure her.
She stared at our linked hands for a long moment, her fingers looking small and delicate compared to mine.
‘Okay,’ she sighed. ‘Maybe I am. I’m not used to wearing dresses.’
‘Really? You don’t wear dresses at home?’
‘No. After Mum died I got out of the habit.’
There was a slight catch in her voice as she said the words and I found myself searching her face. ‘Why? You don’t like wearing them?’
‘Not really. But also I look like her.’ She hesitated. ‘Dad found that...difficult.’
