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Seeing her shift of expression, his smile fell away. He pulled out his phone. “I’m not sure when I’m going to be here next, but I can set something tentative. Do you have your schedule?”
She pulled out her own phone, glad he was willing to get down to work-related discussion, and yet strangely disappointed. They were too different—she wasn’t even into kink and it was his whole life, as far as she knew.
“I could just come to your place if it’s easier. Is it far?”
“My place?” he asked. “I guess that would work.”
“It might be less stressful than trying to get Beau ready and out the door on time.”
“True.”
“Does she have a regular naptime or bedtime we could capitalize on?”
“She’s usually asleep by nine, but I’m guessing that’s a bit late for you.”
“Not at all. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”
The interest was back in his pretty green eyes. Apparently, telling him she was a big girl who could handle it had made his mind go other places . . . which her own kept doing too.
“I’m free pretty much every night for the foreseeable future,” he finally said, “so pick your day.”
“How about tomorrow night? My brothers want to get the ball rolling.”
“Okay. Sounds like a plan.”
They said their good-byes and she walked out. She could almost feel his appreciative gaze on her backside. The extra sway she put in her walk was just to make him regret what he was missing out on. Honest.
* * *
* * *
Juliet stared, wide-eyed, as she drove slowly past a metal gate that had opened when she’d pressed the button on the intercom. Like a fucking movie.
This can’t really be his house.
But this was the address he’d given her and her GPS had taken her straight here. The driveway meandered past a beautifully manicured lawn to a jewel of a house. No, not a house. A mansion. It was fucking gorgeous. Gray stone with black detailing, it was dignified and uptight, and she developed an instant crush on it.
Holy shit. William Ellis was one rich bastard. No wonder he was so cocky.
She parked and walked up the stone steps to the black double doors, trying not to gawp. There’d been plenty of rich clients for the business, but . . . Will? Messy, cluttered, always-late, disorganized Will? Who owned a BDSM club?
She guessed the saying was true—sex sold.
The doorbell appeared to have been ripped from its socket, so she knocked. Would he even hear it?
He opened the door after a minute or so, looking sinful and delicious in jeans and a shirt that read FEED ME PIZZA AND TELL ME I’M PRETTY. She laughed and rolled her eyes, and he looked down at himself to see what she’d found funny.
“Oh. Beau spit up and I just grabbed something clean.”
“Interesting T-shirt.”
“Dex bought this one for me. Grant’s says the same thing, but substitute the word ‘pizza’ for ‘beer.’” He ran a hand through his short red hair. “I looked presentable at some point today, but you missed it.”
“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” she teased.
He backed out of the way and gestured her in.
“I like your hair.”
