"I can spend all night doing this," he whispered.

"And the opening bid is five thousand pounds," the loud voice boomed through the room.

The woman next to Casey raised her paddle, as Nate fingered the hem of her skirt. "Do you know what I thought when I first saw the picture of you in this dress? The one you texted me when I was in D.C."

"What did you think?" she asked as their neighbor continued to raise the stakes.

"That you looked edible in it." He traced the outside of her dress, skimming her thigh where she was pressed to his leg. "That the dress was like a goddamn temptation. When I saw you in it, my only thought was how much I wanted to push it up to your waist and slide my tongue over all the tight places in your body."

Her hand shot out and grasped his, her fingers digging into the bones of his hand. A bolt of lust rocketed through him from her reaction.

"What would you do if I were against the wall right now?" she whispered, and he loved that she craved more dirty words. He had a whole arsenal of them to feed to her, to send heat between her legs, to turn her damp and hot and needy for him.

"If you were up against the wall, I'd fully expect you to hike up your skirt for me. Jut out your hips. Run your fingers along the outside of your panties and give me that naughty, wild look that tells me how much you love touching yourself. Then you'd need to dip your fingers between your legs. And once you do that, you'd better let me suck all that sweetness off them."

She drew a quick breath, clamping her lips shut. He suspected she was trying to hold in a moan. Excellent.

"You're good and wet already, aren't you Casey?"

She nodded, breathing hard.

"So wet I could get down on my knees, spread those legs wide open and worship your perfect body with my mouth?"

A small pant emanated from her lips-those lips that had sent him straight into oblivion earlier today. "Yes," she murmured.

"So wet that you'd be calling my name in less than sixty seconds, right?"

"Yes." Her chest rose and fell with each breath. "I want that so much."

He licked a quick path along the shell of her ear. "You fucking love everything I do to you."

"Everything, Nate" she said, her voice all hot and wanton. She turned to him, firing up every synapse in his nervous system with the look in her sapphire eyes-they were hazy with desire, and she gazed at him like a woman in heat. Lust rolled through his body, chased by pride. He loved turning her on. He loved being the one who could get her in this state. She was so patently aroused.

"And now, we have a new painting from a rising star in the European art world. Miller Valentina. I start the bidding at three thousand pounds. Do we have three thousand pounds?"

She swiveled around, snapped to attention and thrust the paddle in the air. Damn, she was even hotter with her focus on the prize.

"We have three thousand in the room," the man at the podium intoned, pointing at Casey, as he scanned the crowd, then quickly nodded to the other side of the crowd. "3,250 in the room," he said from his post.

Nate followed the auctioneer's gesture. A man in a pinstriped suit near the back raised a paddle too. His shoulders tensed. Casey had a competitor. Nate tried to size up the guy from a distance. Slick gelled hair, a too-tight suit, and a goatee.

Casey raised her arm again. "That's 3,500 in the room," the man called out, as the price rose in increments.

She turned to Nate, speaking in a voice laced with pure determination. "I'm not letting this slip away. I want a Valentina," she said, having shifted from lust-struck to single-minded in seconds.

"3,750," the man at the front said.

Cheetah fast, Casey raised her paddle once more. Damn, she was hot going after something she wanted.

But the goateed-man wanted the painting too and signaled his intent.

"We have four thousand in the room."

Casey's arm went up again. Nate glanced at the guy in pinstripes. He matched her bid.

The pair of them went on like that for another few rounds, neither Casey nor her new nemesis backing down. Nate was tempted to jump in and offer some ridiculous price to guarantee the painting would be hers, but he knew that wasn't what she wanted. She didn't come here to have a man swoop in and save the day with his wallet. She came here for the thrill of the chase, and for the prospect of winning the prize. She wanted to win it on her own terms. But there was no way he'd let this guy take what his woman wanted, so he figured he could help her along in another way.

She raised her paddle again at five thousand pounds, her jaw set, her lips pursed.

"You are so fucking hot when you bid on art," he said to her, and she flashed a quick smile.

"Does it make you want me more?" she whispered as the goateed man hesitated briefly, but stayed in the game.

"He's wavering," Nate whispered. "Go for it. Go big, and then I can take care of that sweet ache between your legs like you want."

She trembled and her eyes flashed a hot and hungry look at him. "We can't leave. I want the other Valentina too," she said. "I just decided it. I need both."

"And you'll get both. And as soon as you get this one, we'll find an office or another sales room or a coat closet, I don't care. But I'm going to have my hands up your dress in about fifteen seconds," he said roughly, and his tone seemed to spur her on.

"Do we have 5,250 pounds?"

Casey raised her arm high, and then spoke in a loud, but measured tone. "6,500 pounds."

The auctioneer raised his eyebrows in appreciation, then scanned the room, his gaze settling on Casey's opponent. Nate watched the pin-striped man start to lift his paddle, but it was half-hearted at best. The man shook his head.

The auctioneer beamed. "I shall sell it then. It's the woman in the green dress' bid at 6500 pounds." He slammed the hammer down. "Sold."

The expression on her face was one of pure victory, then she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and stood. She tipped her head to the exit. When they walked out, he heard the man who'd lost out utter a curse of frustration. Nate didn't take it personally; not getting what you wanted was a bitch.

Thirty seconds later, they were inside a bathroom at Sotheby's, locking the door behind them.

"By my calculations we've got less than eight minutes 'til the next Valentina goes up for bidding," she said, and locked her arms around his neck. "Give me something."

A tremor of desire shook him to his bones. He wanted nothing more than to take her hard and fast, and send her back into the sales room, ready to bid again, looking like a woman who'd been fucked thoroughly. But her pleasure always came first for him, and what turned him on most was sending her flying into bliss. He'd wait for the hotel to get his own needs met.

"Turn around," he told her, and she slinked around in his arms. "Look in the mirror," he said, gesturing at the gold-framed glass along the wall, reflecting her back at him. "See how sexy you are? You're all fired up from winning, and you're heated up from wanting me. This is who I've been looking at all night-the most beautiful, stunning, sexy and powerful woman I've ever seen. A woman who goes after what she wants. Who pursues what she wants. And no one has ever aroused me like you do," he said, savoring her reaction to his words as she trembled in his arms. He clasped his hand around her throat, not too tight to hurt her, but firm enough to hold her as his. To let her know she belonged to him. Her lips fell open, and she breathed out sharply as he stared at her captivating reflection.

He dipped his mouth to her ear. "Watching you bid on that painting made me so fucking hard," he whispered in a ragged voice as he yanked her backside against his hard-on.

A sexy whimper escaped her throat. "I'll bid on more then. I love turning you on," she said, sliding her hand between them to rub her palm against his straining erection. The feel of her was extraordinary, but he hadn't taken her to the private bathroom to let her play with his boner. He gripped her hand and tugged it away, then took her other hand and raised both her arms over her head.

"And you do it exceedingly well. But the answer is no. You took care of me earlier today, and now it's my turn to have my way with you. You keep your hands to yourself right now, and let mine do the work," he said, sharply. "Put your arms around my neck."

She reached behind, threading her hands around his neck, her body molded to his. She was so damn vulnerable in this pose. She was his like this, restrained simply by the position.

"I need you to keep your arms around me the whole time, Casey," he said, as he lowered his hands to the hem of her dress and yanked it up. "Can you do that?"

"I can," she said, her voice feathery.

One hand traveled up the soft, smooth skin of her belly, while the other made its way due south, sliding into her lacy panties and meeting her slick heat instantly. He groaned appreciatively. She matched him with a needy, desperate sound. God, this woman loved being touched.

"That's how I want you to feel with me," he said, sliding his fingers across that delicious wetness. "This aroused. This hot. This wild."

"I do. I swear I do," she said on a sexy pant, leaning her head on his shoulder, her cheek hitting his face. She was a fucking sight-her lush body all curved along his, her neck long and inviting, her hands bound of their own volition behind his head. She was giving him control yet again, turning her pleasure over to him.

Her sensuality was like a gift given freely. No, it was a goddamn treasure, and he intended to treat it that way. He slid his fingers across her slick folds, his lungs burning with desire for her as her body took off under his touch. Instantly, she rocked into him, her hips arching into the source of her pleasure. When he brushed over her swollen clit, she practically shoved herself into his hand.

"Oh, sweetness, you want it badly, don't you?" he whispered in her ear, yanking her even closer.

"So badly," she moaned.

"As much as I want it? Can you feel how much I want it?" he said, making absolutely certain she could feel every damn inch of his erection jammed against her back.

"I can feel it. I want it too, Nate," she said, arching into his hand, hunting for more friction, more speed. He couldn't resist. He wanted to tease her, but her pussy was too ready, too perfect. The feel of her heat in his hands was some kind of drug. It scrambled his brain.

"You wanted me to make you beg for it," he said, trying to hold onto her wishes from earlier. "You wanted me to send you to the brink, but not over, right?"

"Oh God, no, please," she cried out, her voice pitching. "Don't tease me, Nate. I'm close. I'm so close."

He met her eyes in the mirror. They were wild and hungry. She thrust her hips against his hand, riding his finger as she held tight to the back of his neck, offering herself to him so completely.

"Don't you want me to drive you wild with desire?"

"You have," she cried out, riding his hand as far and as hard as she could, writhing against him, a wriggly, wild creature in his arms. "You are. I'm going crazy. Please don't make me wait," she said, then repeated it, like a desperate chant, a plea for relief. "Please don't make me wait. Please don't make me wait."

He held on tight to her belly, slamming her as close to him as the laws of physics made it possible for two clothed people to be. He stroked her faster, thrusting a finger inside her beautiful cunt, as he said, "Never. I could never deny you. Come, sweetness. Come in my arms. I've got you," he said, and she cried out, rocking harder, faster and more beautifully than ever as she rode his hand, coming undone for him at Sotheby's.

Minutes later, after hands were washed and clothes were straightened, they returned to the sales room. Casey stopped in her tracks, and pointed, then clasped her hand over her mouth. The man with the slick hair and pinstriped suit grinned as if he'd caught a huge marlin.

"And The Big Love is sold for six thousand pounds."

The auctioneer pounded the podium with his hammer.

She cringed. All her features tightened, and she clenched her fists in utter frustration. "I wanted it," she said on a heavy sigh. "I wanted it so badly."

He wished he could steal it away for her. But the painting was no longer on the market.

She turned to him, grabbed the lapels of his jacket, and said, "Win some, lose some. Take me back to our room and do that to me again and again all night long."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

London, night . . .

There was no more time for waiting. There would be no more teasing. Her dress pooled at her feet less than five seconds after entering their suite.

"I'm not anywhere near done with you," he said, unknotting his tie, yanking it off, and tossing it on the floor. That answered one question that had hovered in her mind-he wouldn't be tying her up with his tie tonight.

She stepped out of her shoes. She wore only her lingerie.

"I want you on the floor," he said, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his strong, hard chest. Her mouth watered as she stepped backward.

"Is this another lesson?" she asked, her voice wobbly as she flashed back to the first night in New Orleans when he'd told her to get down on her knees.

He shook his head. "I'm done with teaching you. There are no more lessons. Did you want more?"

"No. I only want you," she said in a small voice, somehow managing to admit that she was ready to move on. Where they were headed next she had no idea. This might be their last night together, until he cut her loose, adrift in the world as a newly-trained woman who'd learned how to let go of all her tightly held need for control. She shuddered inside at the thought of this ending, but then pushed all the worries out of her mind as he reached the final button on his shirt.

"Good. Because I'm about to do something you've wanted. Something you asked me to do. But I'm not doing it as your teacher. I'm doing it tonight as your lover."

"That's who I want you to be now," she said, and the words were easier than she'd expected, so much easier, because they were so damn true.

He swallowed. She watched his Adam's apple bob up and down. Such a vulnerable point on an otherwise hard body. So much of him was hard and fierce, but so much was vulnerable too. He'd begun to show more of those sides to her, and she thrived on knowing all of him-all his passion, all his pain, all his hurt, all his hope.

All of him.

"Take everything off," he said.

She stepped out of her black lace panties, grateful to be rid of the damp scrap of fabric, then her bra, leaving them in a soft heap on the plush carpet. He groaned at the sight of her, and a ribbon of heat unfurled in her chest-to be this desired was such a rush, such a pure, unmitigated high. She had never felt so sensual as she did under Nate's heady gaze. The low neon lighting in the room set the mood, though the mood had technically been set long ago. Back in New Orleans one hot steamy night when she'd propositioned her best friend, and he'd said yes. They'd hurdled down this sensual road through the Big Easy, to their hometown of New York, and now, here in London.

Only this time, they were shedding the seduction. They were stripped free of games, and relying solely on themselves.

She didn't want it any other way.

She didn't want him any other way.

He grabbed a chair and dragged it over to her, swiveling it around so the slats faced her. "Hands on the chair. Grip it hard."

She kneeled before him, knotting her fingers through the wooden slats, like she was in church at a pew, praying-praying for release. A quiver sped through her body, chased with a dash of fear. But it was the good fear; the kind that twisted and curled hotly through her blood as he led her down this path. She didn't know what he planned, but she loved exploring the unknown with him.

Only with him.

He walked behind her, gently covering her hair with his big, strong hand palming her head. She craned her neck, peering up at him. He dragged his hand down her hair, threading his fingers through the blond strands.

"When you first asked me to teach you to let go, I agreed, even though it meant you were learning things to use with someone else. Right now, there's no teaching. I'm only taking. I'm taking something I want for me," he said, and the roughness in his voice sent shivers on a thrill ride down her spine as he shrugged out of his white shirt. He widened his stance, a foot on each side of her naked legs. She felt overpowered, thoroughly under his control as electric sparks shot across her skin.

"Take whatever you want," she said, as he bent over her, his shirt in both hands. Then he twisted it, round and round, turning the item of clothing into a taut, makeshift rope. She offered her wrists, and he wrapped the shirt around them, then threaded the material through the slats, tying her to the top of the chair.

He tested the knots in the shirt. "Nice and tight," he said, then he trailed his fingers through her hair once more, gripping it in a ponytail, twisting it around his fist once and yanking her head back. "What do you think I'm going to take right now?"

"I have no idea," she said, nerves lacing her voice. Her knees dug into the carpet.