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She clumsily grabs her water. She’s modest. Reserved. It’s refreshing after being surrounded by brash women my entire adult life. But she definitely needs to loosen up. Just a little, though. Not too much. Her disposition is endearing. Her awkwardness. Her terrible attempts to remain cool. That’s refreshing too.
This is so strange, this feeling. My fascination.Herfascination. I smile at the photographs, feeling her eyes drilling into me. I move my knee a fraction and brush her leg, and she jerks, moving away quickly.
“Do you have a toilet?” She’s up like a shot, faffing with her dress, and I slowly rise until I’m towering over her.
“Through the summer room and on your left.”
“Thank you.”
I remain exactly where I am, not giving her the space she needs, forcing her to edge her way past. She’s holding her breath. I’m definitely holding mine. My eyes follow her hasty steps all the way to the door until the wood separates us.
“Well, fucking hell,” I breathe, falling to my arse on the couch and staring forward. Ava O’Shea. I don’t know what I anticipated, but she most definitely wasn’t it. I blow out my cheeks, scrubbing my hands down my rough face. Just ask her out. Simple shit. Except, I don’t ask women out. I get plastered and fuck them in every filthy way imaginable, and something tells me she wouldn’t be all too amenable to an offer to join me in my private suite. She’s nothing like the women I’m used to, and I’m guessing Miss Ava O’Shea isn’t familiar with this lifestyle. But is she curious? Could she turn after she’s seen what I offer here? I pout.
Frown.
Recoil.
No. This place, it wouldn’t suit her. She’s too... lovely. She’s more lace, not leather. More passionate lovemaking than animalistic fucking. I sense she wouldn’t settle for anything less than a fairy tale, and I know, better than anyone, that all I have to offer is a horror story. Darkness. Ugliness. Pain. Sin. Guilt.
She’s out of your league, Ward.
The door swings open and I jump out of my fucking skin. “For fuck’s sake, Sarah,” I snap.
“Sorry. I finished earlier than expected. Want me to take ov—”
“No.” I grab the portfolio and start flicking the pages. “I’ve got it, thanks.” I risk a peek up at her, discovering exactly what I knew I would. A massive frown.
“Are you okay?”
“Yep.” That’s a lie. I don’t think I am okay. I feel... weird. And gutted. Because Miss O’Shea doesn’t fit into my box. “I’ll find you when I’m done.”
That frown doesn’t leave her face as she closes the door. It’s an achievement, considering the amount of shit she has pumped into it. I toss the folder on the table and start trying to master a plan because, and it’s a fucking revelation, I am affected.
I’ve justgotto know what’s under that navy pencil dress. Got to taste those lips. Got to feel those hips. Get to know her. Woo her.Then ask her out, Ward.That’s the correct etiquette, I believe.
All well and good, but I’m assuming she’s interested. I might have read this completely wrong. Perhaps she’s just off because she’s found herself at an elite sex club in a meeting with a man who, I fucking hope, breaks the stereotypical sex-club-owner type.
My eyes fall to her phone on the table. Hmm.
Like I said, boldness is all I know.
I quickly claim it and bring up the home screen. Go to contacts. Add my name and number. And I dial myself so I can save hers. Stalkerish? Absolutely not. I’m just saving myself the time and hassle of calling the firm she works for to get her contact details. You know, just in case she forgets to give me her card.
I rest her phone back on the table, my eyes on her bag. I look back at the door. Think. I’m in her handbag before I know it, finding what I’m looking for quickly. I pull out her wallet, open it, my shaking hands not helping me. I spot her driver’s license and pull it out, scanning the small card. And, horribly, my heart sinks a little. Twenty-six. She’s twenty-six. It’s confirmed.Waytoo young for me, and since she’s asked the question, she’s concluded I must be too old for her. “God damn it,” I breathe, deflating.
I hear a knock at the door.Fuck. I shove her wallet back in her bag and quickly reclaim her portfolio.
She enters, and I look up on a smile. It’s probably a guilty smile.Yes, I just totally violated your privacy. Yes, I’m wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.
My smile falls when I detect a change in her disposition. She seems more together. Resolute. I shouldn’t have let her use the ladies’.
She walks to the couch opposite, completely disregarding me when I make space for her to pass and join me on this couch. So she’s going to approach me professionally now, is she? Force herself to remain together?
Not if I have anything to do with it.
“Are you okay?” I ask, wanting her to know I’ve read the situation. That I’m aware.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
