“I know. I mean, I know Miles won’t be back until two forty-five. He told me.” Adrian’s smile was sweetly charmed; it stripped her reserve away. He held the key up. “Thank you. I appreciate the gesture. Knowing I could come here today and see him, knowing you’d welcome me . . .” He paused, watching the way she put out placemats and then the cups and tea.

“Sit. Of course you’re welcome. This is your son’s house and so that means the door is open to you.” She poured out, enjoying the smoky sweet scent of the tea. “It’s jasmine green tea. Low on the caffeine. Miles was over the moon every time you called. I wanted to be sure I told you because of course he’s not a very chatty phone person and I didn’t want you to think he wasn’t pleased.”

“Thank you for that. For being our mediator of sorts as he and I try to figure out our relationship. It’s a big help for both of us.”

He ducked his head again and she was, again, charmed.

“I wanted to see you too. I’ve thought about you all week.”

She looked to him over the rim of her mug. This was stupid really. She knew what his life must be like; she’d seen a small slice of it, and that was just the classical music world. His universe was . . . well, certainly filled with experiences and people far outside her life here on the island.

She wanted him anyway. The time she had when it was just Gillian and Adrian was something she enjoyed greatly. She liked Adrian Brown in a way she hadn’t liked a man in a very long time.

“Say something.”

“It occurs to me, Mister Brown, that you’re entirely unused to being befuddled, thwarted or told no.”

“It only makes my c**k harder when you get very prim and British. Almost as much as it undoes me when you lose that uptight and you start dropping consonants and get filthy and sort of bitchy.” He winked and sat back, sipping his tea. “This is nice. I love the scent.”

It wouldn’t do to encourage him, but she couldn’t help but smile at his comments as she squeezed her thighs together under the table to quell the ache he’d brought. “I thought about you this week too.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Don’t pretend you’re surprised. Are you fishing for compliments?”

“If I was, would you give me one?”

She sniffed, extra prim just for him. “You eat pu**y like a gold medalist.”

He put his mug down and threw so much smolder her way she nearly gasped.

“As compliments go, that’s a winner. I thought about that all week too. The way you tasted as you sat above me, your cunt, hot and slick, against my lips. Do you know how many times I f**ked my fist, imagining it was you I was inside?”

Things fluttered in her belly. A novel sensation. She wasn’t usually prone to that sort of breathless reaction to a man. This one though, broke through all her rules and regulations.

He fussed up her ordered world with gleeful abandon. And for some reason she couldn’t quite explain to herself, she couldn’t find the energy or the will to fight it.

“How many times, Adrian?” she asked, feeling so free with him to unleash that part of herself. It was just the two of them there.

His gaze went hooded. He moved his chair back, away from the table. His long legs stretched out. She watched, ensorcelled by the way he ran his palms down his thighs. “Twice a day. You make me feel like a sixteen-year-old boy, Gillian. And even that wasn’t enough.”

“Show me.”

If she’d been expecting him to get shy now, she had another thing coming. Her breath caught as he reached upward, unbuckling his belt. Her muscles jumped slightly at the metallic sound as he moved it aside, opening it before moving to his buttons.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

Some American things were simply undoubtedly better. Buttondown jeans were one of those things. A zipper was sexy enough, yes, but that sound as the metal button cleared the denim seemed to mainline straight to her clit.

The room heated up as he opened the vee of the denim wider, shoved his shorts aside and pulled out his cock.

She may have let a small sound of longing slip out. One of his brows rose and his smile hitched up a notch.

“You sound hungry, English.” His voice changed at the very end, when his thumb slid through the bead of pre-come on the head of his cock, smearing it.

She crossed her legs, lazily kicking one foot and wishing the friction was enough to help get her off.

“And what if I was?”

“You keep teasing me like that and you’ll get your answer.” He said this as he began to slowly thrust his c**k through his fist.

“After you’ve finished, you can give it to me.”

She meant to joke, but it wasn’t. He didn’t take it that way either, only locking his gaze on her though she couldn’t look away from the way he handled himself.

Sure. Aggressively masculine. Rougher than she would have. She licked her lips and made him groan. That only made her ache more.

“Still not as good as what it feels like in your mouth. Or your pu**y.”

She stood and walked toward him. He continued that thrust, thrust, thrust as she approached, though his mouth quirked up at the corner. Behind him, she leaned over, her br**sts to his back, mouth at his ear, gaze back on his cock, slick, hard and dark as he drew closer to climax.

“Watching you jack yourself like this makes me wet,” she whispered.

He strangled out a curse, sped his pace.