Dominic joined her instead of sitting across from her. From shoulder to knee the hot length of his body pressed her side as hot and hard as an iron. The door closed, sealing them in darkness and near silence, and then the car pulled away from the club.
She risked a glance at him and found his jaw muscles knotted and his gaze burning into hers. Hunger stiffened every line of his body, inspiring a similar tension in hers.
She’d never wanted anyone this badly. Digging her fingers into her tiny beaded purse and hoping to slow her racing pulse, she focused on the passing lights of Monte Carlo outside the window as the driver carried them toward the hotel. No luck.
She squirmed impatiently, but the only thing her wiggling accomplished was to make the slit in her dress part, revealing her leg from ankle to hip. Before she could adjust the gaping skirt she heard Dominic’s sharply indrawn breath, and then his hand covered her knee. Ever so slowly his warm palm glided upward, his fingertips slipping beneath the edge of the heavy, sequined fabric. Her insides clenched. She’d very likely leave a puddle of desire on the seat if she didn’t stop him.
She slapped a hand over his and leaned toward him to whisper in his ear. “What are you doing? Ian and the driver are right behind us.”
“The privacy screen is closed and the speaker turned off. They can see and hear nothing.” His fingers inched higher and his masculine scent filled her lungs with each shaky breath. “You wish me to stop?”
“Yes. No. Yes. I…don’t know.” She struggled to bring order to her scrambled thoughts. “Do you, um…do this often?”
A short nail scraped back and forth along the top of her thigh, each pass drawing closer to the spot aching for his touch. “I have never made love in a limo.”
“Me, neither.” But she was tempted. Seriously tempted. She forced her heavy lids to remain open. “We’re almost at the hotel.”
“Then I’d better hurry.” His hand rose another inch and he found her wetness with the tip of his finger. Their groans mingled. “You’re not wearing panties.”
“Dress. Too. Tight,” she whispered brokenly as he circled her center bringing her closer and closer to the brink. How did he do that so quickly? Arousal made it difficult to think and tension made her tremble. She covered his hand with hers, intent on stopping his audacious behavior…in a minute. “Dominic—”
“Shh. Come for me, Madeline,” he whispered hoarsely.
“H-here?” Their hotel was less than a block away and privacy screen or not, Ian and the driver were only inches away.
“Now. I want you so wet that I can be inside you the moment we reach the suite.”
His throaty words and talented fingers sent her flying. Her back bowed and her tush lifted off the seat as wave after wave washed over her. She bit hard on her bottom lip and fought to remain silent as her pleasure went on and on and on. When it finally ended she leaned heavily against his side.
His breathing sounded as harsh as hers in the insulated passenger compartment and she hadn’t even touched him. To anyone who happened to glance in the rearview mirror or through the tinted windows, they probably looked like any other couple riding home from a ritzy party. No one would guess she’d just crash-landed from a trip to the stars.
“Your turn.” She spread her palm on his thigh, but he stopped her wandering hand by lacing his fingers through hers and carrying her hand to his lips.
“Hold that thought.” The limo stopped outside Hôtel Reynard’s back entrance. Her body seemed heavy, melded to the upholstery. Dominic released her hand and straightened the folds of her dress. He squeezed her thigh and then released her. “Ready?”
“Are you kidding me? I don’t think I can walk.”
His low chuckle aroused her all over again. His breath teased her bare shoulder a second before his teeth lightly grazed her skin. In her hypersensitive state the brief contact sent a bolt of lightning straight to her womb. “If I carry you inside we’ll definitely draw unwanted attention. Shall I ask the driver to circle the block?”
She sucked air into her deprived lungs and grappled for sanity. “No. I can’t wait that long to have you inside me.”
Dominic’s breath whistled through clenched teeth. “Nor I.”
Dominic had had sex before. Hot, sweaty, animalistic sex.
He’d even had sex with Madeline. But he’d never been as close to saying to hell with propriety and taking a woman regardless of their location. The limo. The elevator. The carpeted hallway outside his suite. He shook with need, and he couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Only Ian’s scowling presence prevented him from taking action. Here. Now.
Madeline stood beside him in the hotel hallway without touching him. But her scent filled his lungs with every breath. Flowers. Lemon. Sex. He waited impatiently for Makos to do a security sweep of the suite. The moment the man gave the all’s clear signal Dominic grabbed Madeline’s hand and dragged her over the threshold, through the sitting room and into his bedroom. He shut the door in his bodyguards’ faces, backed Madeline against the panel and slammed his mouth over hers.
She opened for him instantly, suckling his tongue and curling her fingers into his shoulders. She shoved at his tuxedo jacket and then tore at his tie and the buttons of his shirt without breaking the kiss. The garments landed on the floor behind him. With their lips still fused he raked his hands over the cool sequins of her dress searching feverishly but fruitlessly for the zipper. He gave up and tried to lift her skirt, but the fitted fabric clung stubbornly to her hips. He considered ripping it—this dress another man had bought—from her.
He wanted skin. Her skin. Against his. Now.
Madeline’s nails scraped over him, drawing a line from his Adam’s apple to his navel, and then she palmed his erection through the fabric of his pants. Arousal detonated inside him. He released her mouth long enough to gasp, swear and demand, “Zipper.”
“Here.” She carried his hand across her br**sts to her underarm. His fingers fumbled, found the tab, and tugged it to her hip. At a loss as to how to remove the seductive dress, he stepped back.
“Over my head.”
He fisted the fabric, uncaring if he damaged it. He’d buy her another. A dozen. The weight of the garment surprised him. The moment the hem cleared her head he twisted and tossed it on a nearby chair. And then he turned back to Madeline and his heart slammed into his ribs like an airplane hitting a mountainside. He staggered back a step, two. His jaw went slack.
Naked, save a pair of silver high heels sharp enough to be classified as lethal weapons, she lifted her arms to pull pins from her hair. His lungs seized. He’d never seen a more seductive sight than Madeline, with her back arched and her br**sts offered like a banquet. She stood with her long, lean legs slightly parted. Moisture glistened in the dark curls between her legs—moisture he’d created.
And he was about to lose it like a teenage boy.
He snapped his jaw closed and swallowed once, twice. But it did nothing to ease the constriction in his throat or the tightness in his chest. Need, painful in its intensity, clawed through him. One by one, long, dark ringlets fell over her shoulders as she released her hair, concealing her tightened n**ples from his view. A criminal offense.
He captured a silky coil and painted a pattern over her puckered flesh and then brushed her hair aside to cup and caress her warm, satiny skin. Her br**sts filled his hands, the n**ples prodding his palms. He rolled the tips between his fingers until she whimpered and leaned against the door.
“Please, Dominic, don’t make me wait.” She reached for the waistband of his trousers.
He kissed her again, relishing the sharp bite of desire and the hunger fisting in his gut beneath her tormenting fingers. The moment she shoved his pants over his h*ps and curled her fingers around him he lifted her leg to his waist with one hand, cupped her bottom with the other and drove into her welcoming wetness. Her body clenched around him and her cries of pleasure filled his ears. He thrust again and again and again. More. Deeper. Harder. Faster. The heel of her shoe stabbed his buttocks. That little jab had to be the most erotic thing he’d ever felt.
Pressure built. He fought to hold on until her nails bit into his shoulders and she tore her mouth away from his to gasp his name. She shuddered in his arms and her internal muscles contracted. He could no more stop his own release than he could dam a volcano. His passion erupted, pulsing through him in mind-melting bursts. He muffled his groans against her warm, fragrant throat, and then sapped and sated, he fell against her.
When he recovered an ounce of strength, he braced his forearms on the door beside her head and lifted his sweat-dampened body scant inches from her torso. The arms she’d looped around his neck kept him close—not that he intended going anywhere. He stared into her beautiful face. A smile curved her moist, swollen lips, and her lashes cast dark crescents on her flushed cheeks. He absorbed the image, imprinting it on his brain to drag out during the long barren years ahead.
Two more weeks won’t be enough. It must be. Madeline deserved more than to be a prince’s paramour. She deserved a man who would look past her prickly exterior to the soft heart she fought so hard to protect. She’d once believed in love, and the right man would make her believe again. But that man wasn’t him, for no matter how empty his marriage might be he would abide by his vows and his duty to his country.
Chilling arrows of regret pierced him. Madeline deserved to be happy. Even if he couldn’t be.
“Wow.” Her lids fluttered open and her satisfied gaze met his. And then noting his expression, she stiffened and pleasure drained from her face. She pushed against his chest and uncoiled her leg from his hip. “What’s wrong?”
He slipped from her body and then it hit him. “We didn’t use protection.”
His pulse kicked erratically. With hope? Of course not. His fate was sealed and he’d accepted it.
But what if he, like Albert of Monaco, fathered a child out of wedlock? Would paternity and a potential heir excuse him from an arranged marriage? No. Tradition and the council demanded a bride of royal lineage. A pedigreed princess.
But a child would tie him to Madeline and give him an excuse to see her in the future even if he could not continue the affair.
She averted her face and wrapped her arms around her waist. “I’m on the Pill. So we’re in the clear unless you lied about your health.”
Why didn’t that revelation fill him with relief? And why did the reminder of his dishonesty still sting? He’d had good reason for his deception, hadn’t he?
No. If he’d learned anything from this it was that there was never a good reason for deceit. He would have to tell Madeline about his impending marriage. She deserved to know why he must let her go—this woman who’d brightened his days. But not now. When he said goodbye would be soon enough.
“I’m clean.” He’d been poked and prodded, examined from top to bottom, inside and out, by the royal physicians. His health records would be provided for perusal to the family of the woman the council chose as his bride.