“Yes. We have the Bentley and the garage all to ourselves,” Gavin said. “It’s my private garage, so you don’t have to worry about further interruptions.”

He gave one last flex of his fingers before he pulled his hand out of her jeans. He sat her back on his knees before lifting his hand to his mouth to suck on his fingers. “Vintage Allie,” he said, meeting her eyes with a look of pure lust.

Then he shifted and flipped her onto her back on the seat beside him, yanking her jeans down over her hips. She helped him work them off and then dragged her top and bra over her head.

He knelt between her thighs, his arm braced on the seat back as he swayed slightly. “You glow against the black leather.” He used one index finger to trace a line from her forehead down over her lips, her neck, between her breasts, her abdomen, to the yearning place between her legs. “I want another taste,” he said before he scooped his hands under her buttocks and tilted her upward as he lowered his head to meet her.

He put his mouth there, swirling his tongue around her clit before dipping the tip inside her. He stopped to blow a warm breath against her. “You taste like the mountains and the sea together, earth and salt.” Then he licked her again, sparking little shocks deep within her, making her go liquid, causing tiny mews of pleasure to climb out of her throat.

She buried her fingers in his thick, dark hair, not sure whether to hold him there or pull him away as he teased her in already sensitized places.

But he brought the delicious torment to a stop, lowering her to the seat and disentangling his hair from her grip. “The taste of you is too good,” he said, pulling a condom out of his pocket and unzipping his trousers to roll it onto his erection. “I need to be inside you.”

He pulled her knees up to his hips, seated the tip of his cock just barely inside her, and buried himself in her with one hard thrust. She cried out at the same time he did, their voices combining in a single animal shout.

The swell and glide of him deep within her made her earlier orgasm seem somehow less because he hadn’t been fully there with her. Now she could feel the power and pulse of him in the most intimate places. He moved, his hands wrapped around her knees holding her up off the seat, so he could drive in and pull out at the angle he wanted. He started slowly, thrusting and withdrawing in a deliberate, sensual rhythm, his breath sounding in the same tempo.

She opened her eyes to find his gaze locked on the place where their bodies came together, watching himself invade and withdraw. It sent a thrill rippling through her, and she tightened her inner muscles around him as he slid fully into her.

He met her gaze. “Minx,” he rasped. And then he let himself go, closing his eyes as he drove into her faster, harder, deeper, while he groaned out her name over and over again like an incantation.

She felt the tension coiling inside her, the motion of his cock and the friction of his trousers against her clit enough to stoke her arousal again. Even his dark, husky voice seemed like a caress.

And then his grip turned to iron as he plunged into her and stayed, shouting and pulsing, so that her orgasm went off just seconds later than his, the joint convulsion seeming as though it would blow out the windows of the car.

As the cataclysm inside her quieted, Allie unclenched her fingers from the edge of the seat she held in a crazed grip above her head. She hoped she hadn’t left fingernail marks in the expensive leather. Gavin’s grasp on her hips gentled, too, and he eased himself out of her so he could lower her hips to the seat.

She gave a little moan at the absence of him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, stroking down her thighs with a featherlight touch.

She opened her eyes to see concern darkening his eyes as he knelt with his shoulder wedged against the seat. “All right would be an understatement.”

His smile was relieved. Flipping open a compartment in the big car, he disposed of the condom. Allie noticed the fog on the car windows and lifted her arm to flatten her palm against the steamy glass. “This is so Titanic.”

“I certainly felt the earth move,” Gavin said, rolling her onto her side so he could lie on the seat beside her.

“No, the movie Titanic. When they make love in the car and steam all the windows up.”

“Oh God, no! Don’t compare us to that treacly costume disaster.”

The cashmere of his sweater and the wool of his trousers were soft and warm against her bare skin as she snuggled close. “You mean you’ve never stood on a railing, held your arms out, and yelled, ‘I’m the king of the world’?”

He snorted before wrapping his arm tightly around her waist and tangling his legs with hers. “Right here and now, I feel like the king of the world. No doomed ocean liner necessary.”

She liked that, even though it was strange to realize that he was still fully dressed, and she didn’t have a stitch of clothing on. “You know that French painting of a picnic in the park where the men are in these starchy suits and the woman is naked?” she said. “That’s how I feel.”

“You’re talking about Manet’s Le déjeuner sur l’herbe.” The deep rumble of his voice vibrated against her back. “Were you shocked by it, like all the prim art critics of the time?”

“Well, yes. It’s meant to be shocking. But I liked her confidence. She just sat there, looking at whoever was painting her picture, as though there was nothing strange about being naked outdoors with a couple of overdressed men.” Allie cast back to the art history course she had enjoyed more than she expected, trying to remember the painting more clearly. “It’s sexy, too. Like she’s undressed so they can look at her and touch her. I always wondered if the woman in the background was bathing before or after she had sex with the men. It’s clearly a small orgy.” She could feel Gavin shaking against her and tried to twist her head around to see why.

His shout of laughter ricocheted around the confines of the car.

She allowed a smile to curl the corners of her lips. She’d made him laugh when, a half an hour ago, he’d been at the bottom of an abyss of despair.

“A small orgy,” he stuttered between chuckles. “Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

“Not to my mind.”

His lips brushed her bare shoulder. “You are so good for me, my flame-haired sprite.”

“Your what?”

“Have I never said that out loud before? That’s how I think of you.”