I swallowed, trying vainly to get some moisture into my bone-dry mouth.
Her fingers were lazily stroking up and down, tracing the outline of something very long and very thick, and his thighs were spread wide, giving her room, as if he was enjoying very much what she was doing to him.
A hungry feeling pulsed inside me, my palms sweaty as I gripped the steering wheel.
This time I couldn’t drag my gaze away. I was glued to the view in the mirror, mesmerised and not even sure why.
There was something hypnotic about the way her fingers moved on him, about the shape of his cock beneath the denim, that caught my attention, twisting my curiosity tight and refusing to let go.
What did he feel like? Was he hot? Was he as hard as he looked? Would he make that soft bass rumble for me if I touched him?
Need throbbed between my thighs, my hands itching to touch.
I loved driving, and chauffeuring satisfied that need in me, but I also loved design. There was nothing that gave me as much pleasure as the clean lines and curves of a beautifully designed car, form and function perfectly melded.
I wanted to see Mr Evans’s form. I wanted to see the lines and curves of him, and whether he’d be as beautifully designed for power and strength as he seemed to be. I already knew his torso was a work of art, but what about the rest of him?
My heartbeat accelerated like one of the Pythons, revving hard.
The mirror didn’t show his face and suddenly I wanted to see it. Wanted to know what his scarred features looked like when he was turned on and whether those intense blue eyes were still full of heat and not just lightning.
With a hand that shook only slightly, I reached up to adjust the mirror so I could see. Then froze as his gaze clashed with mine.
Electricity sizzled through me and this time there was no static to blame.
It was all him.
‘The light is green, Miss Little,’ he said in his deep, rough voice.
And it took me at least five seconds to process what he was saying. And then I did.
Oh, crap.
My face burned and I wrenched my gaze away, pressing my foot down hard on the accelerator. Too hard. Much to my shame the car bunny-hopped a couple of times before I managed to bring it under control again. I stuttered an apology, keeping my attention resolutely forward this time.
He didn’t answer, but I was just about combusting with embarrassment, angry with myself for staring when I knew I shouldn’t, and also at my own reaction. At the pulsing, insistent ache between my thighs.
I didn’t understand it. Australis’s continued existence was on the line and here I was, letting some stupid sex stuff distract me. And now he’d caught me watching him...
He’ll probably fire you.
Shit. The thought made my palms even more sweaty.
I tried to dismiss it, plaster my smile in place, get back into a more professional space, but I was still blushing furiously by the time I pulled the car up outside Mr Evans’s hotel.
‘Stay there, Miss Little,’ he growled as I reached to undo my seat belt.
Oh, great.
He said something to the woman that I didn’t catch, but I didn’t dare look this time to see what was going on.
Instead I waited, staring out of the widow, listening to the rear door open and then close with a thunk.
There was a long silence.
Eventually, I had to glance in the mirror, because the suspense was killing me.
The blonde had gone, but Mr Evans hadn’t.