“You wanted me to make you beg for it,” he said, trying to hold onto her wishes from earlier. “You wanted me to send you to the brink, but not over, right?”

“Oh God, no, please,” she cried out, her voice pitching. “Don’t tease me, Nate. I’m close. I’m so close.”

He met her eyes in the mirror. They were wild and hungry. She thrust her hips against his hand, riding his finger as she held tight to the back of his neck, offering herself to him so completely.

“Don’t you want me to drive you wild with desire?”

“You have,” she cried out, riding his hand as far and as hard as she could, writhing against him, a wriggly, wild creature in his arms. “You are. I’m going crazy. Please don’t make me wait,” she said, then repeated it, like a desperate chant, a plea for relief. “Please don’t make me wait. Please don’t make me wait.”

He held on tight to her belly, slamming her as close to him as the laws of physics made it possible for two clothed people to be. He stroked her faster, thrusting a finger inside her beautiful cunt, as he said, “Never. I could never deny you. Come, sweetness. Come in my arms. I’ve got you,” he said, and she cried out, rocking harder, faster and more beautifully than ever as she rode his hand, coming undone for him at Sotheby’s.

Minutes later, after hands were washed and clothes were straightened, they returned to the sales room. Casey stopped in her tracks, and pointed, then clasped her hand over her mouth. The man with the slick hair and pinstriped suit grinned as if he’d caught a huge marlin.

“And The Big Love is sold for six thousand pounds.”

The auctioneer pounded the podium with his hammer.

She cringed. All her features tightened, and she clenched her fists in utter frustration. “I wanted it,” she said on a heavy sigh. “I wanted it so badly.”

He wished he could steal it away for her. But the painting was no longer on the market.

She turned to him, grabbed the lapels of his jacket, and said, “Win some, lose some. Take me back to our room and do that to me again and again all night long.”

21

London, night . . .

There was no more time for waiting. There would be no more teasing. Her dress pooled at her feet less than five seconds after entering their suite.

“I’m not anywhere near done with you,” he said, unknotting his tie, yanking it off, and tossing it on the floor. That answered one question that had hovered in her mind—he wouldn’t be tying her up with his tie tonight.

She stepped out of her shoes. She wore only her lingerie.

“I want you on the floor,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his strong, hard chest. Her mouth watered as she stepped backward.

“Is this another lesson?” she asked, her voice wobbly as she flashed back to the first night in New Orleans when he’d told her to get down on her knees.