I shifted, lifting myself up a bit to give him better access and, yes, to silently beg for more.

He flashed a self-satisfied smile, then added another finger. He was deep inside me, the soft pad at the base of his thumb teasing my clit as his fingers filled me. I was desperately wet, my hips moving in rhythm with his thrusts. I was need and desire personified. He had reduced me completely.

“I’m going to take you to the heavens, Angie. And I’m going to be your tether to this earth when you explode.”

I whimpered, then shifted on his lap. Somewhere in my mind reason shouted that I needed to get free before I came right there, but at the same time I didn’t want this to ever end.

He leaned forward and captured my mouth in a kiss, his hand on my neck holding me in place while he deepened it, his tongue mimicking the movement of his fingers inside me. I was lost, floating, shimmering with sensation. And when he pulled away, I moaned in protest of the loss.

Reality returned to me for the briefest of moments, and I glanced around, realizing just how public we were. The corner was dark and we were alone, but there were waitresses walking by and dancers on the platforms and somewhere, though I didn’t see him, was Cole.

“Evan,” I began, but his soft “No” cut me off.

“You started this,” he said with a grin that held both mischief and mastery. “Stay still and no one will know.” He was stroking me as he spoke, his fingers sliding from my cunt to my tight and sensitive clit. I squeezed my eyes shut, so aroused it was almost painful. I felt on fire, every inch of me sizzling. But then it shifted as all that feeling, all that electricity, all that pleasure, gathered like a storm.

He’d taken charge of my body, of my senses. There was no pleasure without his touch, no passion without his caress. It was all culminating in that one point, every bit of sensation inside me, building up, ready to rocket through me.

Ready to explode.

I almost cried out when the orgasm shot through me, but I managed to bite it back. He held me as I burst into a wash of stars, until I finally collapsed against him, my body shuddering from the force of the pleasure he’d brought to me.

My breath came in gasps and though I wanted to see his face, I didn’t want to move. My head was on his chest, his hand upon my back. He had completely destroyed me.

For one brief, shining moment, I’d held the upper hand. But he’d deftly turned the tables, and I’d never been so happy to have been so soundly and thoroughly defeated.

“I told you,” he said, leaning in close and whispering in my ear, “I like control. You want to fly with me tonight, Angie? Those are the terms.”

I lifted my head to meet his eyes and saw my own passion reflected back at me. “Tonight?” I teased. “You want more?”

I’d caught him off guard, and he laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “Baby, we haven’t even gotten started.”

“I—oh.”

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

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.

Honestly, I no longer gave a fig about the wind in my hair and the sun on my shoulders. With each mile, each foot, each inch that we drew closer to the condo, all I wanted was to climb out of the damn car and slide into Evan’s arms. The anticipation was killing me, and despite the fact that during the drive, he’d touched me in only the most casual of ways, my body was primed—the rhythm of the engine, the vibrations of the road, and the presence of the man keeping me blissfully on edge.

When the condo was only one block ahead, rising in the distance like some fantastical phallic monolith, Evan turned to me. “Shall we just take off?” he asked. “Cruise all the way up Sheridan Road. Continue through Wisconsin and keep going until we cross over into Canada?”

Hell no. I wanted to scream the words. To rail at him for even thinking of teasing me like that. But I’d lost too many points in this game already, and so I leaned my head back, casually closed my eyes, and lifted a negligent shoulder. “Whatever you want,” I said. I opened my eyes long enough to look at him. “You’re in control, right?”