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He swallows, wipes his mouth. “That is correct.”
“Well, that’s putting a lot of faith in my skills. How do you know that it would even work between us in the bedroom?”
This time he does laugh. “Oh, I’ve had enough women. I think I’m a fair judge of when the chemistry is there. And I’d say that it is indeed there for us.”
Suddenly my mouth is dry, and I can’t catch my breath. “But what if…what if I don’t agree? If I sign that contract and we go to bed. Am I stuck continuing with it for two weeks because of the notice?”
A dark brow arches. “What do you want, a grace period?”
I brighten. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’d like, um, one month…”
“One week.”
“Three weeks,” I persist.
His eyes harden. “One week,” he repeats.
This is getting frustrating. The more we talk about this, the more I can imagine those strong hands on my body again, touching me the way he’d touched me in the coffee shop bathroom. Kissing me everywhere. Pushing himself into me.
I take a deep breath and suddenly reach for the wine, sucking down half the glass before setting it down.
“How many times a week am I required—”
His brow furrows. “There’s no requirement. But after the first time, I think you’ll be willing whenever I can break away to see you.”
I arch a brow. “You have a lot of confidence in your skills.”
He smiles. He’s so goddamn fucking gorgeous that my already-soaked panties grow even wetter. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
I clear my throat. “Well, I haven’t.” I figure it’s best to throw that out there now and let him chew on it. Let him know that I’m not some party girl who knows all the kinky tricks. “I mean…I’m not a virgin or anything. But I’ve only been with one guy. My high school boyfriend. We were together for years and we first did it when I was fifteen, but—”
He waves a hand, a brief scowl passing over his beautiful features. “No need to give me a play-by-play, Madeline. I get that you’re nervous about your lack of experience. But I don’t care about that, because teaching you my preferences will be all the more enjoyable.”
“Well,” I hedge, “I do have a few firm boundaries.”
His brow lifts. “Such as?”
I swallow, suddenly uncomfortable. I don’t usually talk about my sexual preferences with strangers. “No group sex, no videotaping, and no anal.”
His beautiful eyes narrow, and I swear I can feel the intensity of his gaze on me. “Have you ever tried anal?”
I swallow. “No, of course not. I’d never degrade myself like that.”
He leans forward, his gaze hungry and intense. “I am telling you now, Madeline, I will own every inch of you. I will dominate you in every way imaginable. There can be no boundaries between us.”
I gulp. Literally gulp as a million images fly through my mind, picturing whatever it is he’d like us to do. And to my shock and horror, every single one of those possibilities excites me. I’m on a rush, like that thrill you get when speeding downhill at sixty miles per hour on a roller coaster or dangling from the end of a bungee cord or sitting front and center at a slashfest mashup of Nightmare on Elm Street and Halloween.
I’m surfing a wave of pure adrenaline. And it feels amazing, electrifying. I feel alive for the first time in years.
Not long after, we finish our meal and Evan signs the check. He rises and comes around to pull out my chair for me as I stand. Very old world and gentlemanly. When he draws near me, I can smell his cologne, that fresh windswept ocean scent of his. I swallow, turn my head away. It’s still early, not even ten, so I wonder what else is in store for us on what has to go down in the books as the world’s weirdest date.
“I have a suite booked, but I thought we could take a drive along the coast first,” he says.
I blink. That was presumptuous of him. “Why would you need to book a suite? I thought the members all had apartments at Exeter House?” I ask.
“I do have a penthouse here,” he says. “But it’s private, and I don’t bring guests to my private residence.”
“Not even your mistresses?” I ask, using that word I hate.
