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She gives a shy smile. “Thank you.”
I study her face for a moment, admiring the few freckles across her nose, the touch of pink in her cheeks, the curve of her Cupid’s bow. She bears my scrutiny with downcast eyes, then eventually lifts her gaze to mine. Immediately, my temperature rises by a few degrees. Her eyes are hungry, full of desire. I think she wants me almost as much as I want her.
“I’m hoping to learn a lot from your videos,” I tease.
She rolls her eyes. “I doubt I can teach you anything.”
“Of course you can. Because you’re an individual. We each have our own set of guidelines for dating, basic dos and don’ts, but learning to tailor-make them for each person is the hard part.”
“I guess.” She rubs her nose.
“Actually I think you’ve hit on a very important part of the process—the talking bit. Communicating needs and desires can only enhance pleasure.”
“I think so. But it doesn’t come naturally to many people. They’re too shy, or nervous, or self-conscious to say what they really feel or like. Afraid of looking silly, or going too far. I try to remember that what comes easy to me might not come easy to everyone else.”
“Talking dirty comes easy to you?”
She laughs. “Words do. But not to everyone. I’ve had some… personal disasters in that area, shall we say.”
“Some of your partners haven’t liked you doing it?”
“Not at all. I tend to scare men off.”
I hold her gaze for a few seconds. “You don’t scare me,” I murmur.
“No,” she whispers. “I can see that.”
I turn my fork in my fingers. “Do Caro and Hana know about your side business?”
“Yes. But they’re the only two who do. My family doesn’t.”
“I’m honored you told me, then.”
“Kinda had to,” she says. “Because of the poem.”
“Oh, true.”
“Although I didn’t have to admit everything. I don’t seem to be able to keep secrets from you.”
If she told me about the real reason for being in my office, I guess she feels she can tell me anything. Oddly, I like that. “So tell me more about your book. Have you always enjoyed romance novels?”
“Since I was about fourteen, I guess. I used to read Mum’s historical romances. Some of them were sweet, but some were what they call bodice rippers now, with vivid, flowery language. Lots of flaming swords being inserted into aching valleys.” She giggles, which makes me smile. It’s a lovely little chuckle, mischievous and naughty. “Then I got myself a Kindle and started buying online, and I read this one that made me…” She widens her eyes.
“It was explicit?”
“Oh yeah. You have no idea. Well, that was it. I read every romance I could get my hands on. I loved them. The thing is, everyone trashes them because of the sex, and obviously there are some terrible ones, but many of them have amazing storylines too.”
“You don’t have to justify it to me.”
“Well people—not just guys, women are just as bad, if not worse—can be so damning. They call it mommy porn and smut and trashy. And… I don’t know why people have to put them down just because they contain sex. What’s wrong with sex?”
“Nothing at all.”
“I don’t think so either.”
“There’s a lot of shame around sex,” I say. “I guess it’s to do with how you were brought up, or experiences you have when you’re young, I don’t know. It’s healthy, and it feels good, and I don’t see anything wrong with having it, enjoying it, or talking about it.”
She leans on the table. Her blue eyes are very light. “Me neither.”
