“Nah, I might be tied up.”

“Where’s Kate?” Ava asks, her cheeks bright red.

“She had a few deliveries to do.” Sam takes a swig of his beer, raising his eyebrows at me over his bottle. “She got all excited about taking Margo Junior out on her maiden voyage. I’ve been dumped for a pink van. I’m heading over when I’m done here.”

“Done what?” Drew says, and Sam’s happy eyes narrow.

“Fuck you.”

It’s time to go. “Bye, lads,” I call, tugging Ava away before they drop me in the shit. “Tell Kate Ava’s with me.” I make a sharp exit, Ava pretty much jogging along behind me to keep up. I pull the door of my Aston open, and she pouts.

“I want to go on the bike.”

“Right now, I want you in lace, not leather. Get in the car.” I’ve been waiting all day for my medicine. I’m sure I’ll keel over if I don’t get it soon and, thankfully, Ava must appreciate that, because she’s quickly in the passenger seat. I dive in the car and pull off like a bat out of hell, racing down the driveway. It’s time to stop driving like a dickhead.

But I can feel the want coming off her skin like steam, and that is not helping my urgency.

“One hundred thousand pounds is a massive overpayment,” she says casually, and I laugh. I was wondering when that might come up. What does she want me to say? That I want unlimited access to her?

I shrug. “Is it?”

“You know it is.” She throws me a half-dirty look.

“You’re underselling yourself,” I say to the road. I would’ve paid ten million.

“I must be the most expensive hooker ever.”

My smile falls. “Ava,” I grate, irritated. “If you refer to yourself in that way again—”

“I was joking,” she replies, chuckling.

“Do you see me laughing?”

“I have other clients to deal with.”

Unfortunately, yes, she does, and I’ll accept that so long as one of those clients isn’t Van Der Haus. “I know,” I say quietly, holding my tongue. I know Ava, and if I demand she removes him as a client, she’ll fight me on it for the sake of it. And ask lots of questions I can’t answer. “But I’m a special client.” I grab her knee, and she laughs.

“You’re special all right.”

I move my hand to her hip and squeeze, relishing her sweet squeal, before turning up the music. She sighs, settling back. I know she’s studying me. I know she’s smiling. And I hope she’s thinking about how much she loves me.

28

The roads are kind, which is a good fucking job because the closer I drive to Lusso—or, more to the point, my bed—the more impatient I’m becoming. It’s been a long, mixed day of amazing, frustrating, and worrying. We need to get back to amazing. The zeal swirling inside is becoming excruciating, and I can only compare it to a craving I’m all too familiar with.