The Casanova (The Miles High Club Book 3)

He stands back and with my hand in his, he holds it up while his gaze drops to my toes and back up to my face. “You look beautiful,” he whispers.

I smile softly.

He kisses me again. “Let’s go, before I eat my dessert before dinner.”

He leads me out to the Bentley and opens the rear door and I slide in.

The driver nods in a greeting, and Elliot slides into the seat beside me.

“Andrew, this is Kate.”

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

Andrew pulls out into the traffic and Elliot holds my hand on his lap; his thumb dusts back and forth over it as if he’s deep in thought.

“How was New York?” I whisper. Can Andrew hear what we are saying? This is weird, having someone listen to our conversation.

Elliot gives me a slow, sexy smile and leans down and takes my lips in his. “It didn’t hold me there, put it that way,” he murmurs against my lips; his thumb rubs back and forth over my cheekbone as he stares down at me.

Oh . . .

Good grief, this man wrote the book on seduction.

I already want my dessert too.

I smile bashfully as I feel my cheeks heat.

He’s so intense.

He pulls back and licks his lips, tasting my lipstick. “In a moment, Andrew is going to drop you at the restaurant. We will circle the block and you will go in and say you are a guest of Mr. Miles—they will take you to a private dining room.”

My face falls.

“I’ll join you in two minutes. We’ll have privacy this way.” He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it as if to soften the blow; he can sense my disappointment. “You’ll get used to it, sweetheart,” he says softly. “This is how I am.”

I fake a smile and turn my attention out of the window; he doesn’t want to be photographed with me.

Stop it.

“Maybe I should do a runner before you get there,” I murmur.

He chuckles. “Try it and see what happens to you.” He lifts my hand to his lips once more. “I would track you down.”

“I can run fast,” I tease.

“I run faster.”

We stare at each other and I get the feeling that on some level I’ve just been warned.

He likes control.

“We don’t have to go to a restaurant if you don’t want to,” I offer. “Seems like a lot of hassle.”

“No, I’ve booked already. It’s my favorite, the food and cocktails are to die for. You’ll like it, I promise.”

I nod and he holds my hand on his lap.

Moments later the car pulls up outside an Italian restaurant. I can see a few photographers seated on crates just up the road.

“I’ll let you out around the corner, Kate,” Andrew says casually.

“Okay.”

The car turns the corner and pulls over. “Just go into the foyer of Bella Donna and tell them you’re a guest of Mr. Miles, they’re expecting you,” Elliot reminds me.

I nod. “Okay.” I go to get out of the car and he pulls me back into the seat and kisses me once more. My nervous eyes flick to Andrew in the front seat as he stares straight ahead: how many times has he seen this scenario?

This is weird.

I pull out of his kiss and open the car door in a rush.

I walk around the corner and into the restaurant.

The hostess smiles. “Hello.”

“Hi, I’m a guest of Mr. Miles.”

The woman fakes a smile and looks me up and down. “Of course, this way please.”

I follow her through the restaurant and she opens a large door and we walk down a corridor; she opens another double door and there’s a room with its own fireplace and a table set for two. It’s lit with candles and the room is ultra-romantic.

She pulls out a chair and takes my coat. “Can I get you a drink while you wait for Mr. Miles?”

I stare at her, she knows the drill; how many women does he bring to this room?

“Yes, I’ll have a margarita and a tequila shot, please.”

She smirks.

“Actually, make that two shots.”

“Okay.” She goes to walk off.

“Can you hurry with the shots please?” I all but beg.

She smiles broadly. “One of those nights?”

“You could say that.”

“Sure thing.” She disappears out and I look around the room. Wow. It really is out of this world, looks like I’m in a fancy ski lodge in Switzerland or something . . . not that I’ve ever been to a fancy ski lodge in Switzerland, but this is what I imagine it would look like.

The door opens and Elliot appears, smiles, bends, and kisses me before taking a seat. “Hello.”

He’s very kissy.

I force a nervous smile and the waitress arrives with a silver tray.

Oh no, you were supposed to bring that before he got here, fool.

“Here you are, one margarita and two tequila shots.” She places them down in front of me; my eyes flick up to Elliot and he smirks, clearly amused.

“Thanks.”

“Thirsty?” he asks.

I nod, pick up my margarita and take a sip, wishing I could drain the whole damn glass.

“I’ll have a bottle of Barbaresco 1996,” Elliot tells the waitress.

“Of course, sir.” She disappears again.

With a shaky hand I sip my margarita and Elliot leans his face on his hand as he watches me. His pointer finger runs up his temple, and he seems completely relaxed. “Are you nervous?”

“Little bit.” I take a bigger gulp of my drink.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You can pass me that tequila.”

He raises an eyebrow and passes me a shot glass.

Oh hell, I look like the world’s biggest loser, but it’s either skull this or be a nervous nutcase all night. I tip my head back and drain the glass.

“You swallow well.”

I glance up.

His eyes are dark and we both know he’s not talking about the tequila.

Okay, it’s official, Elliot Miles has plans to break my vagina tonight.

I can already tell.

“Umm . . .” I hold my hand out for the other glass, not drunk enough for this conversation.

He passes the other shot glass over and I knock it back, just as the waitress arrives with the fancy bottle of wine. “Here you are, sir.” She pours a little into a glass for Elliot to taste.

He swishes it around his mouth. “That’s fine, thank you. We’d like privacy please. I’ll call for you when I want something.”

I can see her smirk under her serious facade.

“Yes, sir.” She disappears back into the kitchen and I know that she knows exactly why I’m slugging tequila like a sailor. I want to go back to the kitchen, discuss this messed-up situation, and drink with her.

Elliot reaches under the table and, with a sharp movement, pulls my chair around closer to his. “That’s better.” He puts his large hand over my thigh. “I want to touch you.”

The heat of the tequila begins to warm my blood. “You’re very touchy,” I whisper.

“You’re very touchable.” His eyes drop to my lips and he reaches down and cups my face. “What did you do while I was away?”

“Nothing much . . .” My voice trails off; how am I supposed to string a sentence together when he’s looking at me like that?

He puts his mouth to my ear. “Did you touch yourself?” he whispers. His breath tickles my skin and goosebumps scatter up my arms.

“Did you?” I ask.

His lips dust mine. “Every day. Coming is my favorite pastime.”

I get a vision of him pulling himself and my insides begin to melt into a puddle.

How is he so hot?

“You come every day?” I whisper.

“Yes.” He sits back. “Don’t you?”

I shake my head.

“Well.” He takes my hand and puts it over his crotch; he’s rock-hard underneath his jeans. “We’ll have to do something about that.” He flexes his dick beneath my hand. “Won’t we?”

I stare at him as my brain begins to melt down.

There is just no mincing words, he’s full-on sexual. I know Elliot, I know he’s an aggressive man, and when he sees something that he wants, he gets it.

I don’t know why I’m surprised that he’s like this . . . but on some level, I am.

“You’re going to make me come . . . every day?” I whisper.

He chuckles and grabs a handful of my hair and drags me to him. “Baby, I’m going to make you come until you pass out.”

Fucking, fuck, fuck.

No need to even get me naked, I’m about to pass out now.

I smile as my tequila bravery begins to kick in. “We’ll see.”

“We will.” He pats his lap. “Over here.”

“What?”

“Spread those pretty little thighs and sit on me.”

“Here?” I squeak.

His grip on my hair tightens and he kisses me, long, deep, and slow, and I begin to lose control.

“Kate,” he demands. “When I ask you to do something, you do it. No questions asked.”

My heart begins to hammer in my chest.

“Now,” he repeats.

I blink in surprise. What have I got to lose, I’m going straight to hell already for sneaking around with a bad man. I stand up and he lifts one of my legs and puts it over him, and then he pulls my dress up so I can spread my legs as he pulls me down so I’m sitting on his lap.

We come face to face, our bodies snug up against each other. “That’s better.” He kisses my chest and nips my breast with his teeth.

We are in a restaurant.

This is like nothing I’ve ever done before—so unexpected. Wrong, but holy hell, so hot.

He stares up at me. “Make yourself come, angel.”

“What?” I whisper.

“Rub yourself over my cock, I want you to come before dinner.”

“Elliot,” I breathe, “are you crazy?”

He smiles up at me as his lips take mine. “My pleasure comes from watching your pleasure.”

He grabs my hips and circles them as he kisses me, my clitoris strategically placed over his erection. Teasing, taunting me to want more.

And I do.

He’s so hard beneath me, and his dick is rubbing in all the right places. “Elliot,” I breathe into his mouth.

“That’s it, baby, can you feel me? Feel what I’ve got for you?” He kisses me deeply. “I’m so full.” He murmurs into my mouth, “I need to come, it’s yours. Take it.”

Oh . . . fuck.

The sound of his familiar deep voice saying such dirty things fries my brain and I shudder as I begin to lose control.

“You want to come, too?” He circles me deeper. “I can feel how bad you need it.” His lips go to my ear. “Are you swollen and wet for me?”

I close my eyes as my body begins to rock of its own accord; it has an agenda now and I couldn’t stop it if I tried.

“Maybe I should spread you out on this table and lick you out . . . right here.” He bites my ear. “You don’t know how badly I need to taste you. It’s all I can think about.” He bites my neck hard and I jump, teetering on the edge of pain.

What the ever-loving fuck—Elliot Miles is the king of dirty talking . . . and we haven’t even made it home yet.

I shudder again and his grip on my behind tightens to near painful.

His eyes are dark, his big, beautiful lips are hungry. “Give me some cream, baby, you fuck that cock of mine.”

I convulse as I tip over the edge, the orgasm so strong that I whimper into his mouth; he smiles triumphantly as he kisses me as I come back to earth.

He leans back and watches me; he tenderly tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear.

“Now . . . we can eat.”