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She scrambled to her feet, stepping hastily away from him. Her body silently groaned its complaint. She was cold instantly where seconds ago she’d been lighting up with flames.
Frustration gnawed at his gut. “What is it?” He asked softly. Gently, gently.
“That can’t happen,” she said, so quickly that her words tripped all over themselves.
“Can’t it?” He wondered, pulling to standing with an economy of movement that spoke of a fitness she couldn’t help but admire.
“No!” A frantic word of absolute despair. “Look, sir…”
“Caradoc,” he interrupted, his smile rich with sexy indolence.
“Sir,” she repeated, her word quivering with the force of her emotions. “I’m not interested in … being … umm … I don’t know why you’re acting as though … as though …” she made a strangled sound of frustration. “You booked a driver. I’m your driver. I’m not interested in being anything else.”
He felt a hint of amusement but he ignored it. Couldn’t she see how much of a lie that was? “You feel exactly as I do. Do you want to hear how I know?”
Fuck ‘gently, gently’. Caradoc had made his name by reading people, and he knew now that the beautiful, fascinating Seraphina James was balanced on a precipice. One push in either direction would carry her away. And he was going to make sure she fell down on his side. Or preferably, just on him.
He closed the gap between them, and was pleased when her eyes found his. Nervous, yes, but also silently pleading.
“Your pupils are twice their normal size. Your skin is flushed.” He ran his thumb over her lower lip, his eyes following its slow, seductive progress. “Your breathing is shallow, like you can’t possibly get enough air into your body.” He ran his finger lower, so that he could bunch her hair in his fist to clear it away from her neck. He leaned forward, and pressed his mouth to the pulse point at the base of her throat.
His own body jerked at the feeling of her warm skin against his mouth. As his tongue traced a circle and tasted her sweetness, she shivered and he went as hard as steel. Patience, he told himself, pulling his mouth away with stifling reluctance. “Your pulse is racing like a bird in full flight.” He lifted a hand to her chest, his eyes studying hers. “Your heart is like a race car, speeding and out-of-control.” He let his hand drop lower, to the hem of her sweater.
His eyes on hers were daring her to stop him. Mocking her earlier statement that she didn’t want this. But he had no time for a victory lap. Not when his fingers were inching higher, against the flesh of her flat stomach, until they cupped the underside of her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra. His erection strained painfully against the fabric of his boxers.
“Your nipples,” he said darkly, running his fingers over their pert firmness, “are telling me that you do want this.”
Finn was lost. Her knees were shaking and her body seemed heavy and weak. She couldn’t help the way her fingers lifted and curled in his shirt. She needed him for strength.
“And if I touched you here,” he ground his arousal against her feminine core until she gasped. “You would be wet and hot.”
What the hell was happening? His words, his voice, his accent – him. She was being pulled under the ocean by the current of desire he was generating.
“But …” She said, her brain barely able to focus in the face of how his body was making hers react.
“But nothing,” his smile made her stomach flip flop. “You are thinking too much.”
“I’m not thinking anywhere near enough,” she contradicted with a groan.
Caradoc needed to do more than just tease. He needed to show her.
His kiss wasn’t gentle. His kiss was insistent. Passionate and hungry, it set her body spiralling out of control. She was hot and cold all at once, and she might have sagged to the ground were it not for his arms, wrapped around her, keeping her glued against his chest.
She moaned into his mouth and felt him smile, but he didn’t ease the kiss. His tongue clashed with hers; it was an invasion of her, utterly and completely. But she was oh so willing to be invaded.
Her hips, of their own accord, pushed against him, silently begging him to give her what she needed most. The indulgence of this desire was something Caradoc alone could answer.
He was lifting her off the ground as though she weighed nothing, pulling her with him towards the chairs she’d been in earlier. War and Peace was forgotten; it scattered to the ground with a heavy thud that neither of them heard.
She was overtaken by a vixen. An inner-temptress, perhaps her own sensual angel, who was demanding things of him that Finn hadn’t even known possible. Her fingertips pushed at his chest until he went back willingly into one of the leather wingback chairs. She followed him, straddling him and kissing him as though possessed. Her fingers were pulling at his shirt, desperate to get purchase on his skin.
His laugh added fuel to her flames. “Well, well. There you are,” he murmured against her mouth, unbuttoning her jeans with ease and pushing them down her legs. She had to wriggle in his lap so that he could remove them completely, but she wasn’t willing to stand up. Not to break the contact that was somehow making her feel more alive than ever before.
She swore as his fingers curled into the fabric of her underwear. She was so wet; he had been totally right about that.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t slept with men before. She’d had boyfriends. Lovers. Not many, it was true. But enough to have considered herself reasonably experienced.
But nothing had been like this. She was mindless with desire.
