‘Nope. As you well know, I don’t require a bed to have a good time.’ I let go of her hand and stick my hands in my pockets. ‘Plus, getting rid of them is way harder than getting them in here. So I just don’t do it.’

‘Aren’t you a charmer?’ she asks, but she sounds distracted. She looks around my room, taking in the dark grey linen-covered walls, the vast white bed and the views out to the private terrace and the river beyond. My room is a knockout. Serene. Luxurious. Simple. It has to be. My exhausting, exhausted brain needs a safe space to crash each evening, and this place is my sanctuary.

‘This is absolutely amazing,’ she says.

‘Thanks. And I don’t care if it sounds rude. It’s the truth. I have enough headaches without dealing with needy women who refuse to leave. You don’t count,’ I say hastily.

She laughs. ‘I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.’

‘It’s a compliment. We have a very productive, well-defined working relationship. And you always shoot out the door at six like a scalded cat. I don’t flatter myself that my bed is good enough to keep you hanging around like a bad smell.’

‘Such a charmer.’ Her smile is coquettish, and I think once again how bloody gorgeous she is. ‘It’s increasingly obvious why you have to pay for sex.’

I frown in a faux-menacing manner. ‘I’ll wipe that smile off your face with my dick. Now take those fucking clothes off and get on that bed.’

Why having Marlowe naked and spread out on my bed for me is quite so different from having her stripped and on all fours in my office, I’m unclear. But I’m staring at her like I’ve never seen her clearly before.

Every inch of her is stunning, sure. But this morning there are parts of her that warrant special attention, parts I’ve been guilty of neglecting thus far.

The impossibly thin, silky skin along her collarbone.

The freckle below her left breast.

The dip between her hip bone and her navel when she’s lying on her back.

I lie next to her, propped up on one elbow and as naked as she is, and I play. I explore. I trace the contours of her body with my fingers just as I marvel at the softness of her skin. I flip my hand and brush my knuckles over one breast, grazing her nipple softly, and she shudders.

‘Do you like me touching you?’ I ask quietly, and she turns her head to stare at me.

‘Of course I do. Can’t you tell?’

I hesitate. ‘Mostly I can. But, at the end of the day, I’m paying you to say that, aren’t I?’