Cruise Control

by Sarah Mayberry

  “I’ll be ten minutes or so. Then we’ll be going to Point Piper.”

  The door clicked shut, and she watched him walk toward the lift. His stride was confident, as though he owned the world. Again she wondered what his body was like beneath his superbly cut suit. Not that she was ever likely to find out, but she had ten minutes to kill….

  Deciding the frustration wasn’t worth it, she slid her hat off and ran her hands through her hair. The great thing about her new cut was that it was incredibly easy to recover from hat hair. A couple of passes with her fingers, and the spikes were rejuvenated. Checking in the driver’s vanity mirror, she confirmed that her Passion Pink lipstick was holding up okay, too. Pity there was no one to appreciate the fact. Pity, also, that Passion Pink was as close as she was going to get to bringing real passion into her life, the way she was going. Legal advice as a pickup line! Who was she kidding? Even if she could get past her self-consciousness and preconceptions, she was going to have an uphill battle on her hands landing any man with such puny weapons in her arsenal.

  She was about to flick the mirror back up when she saw that one of her silver hoop earrings was missing. Discreet and stylish, they had been her mother’s and held great sentimental value. She frowned in annoyance. Where could the earring have gone missing?

  Perhaps it had fallen in the car? She patted the seat around herself, easing her hips from side to side to see if she could catch sight of anything silver. Nothing.

  Not prepared to give up, she released her seat belt and got out of the car. Her seat was empty, however, and she slid a hand down the side of it. Again, zilch. Given that she’d done nothing but drive all day, the earring had to be in here somewhere, or back at her apartment. Turning on the car’s interior light, she set to the search with a purpose.

  MARC UNDOCKED HIS LAPTOP from his desk, slid it into its bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. His secretary had left a file on his desk with important papers for him to go over, and he added it to the papers in his briefcase.

  Somewhere between leaving the Stock Exchange and arriving here his headache had burned itself out, and he pulled his tie off and slid it into his pocket as he headed back to the elevator. Vaguely he wondered what his housekeeper would have left him for dinner. On Fridays it was usually fish, and he hoped she’d managed to procure more of the excellent salmon she’d prepared for him last week.

  As the lift doors closed on him and he began the descent to the basement, he allowed his thoughts to return to the subject that was occupying center stage in his mind.

  The chauffeur, Anna Jackson. He’d been incredibly angry with her earlier, but his frustration had dissipated during his last meeting. She was obviously a clever woman. It was there in her eyes, in the comprehension and perception behind each glance. He wondered why she’d given up law to drive people like him around all day.

  And he wondered whether he could resist the urge to ask her out for dinner again. Not that he particularly wanted to exchange small talk with her over a meal. If he had his way, if he could be bluntly honest and lay his cards on the table, he’d just take her back to his place and bury himself inside her until the itch that was his desire for her was gone.

  He reminded himself again of the man at the opera house. He would not destroy a relationship. It would make him the worst kind of hypocrite.

  Maybe he should have dismissed her and called a cab to take him home. Remove himself from temptation, as it were. Even as he thought it, his pride reared up inside him. Was he in high school, unable to control his libido all of a sudden? It was no big deal. She’d drive him home, and he’d get out of the car without asking her out—or in—and that would be that. And on Monday he’d tell his secretary to change car services.

  Then he walked out of the elevator in the garage and saw her. All four doors of the Mercedes were open, and she was leaning across the backseat, one knee on the cushions, the other leg on the ground outside the car as she searched for something. The fabric of her skirt was stretched tight across her butt, and her hips swayed from side to side provocatively as she leaned farther into the car.

  He was instantly aroused, hard as a rock. He clenched his jaw. He wanted nothing more than to walk over there and have his way with her. In fact, he was a little afraid of how strong the impulse was to take what he wanted.

  He didn’t like being out of control. It was one thing he knew about himself absolutely—he liked to be the one calling the shots, making the running. Even more so after Tara. Never again would he give another person so much power over his world.

  So regardless of desire or lust or whatever this was, he was going to ignore it, and stick to his game plan. Anything or anyone that could inspire this much fascination in him was dangerous.

  Resolute, he moved toward the car. He was just a handful of steps away when he became aware that she was completely oblivious to his approach. He cleared his throat, not wanting to be closer to her than he needed to be.

  “Miss Jackson,” he said.

  Her head came up, and she glanced over her shoulder.

  “Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” she said. “I was looking for my earring.”

  Then she scooted backward, enticing butt first. Too late he realized he was standing too close—or had he intended it to be that way? She stepped backward, head ducked to avoid the door frame, and backed straight into him. The full curve of her butt connected firmly with his groin, and the exquisite sensation of her pressing up against his already-aching erection was too much for his self-control. His free hand found her hip, and when she made to move away, he curved his fingers into her flesh and held her steady. She froze and for a heartbeat there was nothing but the sound of their breathing in the dim underground space.

  ANNA’S BLOOD FELT like treacle as it pumped thick and hot through her veins. She’d barely registered that she’d backed into him when his hand clamped down on her hip. Then she felt the unmistakable ridge of his erection pressing against the curve of her butt. She froze, a thousand thoughts and feelings skittering across her mind. Then he shifted, just an infinitesimal tilt of his hips as he brought himself more firmly against her. It was an invitation, a question. Instinctively she rocked back, giving him the only answer she could.

  The hand on her hip tensed, and she heard the sound of his briefcase and laptop bag hitting the concrete. Then his other hand was on her thigh, sliding down the fabric of her skirt as he reached for the hem. She shuddered as his fingers found the silk-covered skin of her leg and began a slow sweep up under her skirt. Heat pooled in her thighs and she rocked back into his hardness again. Then his hand slid from stocking-silk to bare flesh and she gasped at the feel of his skin against hers. He stilled, and the hand on her thigh tensed.

  “The man at the opera house?” he asked, and she knew exactly what he wanted to know.

  “My brother,” she said. He gusted out a lungful of air, and then the hand completed its journey, sliding over her hip, and around to reach between her legs and cup the moist heat of her mound. He pressed his palm hard against her, grinding his hips against her from behind, and she groaned with the pleasure of it.

  “Yes!” she gasped as his other hand raced up her ribs and closed unerringly over her breast.

  For a second it was enough, his hands on her heat and her breast, but she knew there was more, so much more.

  As though he could read her mind, he slid a finger beneath the elastic of her panties and into the damp curls surrounding her clitoris. One brush, two, three over the highly sensitized nub, and then his knowing hands dipped farther still, seeking the slick wetness between her thighs. Automatically she widened her stance, allowing him fuller access. A finger slid inside her, and she gasped, her muscles tightening around him, clinging to his invasion. But too quickly he was gone, sliding back up to her clitoris, slicking his finger over and over the stiff little bead. She shuddered and writhed, awash with desire. His erection was still pushed hard against her butt, and she snaked a hand between their bo
dies to massage the length of him. He felt hard and long and she bit her lip, thinking about him inside her, filling her….

  Then suddenly the delicious pressure between her thighs stopped and he withdrew his hand.

  “Take your shirt off,” he ordered in a rasping undertone.

  She didn’t hesitate. He remained pressed against her backside, his hardness urging her on as she slid her jacket off, then ripped at the buttons of her shirt. He helped her pull the cuffs over her wrists, and when she was down to her bra he spun her around in his arms and she looked into his face for the first time.

  His eyes were dark and hooded, his cheekbones flushed. His mouth was slightly open, and she fixated on the glinting wetness of his tongue. His gaze dropped to rake her breasts, and when it rose again to meet hers she saw pure animal desire in him.

  “So much better than I imagined,” he said huskily, and then he leaned forward and took possession of her mouth. His tongue swept along the tender skin inside her lips even as both his hands came up to cup her breasts. Her nipples were already straining at the lace of her bra, and he rubbed his thumbs across them, then squeezed them gently but firmly between thumb and forefinger. She moaned and pressed her body against his. His lips left her mouth and blazed a trail across her cheek and down her neck. Her head dropped back like a too-heavy flower as he slid her bra straps off her shoulders and pushed the fabric of the cups away from her breasts.

  She groaned as his mouth closed over a straining nipple at last. The wet heat of his mouth, the flick of his tongue across her nipple—it was almost too much, and she reached for his belt with shaking hands.

  “Now,” she demanded.

  She slid his buckle loose, and undid his button and fly. His erection pushed proudly at the fabric of his boxers, and she at last closed her hand around the length of him. He inhaled sharply as she ran her hand down his shaft, then slid her thumb over the velvety head of his penis.

  In response, he suckled harder on her breasts, the pleasure so intense it was almost pain. They were both breathing heavily, clutching at each other, desperate for completion. As she slicked her hand up and down his shaft, he swept her skirt up around her waist and tugged at her panties. She helped him pull them off, and then he picked her up, walked a few steps, and placed her on the trunk of the car.

  She was literally mindless with desire. All she wanted was satisfaction, and the only way to achieve it was to have him inside her. She hauled him toward her, her hips rising up to meet his.

  “Just a moment,” he murmured, and she heard the crinkle of a foil packet being opened.

  A second later, and a delicious anticipation stole over her as his penis probed her, and then he was sliding into her, filling her, going as deep as he could, the base of his shaft grinding into her.

  “Oh, yes!” she cried, clutching at his hips and dragging him closer still.

  She was panting, out of control. He pulled back, then plunged into her again. She felt as though she could scream with the pleasure of it. Never in her life had she been so aroused, so greedy, so determined to have it all.

  Firming her grip on his hips, she matched his rhythm, riding with him as the sensations inside her tightened toward the inevitable conclusion. Her back arched as she stiffened in anticipation, and he took advantage of the action to tongue her nipples, sucking one into his mouth and pulling on it so firmly that she bucked.

  The movement slid her off the trunk of the car, and he clutched at her hips, taking both their weights before spinning and pinning her against the concrete wall beside the car. She crossed her ankles behind his back, and he thrust into her again and again as she writhed against the wall.

  And then she was coming, pulsating around him, her head thrown back, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she cried out. A breath later, she felt him tense as he followed her, his body shuddering as he came, too.

  A heartbeat, two, three. She felt the tension slide out of him. The sound of their harsh breathing echoed back at them. He withdrew from her, releasing his grip on her hips. She slid down the wall, the heels of her shoes making a faint click as they connected with the ground. Her knees felt weak, rubbery, and she put out a hand to steady herself. He caught the movement, and reached out to support her.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded, lifting dazed eyes to his face. He looked just as blown away, she saw. Then his eyes raked down over her body and she felt a pulse of tension between her thighs.

  Straight after the most mind-blowing sex she’d ever had, and all the man had to do was look at her and she was ready for round two!

  She glanced across at him and saw that he was dressing, pulling up his pants, tucking his shirt in. She looked down at herself, saw her breasts straining upward, supported by her pulled-down bra. Her skirt was rucked up around her waist, her panties abandoned somewhere near the car.

  Reality crashed in like an avalanche.

  She was in a parking lot, for Pete’s sake! She’d just had knockdown, drag-out sex with an almost-stranger in a parking lot! No, not just a stranger—a client! She might be new to the business, but she was pretty damned sure that having sex with the clients was not high on the agenda for self-employed limo services.

  Her hands were trembling as she dragged her skirt down and her bra up. Her shirt was crumpled on the ground beside the car, and she crossed to pick it up. One of the buttons was missing. She tugged it on and did up as many as she could, but her bra now showed clearly in the deep V created by the absent button. She located her panties, simultaneously becoming aware that he had finished dressing and was now standing watching her. She couldn’t bring herself to pull her panties on while he watched. Instead, she stuffed them into the side pocket of the open car door.

  Smoothing a hand through her hair, she took a deep breath, then let it out again. Then she crossed to the open rear door of the car, and indicated for him to get in. He stared at her for a beat, and she kept her face as calm as she could. Inside, she was reeling, unable to comprehend what had just happened, her blood still fizzing with the excitement of it all. But she didn’t want him to know that. If she was going to pull this off, she had to appear cool and calm.

  Finally he picked up his briefcase and laptop bag and slid them into the car. She waited, her hand on the door handle, ready to shut him in. He paused on the verge of stepping into the car.

  “What just happened…” he said, but she shook her head.

  “I know exactly what it was, don’t worry,” she said hastily.

  “Do you? You’re doing better than me, then,” he said harshly.

  Her eyes flew to his face. “I didn’t mean…I’ve never done anything like this before,” she stumbled.

  “That makes two of us.”

  A long, tense silence stretched between them. She knew her face was crimson with embarrassment, could feel the heat of it. Could this get any worse?

  Finally he moved, sliding into the backseat. She shut the door on him with a heartfelt sigh of relief. Now she just had to get him home, and out of her car. Then she could tell the dispatch company she subscribed to that she was no longer taking jobs for Lewis Technologies, and she’d never have to see him again. She could pretend the whole thing had never happened.

  Because even though she was managing to maintain a cool, calm facade, inside she was freaking out badly. What had she just done? With a client? In a public place? She couldn’t believe that she’d gone from only done it in a bed to wild parking garage sex in the space of a few minutes. She’d practically torn the poor guy’s clothes off. She could only imagine what he was thinking of her.

  Silence sat thick and heavy between them as she drove up the exit ramp and waited for the security grill to rise. When she was confident the car would clear it, she eased her foot down on the accelerator.

  “Wait a minute.”

  She braked instantly, then swung around in her seat when she heard the click of the car door opening. A second later he was getting into the passenger seat n
ext to her, pulling on his seat belt.

  He gave her a rueful look, and she guessed that he felt uncomfortable having her chauffeur him home after they’d all but devoured each other in his company parking lot.

  Not that having him sitting next to her improved the situation from her point of view.

  Why had this happened? And why did it have to be this particular man who’d pressed all her latent sex-vixen buttons? She slid a sideways look at him, but he was gazing out the side window, his face turned away. The silence tightened between them. Finally it became so unbearable that she stabbed a hand at the car stereo.

  The funky sounds of Tone-Loc filled the car as he sang about doing the wild thing. Dear God. Instantly she stabbed the off button on the stereo.

  They completed the rest of the drive to Point Piper in excruciating, tense silence.

  He began offering her directions when she pulled off the main road and into the residential streets of Sydney’s most expensive and exclusive suburb.

  “Left here, then the second on the right,” he said, his voice devoid of all emotion.

  She followed instructions, and finally pulled up beside a high wall, broken only by a single gate and a double garage door. She knew enough about Sydney real estate to understand that the low-key street appeal signaled that behind the wall was a world of privilege and wealth that she could only dream of. Which made what had just happened between them even more surreal.

  She got out of the car, but before she could even think about opening his door, he was already standing on the sidewalk. Stiff-shouldered, she collected his briefcase and laptop instead.

  “Thank you,” he said brusquely as she awkwardly handed the two bags over. Then he just stood there.

  It struck her for the first time that for a man she’d mentally categorized as an experienced and knowledgeable player, he was about as handy with this one-night-stand business as she was. That awareness eased the tension banding her chest just a little.