I nodded blindly. All I knew was that I wanted more. I wanted the man—and I wanted to see just where he would take me.
He carefully adjusted my panties and skirt—his ministrations sending little electric shocks of pleasure zinging through me. I felt a tug of satisfaction when he also adjusted himself. I had a feeling it wasn’t particularly comfortable to walk with an erection, and I felt a swell of feminine pride for being the one who got him in such dire straits.
He took my hand and led me toward the back, pausing now and then to chat with some of the waiters, the dancers, the bartenders. All very normal. All very businesslike. And I thought I would scream in frustration every time he delayed for even a second.
Finally we moved through the employee area, passing dressing rooms, a conference room, several offices, and the kitchen on our way to the back door. He pushed it open, letting in a swath of sunlight that temporarily blinded me. As we started to step outside, I saw Cole emerge from one of the offices. I had no doubt that he saw us, too. Nor did I have any doubt about the deep frown I saw etched across his face.
Not that I had long to think about Cole’s disapproval. The bright afternoon sun erased everything from my mind but the pleasure of the moment, and when we arrived at Evan’s car, I laughed outright in joy.
“You have a convertible.”
He looked offended. “Not just a convertible. It’s a 1962 Thunderbird convertible. This thing’s a classic.”
“It’s fabulous,” I said, and meant it. It was a vibrant blue with sleek lines. Most important, the top was down. He held the door open for me, and I had to smile at the gentlemanly nature of the action in stark contrast to the very ungentlemanly way he’d had his fingers up my panties in public only moments before.
Evan Black was an exercise in contradictions, even more than I’d known. But, then again, so was I.
I slid into the car and settled back in the warm leather seat. Even before he started the engine, I imagined the thrum of speed and the wind whipping through my hair.
“There should be a scarf in the glove compartment if you want one,” he said, as if reading my mind. He’d fired the engine and was waiting to make a left turn out of the parking lot.
“Not on your life,” I countered, though I did open the compartment and peer inside. Sure enough, there were a variety of colored scarves. “For your harem?” I teased, fighting a knot of jealousy. Honestly, the man was gorgeous, eligible, and single. Just because I’d never seen him bring a date to Jahn’s gatherings didn’t mean there wasn’t a gaggle of women waiting in the wings for him. I mean, that redhead had looked pretty cozy on his lap.
The thought didn’t sit well with me at all.
“I have a lot of things,” Evan said, as he accelerated. “A harem isn’t one of them.”
I didn’t answer, but as I settled back to enjoy the ride, I was smiling.
Traffic was a bitch, so it took almost forty-five minutes to reach Lake Shore Drive and Uncle Jahn’s—or rather, my—condo.
Evan handled the car with the same gentle yet firm touch with which he’d handled me, and the Thunderbird was at least as responsive. Now he had his hand draped loosely over the steering wheel and the other on my thigh, where it had been for most of the journey. It was just resting there, his thumb making idle back and forth motions that seemed unconscious, but I knew were purposefully designed to drive me crazy.