Page 57 of Into These Eyes

Preparing for when we get home, I turn on the stereo, then the living room lamp before flipping off the overhead lights. When we get to the door, I catch her hand and stop her. “I didn’t tell you how stunning you look tonight. When I saw you … you stole my words.”

She stares up at me, her lips curling into a delicate, vulnerable smile. “Thank you.”

My heart thudding with price, I kiss her. She hadn’t rejected my compliment. Now, she believes me when I tell her how I see her. Pulling her close, I marvel at this new reality where I can kiss her, touch her and, when we get home, possess her.

In the back of the Uber, we exchange heated glances, but I keep my hands to myself. It took too long for my dick to deflate after our little exchange in the kitchen. Touching her will only set me aflame again.

“I’m guessing the boss’s sleazy son will be there?” I ask.

“He won’t dare come near me with you by my side.” She shoots me a serious look. “And if he does, please don’t do anything stupid. I can handle him.”

“Avoiding isn’t handling.”

“Nor is ending up in prison over that little creep.”

She’s got a point, and I trust she knows what’s best. What experience do I have with work colleagues and how to handle such matters? I doubt it’s the same as dealing with inmates.

Once we arrive, I reign in my urge to place a hand on her lower back as we approach the entrance. As if she misses the gesture, she looks up at me, her eyes so bright and full of desire, my pulse accelerates. “Watch how you look at me, gorgeous. You’re giving yourself away.”

“Right back at you.”

Inside, Jamie introduces me to so many colleagues I have no hope of remembering their names.

When I meet Eric, her boss, the younger guy beside him snakes his gaze over Jamie’s body.

Instantly, I know he’s the creep she’s warned me about.

I desperately want to put my arm around her and pull her in close, so the prick knows who she belongs to.

But his father’s extending his hand, shaking mine eagerly.

“Jamie told me about the exciting news today,” Eric says, tilting his glass of amber liquid toward her.

“I must admit, I had serious doubts when all she had was a Dying Declaration and an affidavit from a witness who was so young at the time. But a video confession from her father is sure to mean success. You must be eager to get the whole thing over and done with.”

“Of course,” I offer, trying my hardest to keep my eyes on her boss and not the smug little shit beside him. “But I’ve insisted Jamie wait until after Christmas. She’s had a lot to deal with lately.”

Eric’s eyes swing to Jamie. “And you’re alright with that? You were so eager to hurry this along.”

“I … ah, yes. I’ll finish the last of the documents over Christmas. Best to make sure everything’s in perfect order rather than rush it.”

“Well,” he says, glancing between us, “we’re looking forward to all the free publicity once you win. Nice meeting you, Gavin.” I shake his hand again, noting his son never once acknowledges me, his attention still firmly on my woman.

After we find our table and enjoy the surprisingly excellent food, Jamie chats with the others at the table about an array of past cases. Scanning the room, it’s not long before I find the sleaze again. He can’t take his eyes off Jamie, ogling her with a hunger I know all too well.

Sensing my stare, the guy’s eyes dart to me for a split second before returning to Jamie.

Then they bounce back. I heed Jamie’s words about the jerk, but I never said I wouldn’t threaten him with a look.

Which is exactly what I do. Using every menacing nuance I honed in prison, I glare at the fucker, leaving no misunderstanding that death is imminent should he so much as look at her again.

To his credit, he breaks eye contact and downs his drink, but not before I register the pinch of irritation in his expression. By the time he places his glass on the table, that carefully schooled mask falls into place again.

After our plates are removed, I’m drawn in and out of conversations with the people at our table, but with the pressure of my thigh against hers, I let her know I never forget she’s by my side.

Mid-conversation, she hooks the foot of her crossed leg behind my calf. And gives it a little rub, letting me know she’s fully aware of my presence, too.

While she talks animatedly with everyone, and when I’m not involved in a discussion, I listen to her voice.

And I notice something I haven’t been privy to before now.

She uses a distinctive tone with me. A warmer, more relaxed, intimate voice.

Could it be that she sees me as more than anyone else in her life?

My heart swells at the idea. Glancing at her profile, I’m overcome with the need to touch her.

I know I shouldn’t, but I feel it’s safe enough with the tablecloth pooling in our laps and the wall at our backs.

As the servers move about the table delivering our desserts, I slip my right hand onto my thigh beneath the tablecloth. Picking up a fork with my free hand, I wait for Jamie to do the same. When the first morsel of tiramisù passes her lips, I slide my palm onto her bare knee.

She stops chewing for a moment, and I wait for her to brush my hand away or give me a warning glance. When she does nothing but prepare another bite on the tip of her fork, I ease my way up her thigh and slip beneath the hem of her dress.

After she turns her attention back to Helen—the woman beside her—I slide my thumb along the silky line where her crossed legs meet.

And holy hell , she ever-so-slowly uncrosses them. My hand slips between her barely parted thighs, the velvety flesh burning both sides of my fingers as she tenses and traps me there.

When she slips her hand beneath the table and grabs my wrist, I think I’ve gone too far. Until she parts her legs, releasing my imprisoned fingers, and forces them higher, inviting my touch. All without missing a beat in her conversation.

The cake on my fork trembles as I bring it to my mouth.

While she remains deep in conversation with Helen, she removes her hold on my wrist. Beginning a sensual exploration up the inside of her thigh, I note with each centimetre I cover, her skin grows hotter.

When my pinkie finally touches the crotch of her damp panties, I stifle a groan behind a cough.

She continues to talk with Helen, and even though she’s pretending to ignore me, she’s aware of every movement my fingers make. I know because she’s pressing her thigh hard against mine, spreading herself wider for me. Giving me permission.

She’s radiating heat all over my fingers, the material between her legs so damp I can’t resist any longer.

I grip the far edge of her panties’ crotch and draw it toward me.

Waiting until the moment she places another bite of tiramisù between her lips, I glide the knuckle of my index finger through her hot, wet centre.

From entrance to clit, I study her profile, taking in the flare of her nostril, the frozen set of her jaw, and finally, the swallow in her throat.

If she looks at me, I know damn well she’ll see me mirroring her reactions.

But she doesn’t turn her head even a millimetre.

I don’t move either. Because my mind’s whirling with a million thoughts that keep coming back to just one.

Apart from the obvious, did my brain correctly interpret what the back of my knuckle encountered? Or more accurately, didn’t encounter?

Desperate to discover if I’m right, I reposition my hold on her panties and touch my fingertip to her labia. Then I make a slow journey up one side, and down the other until I stop at her entrance. And suck in a silent breath. I’d been right. She’s completely bare.

Fuck .

She’s so hot and slippery, it takes complete control of my muscles not to sink my finger deep inside her.

Instead, I wait. The moment her mouth closes around another piece of cake, I dip into her enough to coat my finger to the second knuckle before gliding up to her clit and circling with a featherlight touch.

Loud enough to hear, a soft groan rumbles in her throat.

I freeze when Helen leans forward, raising a piece of cake on her fork. “It’s heavenly, isn’t it?”

“It’s … something, that’s for sure,” Jamie says, her thigh trembling against mine.

Helen pins her gaze on me. Reluctantly, I move my hand back to my own thigh. “What do you think, Gavin? It must be quite a treat to taste this sort of thing after …” Her voice fades away, suddenly too awkward to finish the sentence.

I bring my hand out from under the table and, using the finger coated with Jamie’s arousal, I press it to the crumbs on my plate.

When I glance up, Jamie’s feverish eyes watch me from beneath dark lashes.

Then, sucking the tiny cake morsels from the tip of my finger, I taste her for the first time in a room full of people.

My gaze flicks to Helen, who’s still waiting for my answer. “Delicious,” I agree, giving her a warm smile before I catch Jamie’s eye. “Leaves a lingering sweetness on the tongue.”

As a flush races up Jamie’s neck, she rises from her chair and places a hand on my shoulder. Digging her fingers into my muscles, she leans in and whispers, “I’m going to the ladies. Then we’re sneaking out of here. Meet me in the foyer.”

I’m relieved she’s given me some time, because I can’t move with this raging hard-on straining at my zipper. I’ll need at least a few minutes.

Fortunately, Helen helps out by engaging me in a few tales from previous Christmas dinners she’s attended.

As I listen, my gaze travels around the room, catching on that fucking sleaze. That fucking sleaze who’s getting up and heading toward the foyer. Toward my woman.