She blows me a kiss and performs an elaborate curtsy, then dances off. I just manage to snap a picture of her before she disappears around the corner, and I look down at the screen she’s filling. “And this was the day you blew me to distraction,” I murmur, tucking my phone in my pocket. I rest my arse on the bonnet of my car, folding my arms over my chest. “Oh, Miss O’Shea, you’re walking on dangerous ground,” I say quietly, though she’ll never comprehend just how dangerous.

I glance across the street, seeing a bakery opening up. I smile to myself, heading over, and I find the biggest éclair there is. I scribble a note while they box it up. “Would you deliver this to the Rococo Union Office around the corner sometime this morning?” I ask, putting down a twenty. “Keep the change.” I dazzle the server with a wicked smile and she slowly pulls the note toward her.

“Sure.”

“Thanks.” I grab a water and step out into the sunshine, swigging it back. It’s just a few hours until one. I toss the bottle in a nearby bin, readjust my now tame dick, and start running toward Green Park, dodging the pedestrians, focusing forward.

My legs are soon numb and my body drenched. And despite the gorgeous scenery, I see only her.

I run for two hours, circling all the parks, nearly making it back to Lusso at one point. I head back to my car but detour down Bruton Street, just to catch a glimpse of her. She’s at her desk, relaxed back in her chair, twiddling a pen as she looks over some papers in her grasp. She still looks perfectly flushed. Perfectly engrossed. Perfectly mine.

I could stand here and watch her all day, but I won’t. Because that would be weird. So I force myself back to my car and race over to The Manor to get my bike, stopping by Lusso to pick up my helmet. It’s the perfect day to ride and, shit, do I need to feel the peace that can be found while speeding through the countryside on my Ducati.

I hear Jake in my mind yelling at me to take it easy. I smile. “Just because you would have ridden like a Nancy,” I say, reaching for the stereo. Placebo joins me, and I slip my shades on, cocking my arm on the window. I’m thinking. I’m thinking what an amazing track this is to make love to. I play it on repeat for the entire journey.

The second I cut the engine, my phone sings, and I huff a sardonic puff of laughter as I answer, taking the steps up to the entrance fast. “You need to stop saying stupid shit to Ava,” I warn Sam.

“What’s classified as stupid shit?”

“Anything relating to kinky sex.”