Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“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.”
She glances up, startled. “Excuse me?”
“Go for it,” I say around a smile. I couldn’t give a fuck what colors she chooses.
“You mentioned a big bed. Any particular type?”
Big enough for me to tie you up. Big enough for us to roll around in. “No, just very big.”
“What about soft furnishings?”
“Yes, lots.” I’ve had enough of dancing around this obvious chemistry. I’m being suggestive at every turn and she’s sidestepping it all. I need something she can’t sidestep. Something unmissable. “I like your dress.” On my floor.
“Thanks.” She’s off, virtually sprinting away. “I have everything I need. I’ll get some designs together.”
I stand like a plum for a few moments, my brain playing catch-up. Everything she needs? I go after her, because I definitely don’t have everything I need.
By the time I make it to the top of the stairs, she’s halfway down. Fuck, the woman moves fast. I shoot down after her, just reaching the bottom as she whirls around.
She’s a hot mess. I’m there myself but concealing it far better than she is.
“I look forward to hearing from you, Ava.” I offer my hand, and she takes it, if cautiously. The tingles are instant. And addictive. Jesus, give me more of that.
“You have a lovely hotel.”
I withdraw. Hotel? What is she talk . . .
Realization slams into me like a hurricane. What the fuck? She doesn’t know. Fuck me, she doesn’t know what this place is. What we do. Is she that oblivious? That innocent? I don’t know whether to be relieved or worried, because it’s clearly not my establishment making her all awkward, but simply me. “I have a lovely hotel,” I whisper, staring at her as the tingles ride through me at an epic rate. My heart kicks, like it’s telling me it’s still there. Always has been. Unfeeling, uncaring, but always there. Just dimly beating to keep me in this miserable life.
She yanks her hand free on a sharp inhale of shaky breath.
“It really was nice to meet you, Ava.”
“You too.”
I look around the lobby, thoughtful. Well, this certainly changes things. Should I tell her? My answer comes quickly. She can hardly cope with me, let alone my manor and all that happens here. She’ll run farther and faster. I’ll never see her again, and I really want to see her again. Feel all of these feelings. Smile and mean it. Talk because it’s pleasurable. Observe her, even if she’s simply working.
I spot the spray of callas the florist arranged earlier, stepping forward and pulling one free, inspecting it. If Ava O’Shea was a flower, she’d be this one. “Understated elegance,” I say quietly as I hold it out to her, staring into eyes I’m pretty sure I could drown in.
I can’t describe the euphoria I feel when she accepts it. “Thank you.”
My hands go straight into my pockets where they’re safe. “You’re more than welcome.” My eyes fall to her lips. How many men have kissed those lips? Admired them? Wanted to shove their cock past them?
I scorn myself for my depravity.
“There you are.” Sarah’s shrill voice has my hackles rising, but I refuse to take my eyes off Ava. She kisses my cheek, pissing me off further. “Are you ready?”
I say nothing, unable to get my eyes under control. They’re greedy for every little bit of Ava O’Shea they can get.
Sarah drapes herself all over me. I know what she’s doing. She’s not the only woman around here with the balls to do it either. “And you are?” she asks.
“Just leaving. Goodbye.” Ava retreats swiftly, turning and dashing away.
“Well,” Sarah muses, her tone full of sarcasm, “it all makes sense now.”