“Yes.” He reached down and squeezed her hand. “Now.”

He pulled her out of the office, and then, as an afterthought, returned to grab the flowers. He carried them easily, while holding on to her hand, until they reached the lift. He put them on the ground beside the doors, his expression fulminating.

“They are beautiful flowers.” Her eyes slid to his. “They’re my favourite.”

He nodded, but said nothing. He wasn’t sure he could speak without unleashing a tirade of curses and that wasn’t really something he wanted to throw at Ivy.

The lift arrived almost instantly, spiriting them down to street level.

His limousine was waiting through the doors. He had three cars he seemed to swap between interchangeably. The Bugatti, a Range Rover and this stretch limo.

He waved the driver aside and held the door open for Ivy himself; she slid in, taking up a seat in the corner. The short ride in the lift had done wonders to compose her frayed nerves. Or maybe it was being around Rafe.

He took the seat opposite and pressed a button.

Just like in a movie, or her imagination, a dark screen lifted between the driver and them.

Ivy turned her attention to him, a lightly mocking look on her features that was completely undone by the rabbiting of her heart. “Privacy?”

“Yes.” And, as the car started to move in London traffic, he knelt on the floor in front of her and began to push her dress upwards, until his fingers reached the elastic of her underwear. He pulled at it, his eyes locked to hers, daring her to stop him. To say something. But she could only watch as the lace thong came down, and finally, fell to the floor.

“What are you doing?” She asked, the words thick.

“You wanted me to wipe him from your mind, right?”

She nodded, her eyes enormous as they met his.

“Ever been made love to in a limo?”

She shook her head.

“Great. So that’s what this date will be from now on.”

She shook her head. “That’s crazy.” Her throat was dry, her tongue thick.

“Yeah?” He moved to the seat beside her, pushing his pants down as he went. He pulled at her hips, moving her to straddle him, she crawled over him, and the flowers felt like a distant memory. How could she think of them when he was between her legs?

“I have a better idea,” she muttered thickly.

“It had better involve me being inside you,” he ground out darkly.

She laughed, and climbed off him with true regret. The wet heat between her legs needed him. But she needed something else. She needed to betray Steve. To send him a silent ‘stuff you’. She crouched down in the limousine, braced between his legs, and her hands wrapped around his length.

“Ivy,” a warning sound. A noise of deep pleasure warring with disbelief.

“I want to make you come.”

“You’re practically doing that already,” he said darkly.

“Not yet…” And she wrapped her mouth around his length, moaning as

he thrust into her and he hit the back of her throat. Her tongue licked his length, savouring his taste and scent, and she moved up and down his shaft as her hands lifted to his shirt and pulled at it wildly. A button popped and she laughed.

He didn’t.

His husk of indrawn breath was intense; had he even noticed?

His expression was white; he was close. She could taste him on the tip of his cock and she wanted more. She wanted to own him. To show him that she was sexy and unpredictable. His hands came to her shoulders and he was pushing her away but she didn’t move. She moved her hands to his rear and dug her nails into the muscle of his arse, holding him where she needed him. She felt him begin to throb but he moved his hands lower and pushed her backwards, unsettling her so that she fell a little. And before she could right herself, he’d torn the top off a foil packet, unfurled it on his length and reached for her at the same time she’d scrambled up onto his lap and taken him deep inside of her.