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strokes stilled as she skimmed her hand down his stomach, curled briefly around his cock before dipping between her own legs. His gaze followed the movement as she circled her clit, slicking her fingers, advancing her own already out of control desire before lifting her hand to his lips. He slid to the hilt as he sucked her fingers into his mouth, curled his tongue around them, dragged them out as he pulled his cock from her body, only to push back into her channel, sending little sparklers of pleasure zinging through her blood, and she pushed against him, wanting the feeling to continue, to build. Her breath came in little pants as he deepened his strokes, pushed into her more quickly, his own breath sounding desperate, his pulse thudding in his throat, echoing in his chest, pounding in her cunt.
    Then she heard footsteps.
    "Vicente!” She pushed at his shoulders, trying to lower her leg, panic chasing those thrilling little fireworks from her blood.
    But he didn't stop stroking into her, instead curved his fingers into the cleft of her ass, stroking over her—oh, God. The sensation of his touch circling her tight hole, the approaching sound of footsteps and the deep, measured pounding of his cock inside her combined to send her rocketing, flying into pieces. He covered her mouth with his to quiet the whimpers that tore from her throat. His strokes quickened, deep, then shallow before she felt the pulse inside her, heard the sigh of pleasure that told her he'd come, too.
    And the footsteps continued to approach.
    "Vicente!” She tried to convey her urgency, difficult with his mouth still against hers, but after what felt like an eternity, he pulled out, dealt with the condom and his slacks as she buttoned her blouse.
    When the security guard rounded the corner, she was tucked in the crook of Vicente's arm on the bench, his arm braced on the seat behind her, both of them staring at Hampton Number Six.
    "Perhaps,” Vicente murmured when the guard gave them a nod and moved on, “we can get a copy of the video?"
    Horror bloomed in her chest when she followed his gaze to the camera positioned right at the painting.
    * * * *
    Veronica adjusted the neckline of her new black jersey dress as she looked in the mirror, nerves jittery as she waited for the buzzer that signaled her visitor. Vicente had called her into his office this afternoon and she'd walked in on shaky legs. She couldn't deal with another close encounter—not with Vicente, but with someone catching them in the act. She wasn't cut out for this. She'd adjusted her blouse and stepped into the office, heart pounding.
    He leaned back in his chair, bouncing a pen on his desk as he watched her with those damned sexy eyes. Okay, so she would do whatever he wanted, if he'd make her turn into a puddle of pleasure again.
    "I thought we could go dancing tonight."
    "Dancing.” Her body pressed to his, his hands on her, his attention on her, swaying to the music. “Yes. I'd like that."
    And as soon as five thirty hit, she'd run off to buy this dress, and new panties.
    This dress was a little more subtle than the dress she'd worn last night but still didn't hide much, with its plunging neckline, floaty skirt and clinging fabric. She could already feel Vicente's hands on her breasts through the thin knit.
    God. She still couldn't believe what they'd done this afternoon, couldn't believe the risk, the pleasure. But tonight she'd bring him back here, make love to him in her bed, in any position he wanted, just so she could savor him.
    He buzzed for her. She gathered her tiny purse, with her keys, phone, lipstick and condoms, in case he hadn't thought to get more, and hurried out the door and down to the car.
    Vicente lounged against the car, arms folded, looking devastating in a maroon shirt and dark slacks. His gaze swept appreciatively down her body as she approached, and he pushed away from the car to open the door for her.
    "Is all your evening wear so provocative?” he