Ah, hell. Not now. Not when they’d be at the hotel in ten more minutes. Every single second until he was alone with her was agonizing.

Nate was ready to launch into a myriad of questions to poke holes in her proposition, starting with how the hell would she know a store received a new shipment, and why did she need to go now, but he didn’t have a chance to ask, because she was already telling the driver to make a pit stop, then asking his co-workers if they would mind waiting. “I swear it’ll just be a quick in and out,” she said to the lot of them, in the sweetest, most eager voice, pressing her hands together as if in prayer, that led Tom and the other guys to say of course. Damn, the woman was irresistible, even when asking to go shopping. He was such a goner.

She pushed open the door, and grabbed Nate’s arm.

“You need me?”

She shot him a wide-eyed stare. “Yes.” Then came a roll of the eyes. “I need your opinion on the dress, since you’re the best man. I told you about this dress before.”

He gritted his teeth. “Best man’s duties,” he grumbled, and in seconds, she’d grabbed his hand and was tugging him through the mid-morning crowds, bustling along the street, and then through the door the green-uniformed doorman held for them.

“I swear I don’t remember discussing a dress at Harrod’s,” he said on the escalator, because he could have done without the detour. He was dying to get to the hotel and take her. Just fucking take her. Throw her on the bed, rip off her panties, and slide into her heat. Anything for some relief for his aching balls. The relentless pressure in his dick from her emails and the images they’d stirred up was nearing painful levels, and he’d kept his computer bag on his lap for the entire ride into the city from the airport. The only thing that had kept him from pouncing on her in the car was the presence of those co-workers.

His brain functions had been reduced to a one-track level. He didn’t give a shit about lessons, or seduction, or submission. All he wanted was to have her. To own her body. To finish what she’d started.

“Yes. I told you,” she said insistently, waving her hand in the air as if she were trying to get him to recall a long-forgotten conversation. “The Herve Leger. You forgot?”

She parked her hands on her hips and stared at him pointedly. He stared at her hips. At her jeans. At her long legs. Her heels. He plotted the fastest course to stripping off the denim when they finally reached the hotel.

Yank the jeans down to the knees, and bend her over the bed. Ass in the air, her elbows on the bed, her back bowed.

He jammed a hand in his hair. He needed to find a way to be near her without operating like a walking hard-on. Because that’s all he was right now. A man led by his balls. She could have asked him to jump, and he’d be twenty feet in the air.