He opens a small, lidded ice bucket and pulls out a delicate saucer. “What’s that?” I ask curiously.

Colton sets the dish in front of me. His lips are doing that twitchy thing, and my brow raises in anticipation for another surprise. He removes the lid, announcing, “Pineapple sorbet.”

My bark of laughter isn’t the least bit ladylike, but Colton seems delighted by it nevertheless. “Plans for a blowie later?”

“It’s called a jobby. You’ll have to work on your slang if you’re going to move here. But perhaps I’m thinking of how especially sweet you’ll taste on my tongue? You did tell me that pineapples are rather useful both ways, did you not?” Colton licks his lips as if he can taste me already.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” And with that, I scoop a too-big bite into my mouth. A second later, though, I hiss. “Shit, brain freeze!”

His laugh is one of utter delight at my dorkiness, and he saves me from myself by pulling me to my feet and leading me to the glass. Pressed up against the railing, the windows surrounding me, I can see everything.

“That way, far off in the distance, is the Estate. Can you see it?” Colton’s breath is hot on my ear, and I don’t think the Estate is even visible from here. He’s just trying to keep me distracted from the dirty things he’s doing to me.

His hand slides up my thigh, squeezing my waist in tempo with the kisses he’s trailing down my neck. “I dare you . . . to pull your dress up and let me taste you right here.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. “It’s all glass!”

“So?” Colton steps behind me, his hard cock nestling between my cheeks. I gasp, and his hands guide my hips to grind against him. “You want it too. The thought of being surrounded by glass excites you, doesn’t it?”

I hum, not agreeing or arguing. “There’s fantasy and reality, though. Very different things.”

“I’ll be fast. You sucked me off in under fifteen minutes. I can get you off faster than that. We’ll have time before we get back to the ground. No one will be the wiser . . . except we’ll know.”

Oh, shit. Excitement zings through me, standing every nerve in my body on edge. I still don’t answer, but he knows. He can read me like a book.

“Bend forward.”

And so help me, I do. I fold over the railing at the waist, my hands pressed to the glass to help me arch. The chill of the room brushes over the backs of my thighs as Colton pushes my dress up. He groans when he sees the thigh highs, and I silently congratulate myself on the good choice. I sway my hips a bit, trying to rush him.

I look back to see him dropping to his knees, a god worshiping at my altar with hungry eyes. He pulls my panties to the side, and the first touch of his tongue to my lips feels so good my eyes close.

“Eyes open. I want you to know where you are the whole time, Elle.”

I nod, blinking hard before I’m able to focus on the view in front of me. All of London, with Colton between my thighs.

He licks me fast and hard, diving right in as though he’s acutely aware of the time limit he put on himself. I climb higher and higher, my moans echoing back from the glass. “Oh, my God . . . now!”

I buck against Colton’s mouth, my eyes slipping shut as I come, but I don’t care, too lost to pleasure to even notice.

“Mmm,” Colton groans.

As I come down from the high, I blink lazily. Suddenly, a flash catches my eye, and I shake my head, but another flash gets my attention. Squinting, I see a drone hovering right outside the pod, and I realize that we’ve crested the circle and are now almost at the platform . . . which has a crowd of people on it.

“Colton?”

Colton stands up and looks over his shoulder, his face going white when he sees the group. “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me.”

The pod doors open, and I see a familiar elegant woman, her long brown hair in perfect curls over her shoulders. Beside her, a man stands in shock, and a little girl hides between them.

“Run!” Colton yells, grabbing me by the hand, and before I know it, we’re sprinting as hard as we can.

Oh, shit. I think I just had sex in front of royalty.

Chapter 30

Colton

“Fine choice of evening activities, sir,” Oliver says as he jerks the wheel on the car to the left and we whip around a turn. “I haven’t had this much adventure since . . . oh, never mind, forget I said anything.”

“You didn’t say anything!” Elle exclaims near-hysterically as she looks behind us.

Distantly, I wonder what qualifications Oliver has for this type of driving. Chauffeur duty is one thing. This is quite another.

“What in bloody hell is going on?” I growl as I wipe at my face with my pocket square. Elle and I are a mess, clothing askew, and we barely made it past the shocked security, who luckily were prepared for an external threat, not two people bursting forth from a London Eye pod and trying to escape. We just managed to jump into the back of the Ghost before Oliver pulled away, quickly merging into traffic, using it as a disguise.

That hasn’t stopped the paparazzi from chasing us, though. I haven’t been newsworthy in London for years, but someone seems to have a long memory.

“Today is the young Princess’s birthday,” Oliver explains from up front. “Right turn!”

He yanks the car in a slewing skid to the right, and Elle is thrown against me, where I hold her as Oliver starts to smooth things out.

“What are we going to do?”

“No way to lose them in this heap,” Oliver says as a photog on a motorcycle comes streaking next to us just to prove his point. “Even in London, a Rolls Royce is pretty bloody noticeable.”

He’s right.

“I’ll call ahead to the Rosewood. They are well-versed in celebrity stays, and while I’m not that type of famous, they should be able to handle our coming in hot.”

“Do it.” Oliver’s bark sounds military-esque, an order I follow.

The front desk attendant who answers hears the barely restrained panic in my voice and immediately goes into emergency mode. Admirably, she handles everything with calm efficiency.

“Yes, I understand. Arrival in approximately two minutes.”

I repeat the instructions to Oliver and he nods sharply. I get the feeling I could’ve told him anything from pull over and hide to drive onto a moving airplane, and he would’ve been able to handle it without breaking a sweat.

“Get ready. You get out of the car and get inside the hotel. The final turn is coming.” Oliver pulls in with squealing tires, and hotel security rips the door open, ushering Elle and me into the building. “Oliver?” I ask the hulk who’s pushing us deeper into the hotel.

“We’ll handle it. No worries, Mr. Wolfe.”

I take him at his word and continue following his lead—into the elevator, up to our suite, and inside in one big rush. Once behind the closed door, he pauses. “Safe, sir. Please stay put until we give you the all-clear.”

Elle is pink-cheeked and wide-eyed, but her voice is steady. “How long do you think that will be?”

The hulk shrugs one shoulder, as if lifting both broad ones would take too much effort. “An hour, a day, a week? Hard to know. Depends on who you are and what you did.” He quickly holds up a hand. “No need to explain, sir. Call the front if you need anything.”