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"I'll give you that demonstration anytime you like, love."
What the bloody hell am I doing? Seducing the wrong woman is what got me into trouble, so I will not try it on with Avery. Well, never again since I already did that—accidentally. Flirtation is a reflex.
"I'd rather talk about your image," Avery says. "That's why your mother hired me, after all."
"Do you live in the UK? You're obviously American, so I wondered."
"Maybe I'm Canadian. Ever think of that?"
"Well, ah…" No, I hadn't thought of that. My mate Logan MacTaggart can tell the difference between an American and a Canadian after hearing the person speak five syllables, but he used to be a spy. I'm just an average bloke.
Avery laughs, the sound light and gentle, almost teasing. "Relax, I was just giving you a hard time. I'm American. But no, I don't live in the UK. I go wherever my services are needed, which in this case means London. That's where my new client lives."
"Are you talking about me? I assume you have other clients here in the UK."
"Right now, you are my sole client. Lady Sommerleigh insisted that I manage your problem exclusively until it's settled."
Blimey. Mum is paying a beautiful woman to care for my needs and no one else's. I must be worse off than I realized. "How do you mean to settle my problem?"
"It's all about image. When I'm done, everyone will think you're squeaky clean and the perfect viscount."
"Perfect? Let's not overshoot the mark, darling. I'd settle for 'not a sodding arsehole.' "
"You aren't an asshole."
She tips her head side to side, squinting as if she's studying me with more intensity this time. Her attention makes me feel itchy, and I struggle to resist the urge to scratch my arms. Since she insists on scrutinizing me, I give in to the impulse to admire her body. Christ, I'd love to shag her.Don't even think about it, you bloody moron.
I can't control my thoughts, but I can shift my gaze away from her. Doing that takes a dismaying amount of self-control.
Avery glances at my feet. "You're not wearing shoes."
"No. Is that a problem? Should I wear shoes when I'm inside my own home as part of my image rehabilitation program?"
"I wasn't criticizing you. I'm surprised, that's all. Most of the aristocrats I've met would be horrified if anyone saw them without a tie on, much less no shoes."
"Yes, all peers share the same likes and dislikes. We're identical in every way. Might as well replace me with a robot replica."
She puckers her lips, but I think she's trying not to smile rather than preparing to chastise me.
I wave toward her feet. "Feel free to kick your shoes off. I won't tell anyone you did it."
Avery isn't wearing socks, which suggests she isn't as rigid as she seemed in my office earlier. Her entire demeanor has changed since the moment she walked into my flat. I liked her schoolmarm attitude, but this version of her makes me dangerously randy.
She kicks her shoes off and wriggles her toes. The nails are painted pink, naturally.
If I'd been dangerously randy a few seconds ago, now I'm about to get an erection. Her adorable little toes turn me on more than I would have expected. I'd love to suck on those digits—while we're naked. I don't have a general foot fetish, but some women love a good toe-sucking.
"That does feel better," she says with a smile as adorably sweet as her pink toenails. "Thank you, Lord Sommerleigh."
"For what?"
"Inviting me to take my shoes off."
"You're welcome to do that anytime in my presence."
Her brows lift as if she's waiting for me to say or do something. "Aren't you going to suggest I can take off other things in your presence too? You've been flirting with me, after all."
"Sorry. It's a reflex."
