Page 38 of A Nine-Month Deal With Her Husband

‘I’ll meet you at the airport,’ Millie told him, immediately feeling lighter and brighter. He was coming back, it wasn’t the end. All would be well.

‘No, that’s not necessary. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.’ Ben stroked her cheek. ‘You’ve had a hell of a day, darling. Try to relax.’

Yeah,right.

‘I’m still really nervous, Ben.’

Ben plucked her glass of champagne from her hand and looked at his watch. ‘We have ten minutes until we arrive. Let’s see if I can change that.’

Millie immediately recognised his expression. She was now easily able to recognise passion when it flared in his eyes. She checked that the privacy screen between them and the driver was in place and held up a hand. ‘You can’t mess up my hair or make-up, Ben.’

‘I’m not going to kiss you, Millie. Well, not on your mouth, anyway.’

He sent her a wicked, wicked grin and ran his hand up and under her skirt, creating streaks of lightning on her skin. His fingers slipped under the brief thong she wore and skimmed over her feminine lips, instantly finding her core. He spread her moisture over her bead and Millie was astounded, as always, at how quickly he could rocket her from zero to gasping.

She dropped her head back against the cool leather seat and widened her legs, not able to believe that Ben was stroking her in the back seat on the way to a very upmarket event.

Ben slipped one finger into her and she gasped at the lovely, lovely intrusion, her channel gripping his fingers. He pulled his hand away and she protested. He impatiently moved her panties to the side and Millie closed her eyes in relief when his middle finger joined his index finger inside her again.

‘Look at me,’ he commanded her.

Millie opened her eyes and stared into those deep blue-purple depths, mesmerised by the lust she saw in his eyes. She couldn’t believe that this amazing man wanted her so much. She could see everything he wanted to do to her in his eyes.

In all that blue, she could see clips of all the times they’d made love, rolling around his bed, in the shower, up against the wall of his hallway when they were too hot for each other to wait until they got inside the house properly.

He took her hand and put it on his steel-hard erection. ‘I wish I could lay you down and take you here, right now, but that’s further than we can go...right now, at least,’ he muttered, his thumb brushing her clitoris in a barely-there stroke. Millie still released a deep moan.

‘But I can make you feel good, I can make you feelamazing,’ Ben told her, placing his lips on the space where her jaw met her neck and gently, gently sucking. ‘God, you smell delicious.’

Millie felt herself building and she rocked her hips as Ben increased the stroke of his fingers, the pressure on her bead. She wanted to kiss him, but knew she couldn’t, so she concentrated on his fingers, feeling her pleasure building. Her legs felt shaky and her breasts full, and lust shimmered in the air.

‘You’ve got to come now, Mils,’ he growled against her skin. ‘We’re going to be stopping soon.’

Millie heard the warning in his voice and as Ben stroked her harder, she flew apart, encased in a light, bright band of pleasure that spun her away. When she came back to earth, softly panting, Ben was gently wiping her with a cotton handkerchief he’d taken from the inside pocket of his jacket.

She sent him a weak smile and his mouth twitched with amusement. ‘Still nervous?’ he asked, sounding more than a little smug.

The car was crawling now and Millie lifted her hand to pat her hair. ‘Just a little worried about my hair,’ she airily told him, inwardly cursing her husky voice.

‘You look fine, sweetheart, hair and make-up intact. I am,’ Ben loftily and arrogantly informed her, ‘damn good at what I do.’

Millie sat in a highchair in a small dressing room somewhere behind the stage, watching her reflection in the mirror as the make-up artist fluttered around her, dusting her nose with powder, and refreshing her lipstick. Bettina had whisked her off, telling her she needed a touch-up before she went on stage. Millie agreed. Her lipstick had faded and one of the curls on the back of her head felt loose.

The make-up artist gave her a shy smile and Millie, needing a couple of minutes to get her thoughts in order, was grateful for her silence. In the few hours, she’d discovered who her father was—a monstrous predator—cried all over Ben, got herself ready for this function, travelled from Ben’s house in the limo, had a stunning orgasm, posed for a million photographs, shaken even more hands and smiled.

And smiled. And smiled some more. She’d met a lot of people whose names she had no hope of remembering, she felt emotionally depleted and she longed for a glass of champagne or a stiff whisky.

Millie couldn’t wait to get the speech over so she could, metaphorically, let down her hair...

She shouldn’t look at the photos projected on to the big screen behind her and on screens all over the theatre, Ben informed her, as they would show heart-tugging photographs of her mum. She wouldn’t. They’d been chosen to elicit emotion and the last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of strangers. So, no, she had no intention of looking behind her at the big screen. She’d read her speech and get off the stage.

And then she’d have an enormous glass of champagne.

Millie heard the door behind her open and in the mirror in front of her saw Bettina slip into the room, carrying a crystal flute, filled with pale gold liquid.

‘That had better be for me,’ Millie muttered, holding her hand out.

Bettina passed the glass over and Millie took a huge sip. ‘Where’s Ben?’ she asked.

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