One perfectly arched brow lifts. “Does she know that?”

I smile. I like this girl. She has a smart mouth and it’s sorta hot. “Probably not.”

She releases her death grip on the counter and settles her hands on my chest, giving me a shove. But I don’t budge and she doesn’t like it. “That presents a problem.”

“What does?” Christ, I wish she’d stop talking so I can kiss her. I want to know if she tastes as good as I remember.

“Your not-a-girlfriend girlfriend.” She pushes at my chest again but I brace myself, which just frustrates her further. “You’re taken.”

“No, I’m not,” I say truthfully. “It’s not my fault she thinks we’re a couple.”

“You’re staying with her, right? Here in London?”

I don’t answer her. If I tell her the truth she’ll reject me. Instead, I press my mouth to hers, silencing whatever argument she might have offered. She makes a strangled noise deep in her throat but I’m persistent, deepening the kiss, sliding my tongue between her lips and touching hers.

She tastes as good as I remember, maybe even better. And she feels amazing in my arms, all warm and soft curves, her breasts pressed snug against my chest. She’s not wearing a bra and I can feel her hard nipples. I want to touch them. Lick them. Suck them.

I drift my hand down along her neck, across her collarbone, my fingers teasing along the neckline of her dress. She shivers beneath my touch, a little whimper falling from her lips when I tangle my tongue with hers at the same time I dip my hand beneath the bodice.

And encounter nothing but warm, plump skin.

“You shouldn’t do this,” she murmurs when I break the kiss to trail my lips along the length of her neck, my fingers going to the tiny buttons that run down the front of her bodice. I undo them one by one, exposing her, my gaze dropping as I spread the fabric wide and take in her perfect breasts topped with rosy nipples.

“Do what?” I ask as I rain kisses along the tops of her breasts. She puts her hands on either side of my head, her fingers going into my hair, much like I held her only a moment ago, but she’s not pushing me away.

She’s guiding me toward her nipple and I circle it with my tongue, draw it into my mouth and suck. Hard.

“Touch me like this. Kiss me like this,” Rose says breathlessly as she tosses her head back, her eyes sliding closed as she moans. I smile against her skin as I move to her other nipple, giving it the same treatment.

“You want it,” I tell her. Her skin is sweet and warm and she smells fucking amazing. I’m feeling her up in the middle of a bathroom and I don’t really give a damn. I have to have her.

“I don’t even know you,” she whispers when I lift away from her breasts, her eyes hazy with lust as she watches me. “We need to get back out there.”

I kiss her, my tongue teasing hers before I break away. “Not yet.”

“They’ll get suspicious.”

“Who?” I keep my gaze on hers as I slip my hand from her breast and touch her thigh, slipping beneath the skirt of her dress.

“Your girlfriend.”

I chuckle and shake my head. “I told you. She’s not my girlfriend.” My fingers rise farther, farther still, and I encounter nothing but bare skin. “Are you wearing panties?”

Rose slowly shakes her head, sinking her teeth into her plump lower lip.

“Consistent, aren’t you,” I murmur as I slip my hand to her trembling belly, sliding it lower until I’m cupping her between her legs. I can feel the heat emanating from her pussy and my cock stiffens, strangled beneath the fly of my jeans. “Spread your legs.”

She does as I ask without hesitation, her thighs opening enough to let me in, and I run my fingers over her slit, back and forth, searching her folds. “You’re fucking soaked.”

Another whimper escapes her and she closes her eyes, tilting her head back, lost to the pleasure. “Look at me,” I command and she lifts her head, meeting my gaze, hers full of anticipation and fear and arousal. “Feels good?”

Rose nods but otherwise doesn’t say a word and for whatever reason, that pisses me off. I want her to be as into this as I am and I can’t tell if she really is or not.

I stroke her, trace her folds, circle her clit, slip a finger inside her welcoming body, and she moans. Moans louder when I remove my fingers from her pussy and rest them against her mouth. “Open up.”

Her eyes go wide and slowly she parts her lips, allowing me to slip my fingers inside her mouth. “Taste how much you want me,” I whisper, smiling when I see the spark of anger in her gaze.

She probably thinks I’m an arrogant asshole. I don’t really care. This is hot as fuck, making her taste herself, watching her squirm. She sucks my fingers into her mouth, all four of them, and I can only imagine her giving me a blow job.

“Get ’em nice and wet,” I whisper, and she sucks harder before I pull them from her mouth and return them to her pussy, teasing her swollen clit. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”

Her eyes close as if she has no control and she drops her head forward until her forehead meets my shoulder. I continue to stroke her, her panting breath, her low moans driving me on. I want to make her come. I want to see her come.

And then I want to send her back out to that table full of oblivious people and follow after her about five minutes later. I want to sit across from her for the rest of the night and pretend she doesn’t exist, all the while knowing I just made her come all over my fingers in the bathroom.