“So, now for the main feature,” I tease, taking the stairs, Ava following. We circle the landing. “These are the private rooms.” I point to a few doors, my private suite included. Her. In there. I close my eyes briefly and try not to let the fantasy take hold as we reach the stained-glass window at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the communal room. I glance up, my mind off on another tangent. What would she look like up there? Hanging from a St. Andrews Cross? Shackled to a horse? Spread-eagled on a bed?

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 absolutely know will 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.”