He whistled in admiration. “To say I’m impressed is an understatement. Both with the sale, but also with what you’ve raised.”

“Thank you. Though that’s not all from my pocket. I do give a lot to every cause I raise money for, but my bigger job is simply asking others to open their wallets. I’m lucky to know many generous people I can call on,” she added, as if that somehow lessened the accomplishment.

He tapped her knee lightly with his fingertips. “And you convinced them to part with their money for a good cause. It’s amazing, however you slice it. Why did you decide to go into philanthropy?”

She reached for her glass and took a long drink. “Because I could.”

He brushed his fingers along her thigh, loving the simplicity of her answer. She’d chosen to do good because she was in the rare position of being able to. She could have done anything with her time, her money, and her access, and she’d opted to donate the hours in her day to help others. The choice was a deliberate one, and it said so much about her, in his view, that she’d picked this particular path. “Beautiful answer. I love that. I respect that. Did you ever think about starting another company? So many other entrepreneurs launch additional businesses.”

“I had no interest in being a serial entrepreneur,” she said, shaking her head. “I know I’m lucky to have had the successful run I had with my company—to start it when I did and sell it when I did. And now I’m lucky enough to use all my business skills to help with things that matter more in the world. I’ve raised money for animal charities, for sick children, for cancer research, for kids in need, for troubled kids, and so on. I’d much rather devote my time to doing that.” Then added, almost apologetically, “Even if it can be just as much work and take just as much management as running my own company.”

“I hear you on that. It must be consuming at times. Everyone needing and wanting things,” he said, flashing back to the gala and the way the two ladies there practically hunted Sophie down to make their own cases for the children’s wing.

“That’s true. Which is why it’ll be all the more fun to go for a joyride in my new car,” she said with a glint in her eye.

Though Ryan could jet off to Europe with her and hole up in a five-star resort on his dime, she could do all those things for herself, too, and then some. Ryan did well for himself, but he wasn’t in a position to drop that kind of cash on a car, and she was. Perhaps for the first time he was keenly aware that while he was successful, Sophie was in another class. It didn’t annoy him and didn’t make him feel any less of a man. But he wanted to make sure she was fine with everything. “There’s not much I can give you materially that you can’t get on your own,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Does that bother you?”

She laughed loudly. “Not in the least,” she said then reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. Her smile was gentle and tender. “You don’t have to shower me with expensive gifts. You don’t have to give me presents at all if you don’t want to. I loved the peach tulips, and the pinot grigio, and I am in some kind of mad love with the dress you had your sister track down for me. It’s beautiful, and it’s perfect for me, and I didn’t have one like it, and I’ve been coveting one. So thank you,” she said with a squeeze of his hand, then added softly, “Besides, the things I want from you don’t cost money.”

He tensed for a moment, shoulders tightening and chest burning. He wasn’t ready to have a more serious talk about commitment. Letting her in and talking more was all he could handle. “Such as?”

She took her time answering, trailing her fingers along his bare arm. “What I want is for you to take me for a ride in my new car someday.”

A groan rumbled through his chest, escaping his lips. My God, she was so fucking giving. He’d struck gold when he met her. She was precious and rare. “Pretty sure I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

“So that means you’d like to get behind the wheel?”

“There’s only one thing I want to do in that car more than drive it,” he said in a low voice, raking his eyes over her gorgeous figure.

She tapped her index finger against her lips and peered skyward. “Hmmm. You mean you want to see how far back the passenger seat goes?”

“Exactly. That’s exactly the kind of test drive I want to give you in your new car.”

She gestured to her iPad. “What if I told you I had pictures of it?”

He made a show it to me now gesture with his fingers. “I want to see that car,” he said then ran his palms up and down her calves, his way of imploring her. She murmured softly, a sound that said she was enjoying his touch. He took advantage of it, digging his thumbs into her ankles, and working his way up her legs, stopping to kiss her calves along the way.

She reached for her iPad, swiped a finger across the screen and then called up the email. “Are you ready to be dazzled by its beauty? Can you handle it?”

“If I can handle how gorgeous you are, this car won’t be a problem, because I’m sure it can’t hold a candle. But show it to me anyway.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” She turned the iPad around and showed him the photo. His heart skipped a beat. The auto was a thing of beauty. A gorgeous, gleaming, emerald-green sports car that stirred up every desire in him to hug the curves on a downhill, to hear the purr of the engine, to stomp on the accelerator in this sleek ride. He actually pressed his fingertips to the screen and stroked the photo.

She tossed her head back and laughed throatily. “Do you want me to wipe the drool from your chin now or later?”

He snapped her iPad case closed and set it down on the table. Reaching behind her, he lowered the lounge chair, then crawled over her, pinning her with his body. “You think I’m just going to let that impudent comment slide?”

The look in her eyes changed as she moved from that confident, saucy woman to the vulnerable, submissive one. “Are you going to punish me?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m not going to punish you. I’m going to make you work for it.”

“How?” she asked, and in that one word he heard the thrill of anticipation. Her own desire to be led like this was her drug.

He clasped her hands, threading his fingers through hers, watching every move she made—the way her lips parted, how her eyes followed his, how her chest rose and fell. He stretched her arms over her head, and gently pushed her hands beneath one of the wood slats at the top of the lounge chair.

“Hold onto the chair the whole time,” he said then moved off her to reach for an ice cube from his drink. He held it above her chest, as the first bead of liquid fell from the cube and landed between her lush breasts. Her nipples pebbled through the fabric of her bikini.

He lowered the ice cube closer to her skin. “Are you hot?”

She bit her lip and answered, “Very.”

“I had a feeling you might be.” He brushed it through her cleavage, and she shivered, gasping out loud at the first contact with the cold. “Does that make you feel better?”

“Yes,” she said on a feathery gasp. He ran the ice under her breasts, down her belly, and to the top of her bikini bottoms, picturing the treasure that lay beneath the white fabric—her wet, hot pussy. His dick throbbed in his swim shorts. His need to have her intensified.

He travelled to her sides with the ice, and she squirmed, writhing under his touch. She was a live wire. At every touch, she sparked. She ignited, responding to his words, his voice, his hands, and his body. It was intoxicating. It was addictive. He bent his neck to her, licking the shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue. She moaned softly, whispering his name in a barely audible voice.

It sounded like a plea.

His shorts made a tent now, pitched high. “Do you want me to touch you?