…As if ruled by themselves and not her brain, her arms shifted and her hands took his from around her waist, moving them higher so they were resting just under her breasts. They were swelling inside her gown and her nipples, which had relaxed, were perking up again to push against the fabric. Betsy tried not to get too aroused. This was a performance, not just Roarke touching her, pleasing her. She couldn’t allow her concentration on the case to slip.

But when his fingers plucked at her nipples, the moan that slipped from her lips had nothing to do with acting. He knew just the right amount of pressure, first circling the edges of her breasts, drawing ever closer to their centers, then arrowing around and around on the point, begging for his touch to make her juices run hotly through her body.

Now her low-cut gown was a blessing and the way her breasts were swelling was nothing short of a female’s signals of readiness to her mate. She leaned more solidly back against him and felt the hard force of him, his hardening cock a ready fit between the cheeks of her soft ass.

He cupped and caressed her breasts before reaching up with his thumb and forefinger and plucking her beaded nipple like he was playing a violin. Betsy licked her tongue across her top lip, trying to keep her groan of pleasure from escalating out of her throat. She felt his warm lips move down her neck and into the curve of her shoulder. She felt the length of his erection pressing harder against her butt and, for a second, for a glorious, amazing second, thought she could place her hand against the glass wall, lean forward and let him fuck her up the ass as they rode to the sun.