LITMIR.BIZ

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the inside out. ‘Yes.’

      She blinks, even that simple gesture distracting. ‘Why?’

      Great question. Why do I care? I turn away from her a little, staring out at Dublin as it passes in a brightly lit blur.

      There’s uneasiness inside me. Something I can’t put my finger on. A hesitation I don’t understand, and I tell myself it’s because none of this makes sense. I’m someone who likes to comprehend people, what makes them tick, why they act the way they do. My job and life are predicated on my abilities there. But with this woman, I can’t make sense of it.

      She’s surprised me. I’m not often surprised. ‘How old are you?’

      ‘Twenty-three.’ More defiance.

      I barely register it though. I turn back to face her and my scepticism must show, because she regards me with a look of defensiveness.

      ‘A twenty-three-year-old virgin.’ I drawl the words, while my mind rushes furiously, trying to comprehend this.

      ‘So?’ She moves a little closer, her eyes sparking to mine, a hint of her vanilla fragrance catching my nostrils. ‘What does that matter?’

      ‘I’m not interested in being your first.’ That’s obviously not completely true. My dick is hard, my body’s surging with adrenaline and desire.

      ‘Liar.’ She calls me on it with a soft laugh and, to my surprise, unbuckles her seat belt and slides across the leather seat, right to my side. ‘I’ve seen the way you look at me.’

      I fix her with a level stare; my cock throbs. ‘And how’s that?’

      ‘Like you’re undressing me with your eyes.’

      She’s right. That’s exactly how I’ve been looking at her since she first started working at the bar. ‘Is that right?’

      She nods slowly, her eyes not leaving my face. ‘I think you want to fuck me.’

      She’s brazen, I’ll give her that. ‘Yeah.’ It’s a gruff admission. But then... Jesus. A virgin. ‘I don’t do relationships.’

      Her brows arch and then she laughs. ‘Good. I don’t want that.’

      Relief washes over me, followed quickly by uncertainty. ‘Why not?’

      ‘For one—’ she presses a hand to my chest, her gaze following its path ‘—I’m only in Ireland another few weeks. Second, I don’t “do” relationships either. At least, not now. I’m not looking for any kind of emotional complication.’

      ‘You say that now...’

      She laughs then, a sound so sweet it’s unbelievably sexy. I wonder if she knows how she’s driving me crazy. ‘You think you’re so good in bed I’m going to forget my travel plans and beg to stay here with you?’

      I realise how arrogant that sounds and my own husky laugh fills the limo. ‘You never know.’

      She sobers, her eyes narrowing. ‘I do know.’ Steel crosses her expression. ‘I will be leaving Dublin in less than three weeks.’ The words are vice-like. ‘Nothing and no one will change that.’ Her fingers creep higher, to the button of my shirt. She flicks it, her tongue darting to the corner of her lips as she concentrates on pushing it through the shirt hole.

      ‘But, before I go, I want to do this.’ Her fingers creep inside my open shirt and my gut clenches. Desire pounds through me, thick and fast. ‘With you.’

      Her gaze has dropped to my mouth. Her lips separate. My body rushes with need.

      Fuck, I want her. I want her even more than I did when I thought she was just a hot bargirl.

      But she’s a virgin. She has no idea what she’s asking of me. No idea what she might feel once we’ve slept together. It takes practice to be able to fuck someone and forget them almost instantly. I’ve acquired that skill over the years. Or maybe I always had it. Maybe that’s something to do with growing up the way I did; you learn to get good at cutting people off.

      Despite what Millie’s saying, I’m not sure I believe her.

      ‘I don’t do virgins.’

      Her eyes are slightly mocking when they lift to mine. ‘Is that a rule you’ve got, Michael?’

      Her Australian accent is broader when she says my name. It’s hot. I like it. More than I want to.

      ‘So you don’t do relationships.’ She moves her fingers to the next button down, undoing it, her expression lightly teasing. ‘You don’t do virgins.’ She bites down on her lower lip. ‘But will you do me, Michael?’

      I catch her hand at the wrist, pulling it away from my chest, moving it to her lap. It’s a mistake. At least it’s a mistake if my goal is to put some distance between us. Because her skin is so soft beneath my fingers, and our bodies are closer now. She’s warm. She’s beautiful. She wants me.

      Shit.

      I have never slept with a virgin—not even when I was one. The thought of being someone’s first has never really appealed to me. It’s too emotional. Too...something.

      ‘It wouldn’t mean anything,’ she murmurs, and that shimmers inside me, giving me hope but also pause for thought.

      ‘And don’t you think it should?’ Hypocrite, my cock screams, reminding me of how little sex means to me, generally.

      She shrugs. ‘I think...that’s a judgement call.’

      I like her. At least I like the way she thinks. ‘And your judgement’s telling you this is what you want?’

      She nods slowly, and then her hand creeps away from mine, from her lap, to my dick. My breath hisses out of my mouth as she runs her fingertips over it briefly, testing its hardness, her smile just a ghost on her beautiful face.

      ‘And my judgement is that I’m a twenty-three-year-old virgin who doesn’t want to be.’ She bites down on her pillowy lower lip and I groan. ‘Will you help me?’

      What’s wrong with me? Why the hell am I not just pulling her into my arms and fucking her right here? It wouldn’t be anything I haven’t done before, I think with a grimace. Is that it? Is there some kind of bullshit part of me that feels...undeserving...to be her first? Because my attitude to sex is generally so cavalier that I don’t want her virginity?

      That’s madness, and it’s not me. Is it?

      I have no idea why I’m hesitating.

      I shake my head, as if I can mute my doubts that way.

      ‘Don’t,’ she murmurs, her hand lifting back to my throat. She smiles as she slides her fingers into the fabric, running them over my chest, to my shoulder. She lifts her legs, curling them over my lap, and I realise—belatedly—that she’s not wearing a seat belt.

      I reach behind her, my arm brushing her breasts. ‘Buckle in.’ The words are gruff, like an order.

      She doesn’t move, so I slide the seat belt around her, hooking it into the clasp. When I lift my head, her face is right there. And she’s smiling. A knowing smile. Because, for all I’m saying ‘no,’ I think she feels my body, she feels my desire, she knows what I want. And it’s exactly what she’s suggesting.

      ‘Millie...’ The word is a warning. ‘You’re playing with fire.’

      ‘Mmm...’ A throaty noise of agreement. ‘And I badly want to get burned.’

      I pull a face. ‘You’ve just got all the answers, haven’t you?’

      She shrugs, her slender shoulders dragging my eyes lower, to the curve of her breasts. Desire whips me from the inside out.

      ‘Sometimes.’

      ‘So, answer me this. Why haven’t you slept with

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