“And you want dinner with me? I’d think a man in your position would want something a bit more impressive. Like to colonize Mars.”

“Dinner is just the beginning. I want to touch you,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “I want to run my hands over every inch of you. I want you wet for me. I want to finish what we started, Ms. Fairchild. I want to make you come.”

8

It is suddenly very, very hot in the limo, and I seem to have forgotten the basic steps required for breathing.

I don’t think …

I realize the words are only in my head and try again. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“It’s an extremely good idea. Hell, it’s all I’ve been thinking about since I put you in that limo. Touching you again. Stroking you. Kissing you.”

I squirm, determined to hold it together. But I am weak and well-liquored, and my determination is fraying around the edges.

“Tell me you haven’t thought of it, too.”

“I haven’t,” I say.

“Don’t lie to me, Nikki. That’s rule number one. Never lie to me.”

Rules?

“Is this a game?” I ask.

“Isn’t everything?”

I don’t answer.

“Simon Says, Nikki. Have you played before?” His soft voice is like a caress.

“Yes.”

“Is the privacy screen in place?”

I glance up. I’m at the very back of a very long limo. I can see the driver in the front, his shoulders in the black jacket, the stark white of his shirt collar. He has reddish hair, mostly hidden by a black cap. It seems to me that he is a million miles away. But he’s not, he’s right there, probably listening to every word we’ve been saying.

“He’s very discreet,” Damien says, as if reading my thoughts. “But why torment the man? The silver button on the console behind you controls the screen. Do you see it?”

I twist around and see a bank of buttons set into the paneling behind me. “Yes.”

“Push it.”

“You didn’t say Simon says.”

His low chuckle delights me.

“Good girl. Are you suggesting you’d rather leave it down? Think before you answer, Nikki. For what I have planned, most women would like some privacy.”

I lick my lips. If I push that button I’m saying yes to so much more than the damn screen.

Do I want that? He’s talking about seeing me naked. About touching me. About kissing me. About running his fingers over my skin.

I rest my finger lightly on the button, remembering the feel of his hand. Remembering how I almost let him get too close, how I almost revealed too much.

But he’s not in the car. I can do this. I can lose myself to the champagne and the night and the allure of Damien Stark.

But am I leading him on? Making him think that fantasy will become reality?

I swallow again, because I don’t care. I want the release. I want this man’s voice in my head and the fantasy of his hands on my body. He’ll deal. He has rules? Screw that. Right now, I’m making my own damn rules.

I press the button.

Slowly, the privacy screen rises, and I’m alone in the luxurious comfort of Damien Stark’s stretch limo. “It’s up,” I say, but my voice is so soft I’m not certain he heard it.

“Take off your panties.”

Apparently he heard it.

“What if I told you I already did?”

“I’m in public, Ms. Fairchild. Don’t torment me.”

“You’re tormenting me,” I retort.

“Good. Now take them off.”

I lift my skirt and slide my panties down. My shoes are already off, so it’s easy. I leave them on the seat beside me.

“They’re off,” I say. And then, because I’m making this into my fantasy, too, “I’m wet.”

His low groan sends a spark of satisfaction running through me. “No talking,” he says. “And no touching. Not unless I tell you to. That’s the game, Nikki. You do what I say, and only what I say. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” I murmur.

“Yes, sir,” he corrects. His voice is gentle, but firm.

Sir?

I say nothing.

“Or I can simply hang up.” His voice is hard, but I think I hear triumph. I frown, because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of winning this battle, but I also don’t want the game to end. And I’m certain Mr. Nice to Ice means what he says.

I swallow my pride. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. You want me, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you, too. Does that make you wet?”

“Yes …” The word comes out strangled. The truth is, I’m aching now. Hot and wet and desperately turned on. I have no idea what he has planned, but I know I’ll agree to anything if only he’ll take this further. Take me further.

“Put your phone on speaker and leave it on the seat beside you. Then lift up your skirt and sit back down. I want your naked ass on the leather. I want you wet and slippery on that seat, so that when I get in that limo later tonight, I can lose myself in the scent of you.”

“Yes, sir,” I manage to say as I comply. The brush of my skirt against the bare flesh of my thighs is achingly erotic, but the feel of the warm leather against my naked rear makes me moan.

“Spread your legs and gather your skirt up around your waist.” His voice surrounds me. His tone is low, commanding, and achingly sensual. “Lean back against the seat and close your eyes. Now leave one hand on the seat, but put the other just above your knee.”

I do. My skin feels feverish.

“Move your thumb,” he says. “Move it slowly, back and forth. Gentle, baby. So gently. Are you doing it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are your eyes closed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s me you feel. My hand on your leg. My finger stroking your skin. It’s soft, and you look so beautiful spread out wide for me. Do you want me, Nikki?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

My sex tightens at the growl of demand in his voice. There’s something delicious about surrendering to him.

“Yes, sir.”

“I want to touch your breasts, Nikki. I want to touch your nipples. I want to lower my mouth and suck until you come without me even touching your clit. Do you want that, Nikki?”

God, yes. “Only if you touch me there later, sir.”

His low laugh sends ripples of awareness through me.

My clit is pulsing. I desperately want to touch myself but that’s not the game. Not yet.

“I’m hard, Nikki. You’re torturing me, you know that?”

“I hope so, sir, because you’re sure as hell torturing me.”

“Unzip your dress,” he says. “Then take the hand that’s on the seat and lift it to your mouth. Suck on your forefinger, baby. That’s right,” he says when I groan a little as I close my eyes and draw in my own finger. “That’s good. Use your tongue. Suck hard, baby.” I can hear the tension in his voice, and my body quakes. I’m so wet, and the leather seat is getting slippery.

“Slide your hand into your bodice and touch your nipple. Is it hard?”