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Hope returned to her office, then straightened a few things up. She watered the cactus on the windowsill, answered all her emails, even cleared out the receipts from her handbag. Then, out of busywork, she sighed.
Instead of picking up the phone, she stared at it. Mentally, she tried a few different approaches. They were all awkward—or worse, left her vulnerable and uncertain. She didn’t want to know this much about him. But at the same time, she was hungry for the information.
What the hell was wrong with her? She needed to find Rafe Sterling a wife. Instead, he’d upended her equilibrium.
Shaking her head at her cowardice, Hope snatched up her phone, searched out his contact information, then pressed the call button. She agonized through each ring and exhaled a relieved whoosh when she reached his voicemail. Damn it, even though his voice was recorded, the smokiness in his words sent little shivers of arousal skittering through her.
Since she had no business reacting to a client in that way, she cleared her throat before leaving what she prayed was a coherent message.
After the short reprieve, her anxiety spiked. Now she had to wait for him to call back.
Torturing her, he took most of the remaining workday. Tony and Skyler had already left the office, and Hope had been organizing her desk before heading to the gym.
In a small bit of retaliation, when the phone rang, she didn’t answer until the last possible second, right before her ringtone trailed off. “Prestige Group.”
“It’s Rafe Sterling.”
His voice sent tremors through her.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
Her spine lost strength, and she sank deeper against the back of her seat. “As you know, we are setting up the mixer.”
He waited without response.
She had no choice but to move forward. “I have an…indelicate question for you.”
“About…?”
What was the word he had used? “Your proclivities.”
“That sounds interesting.” Humor laced his words, as if he enjoyed making her uncomfortable. “Please, proceed.”
Hope cleared her throat. Fuck. “Are you a sadist?”
He chuckled, low and sinister, titillating her. “From your tone earlier, I thought the topic would be much more delicate.”
What did that mean? “So…” Her heart thumped in triple time.
“Can you be more specific?”
She squirmed. “I thought it would be a yes-or-no question.”
“Maybe for some people it is. I find it a little more complex. Do I enjoy inflicting pain for the sheer joy of hurting someone?”
She wondered where he was. In his office? Looking out the window? Behind his desk?
“Is the woman in question a masochist? Does she enjoy it? Does receiving pain fulfill something deep inside her?”
“Fulfill something?”
“Masochists love to receive pain. It can be inextricably linked to their happiness. Or does she fear pain?” His tone took on a serrated edge. “Is it on her limits list? Does the idea scare her? Will she do anything to avoid it?”
“Your potential match says she won’t date a sadist.”
“The short answer is no. I’m not. Well, not in the strictest sense of the word.”
Was everything complicated with him?
“However, I am more than happy to deliver the right amount to drive a woman wild. If she’s a masochist, she will find that I’m willing to make her happy. Some people differ on their definition of sadism. What about delivering a spanking that the receiver thinks is too much but makes her come? Perhaps it’s sadistic to duct tape a submissive to a chair and force her to watch a movie she hates. How about using vampire gloves to part her labia as I prepare to lash her clit?”
Her pussy throbbed. Uncomfortable, she shifted. He was answering a question, not speaking to her. He didn’t want to do those wicked things to her, even if she was picturing him spreading her wide in front of him.
The door to the exterior hallway opened. Her attention jarred, she scowled and pushed back from her desk. Though it wasn’t out of the question, guests didn’t often stop in without an appointment. So, unless Tony or Skyler had forgotten something, there was no reason for anyone to be in the office.
