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But then...
I look down at my feet, caught off guard by my next thought.
If she was in that room, every other man in this place would get to enjoy her. I chew my lip, my thoughts spiraling. All eyes on her. That doesn’t sit well.
I force my feet forward, shaking my mind clear. “This is the extension.” It doesn’t sit well at all. “This is where I need your help.” We enter the new wing, and I spy the carpenter in one of the rooms on a ladder, drilling into the ceiling.
“This is all new?” she asks.
“Yes, they’re all shells at the moment, but I’m sure you’ll remedy that. Let me show you.” I seize her hand without thought and pull her to the last room, smiling at her when she doesn’t protest. Because she feels it too. Whatever that odd sizzle is, she feels it.
“Are they all this big?” She tugs her hand free, and it’s all I can do not to reprimand her for it. I don’t get much pleasure in life. Sex isn’t really pleasure. It’s a necessity. A means to an end. A habit. A vice. But physical contact with her is pleasurable and, frankly, it’s pretty fucking hard to let her withdraw from it.
“Yes,” I answer, and she gazes around.
“En suite?”
“Yes.” I lean against the wall as she disappears into the bathroom. These rooms are the last thing on my agenda at the moment. And at the top? How the fuck I’m going to convince this woman to have dinner with me. Somewhere else. Away from here. Away from the eyes of the male members. Away from the women who I absolutelyknowwill take an instant dislike to her, because she’s younger, fresher. And because I, the unfeeling, impenetrable lord of the fucking sex manor, am taken by her.
Ava emerges. Takes me in. Thinks. I’m suddenly wary, my eyes narrowing evidence of that, but I’m fucked if I can help it.
“I’m not sure that I’m the right person for this job.”
Oh no she doesn’t. Not a chance. No way.Make normal conversation again, Ward. Talk about tennis. TV. Music.“I think you have what I want.” And I say that. And I don’t only say it, I say it quietly. Suggestively.Boldness is all you know.And, worryingly, I can see her withdrawing. So yes, fuck it, the gloves are off.
I know attraction when it smacks me in the face, and this woman is attracted to me. So why the heck is she trying to be all cool? Could it be this place? Is she wary of my elaborate high-end sex club? That’s the stupidest question I’ve ever asked myself. Of course she is. Everyone unfamiliar with this lifestyle is wary of it. It doesn’t usually bother me. Not with anyone—my parents, my sister, no one. But this woman? I care that she might think it’s debauched. ThatI’mdebauched. And worst, I care that she’s right.
“I’ve always dealt in modern luxury,” she says, gazing around. “I’m sure you would be happier working with Patrick or Tom. They deal with our period projects.”
I don’t know who Patrick and Tom are, but it’s out of the question. I want her working here so I can work on her. “But I want you.”
“Why?”
“You look like you’ll be very good.”Jesus, Jesse, you couldn’t be more diplomatic?
Her eyes undeniably widen. “What’s your brief?”
Oh, now we’re talking. I’m quickly concluding that instinct is all I have here. I act on impulse. Always have. I smile a little. “Sensual, intimate, luxurious, stimulating, invigorating...”
Her frown throws me, I have to admit. “Okay,” she says slowly. “Anything in particular I should allow for?”
“A big bed and lots of wall hangings.”
“What sorts of wall hangings?”
“Big, wooden ones. Oh, and the lighting needs to suit.”
“Suit what?”
“Well, the brief, of course.” What’s amiss here? She seems confused.
“Yes, of course.” She looks at the ceiling. “Do all of the rooms have those?” she asks, looking back at me for an answer.
“Yes, they’re essential.”When they’re reinforced.
“Are there any particular colors I should work to or against?”
“No, knock yourself out.”
