I have to stop these questions before I do something stupid . . . like answer them.

I let my hand slide over his, lace my fingers through his, feel the warmth of his skin against my palm, a little rougher than mine, a little more weathered, at least on the outside.

I meet the limo driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror and raise my eyebrows, questioningly, teasingly, and then I lean forward and gently press my finger against the button that raises the partition, shielding us from his gaze.

I wait for it to close, and then, without a word, I raise myself up and swing a leg over Lander’s lap, straddling him. My skirt rides up on my legs as my arms wrap around his neck. “Is this why you stopped for me, Lander? Did you want to give me a ride?”

“A ride is probably all I should want to give you,” he mutters, as if talking more to himself than to me. “But for some reason I think I might want to give you more.”

I lean down to kiss him as his hands slip to my waist. His mouth is so warm, and the kiss so tender.

From the corner of my eye I can see some tourists gesturing toward the car, looking but not seeing.

The kiss grows more intense. His tongue opens my mouth, pressing inside as he dispenses with my belt, his hands then moving lower, to my hips, to my ass, to the bare skin of my legs.

We’ve only been together once and yet his touch is already familiar. Gentle but strong. His fingers make their way to the hem of my dress and with one swift motion he pulls it off me. I don’t protest. I don’t pull away when his hands move over my bra. The limo slows, whether it’s for traffic or for us, I don’t know.

Placing my hand between his legs, I feel his erection reaching out to me.

I lean in so my mouth is right by his ear. “Careful, Lander,” I breathe. “If you give me more, I might take it.”

He smiles as I unbutton his pants. He raises his hips as my hands move around them, feeling the perfect, firm curves of his glutes before finding his back pocket. I pull out his wallet and hold it in front of him.

“Are you taking payments now?”

“No,” I say sweetly. I search the billfold and quickly find the thing I want. “Today I’m just offering rewards.”

The packaging of the condom isn’t wrinkled; there’s no ring imprinted into the soft leather of the wallet. It might have been in there for a few days rather than a few weeks.