Oh no she doesn’t. Not a chance. No way. Make normal conversation again, Ward. Talk about tennis. TV. Music. “I think you have what I want.” And I say that. And I don’t only say it, I say it quietly. Suggestively. Boldness is all you know. And, worryingly, I can see her withdrawing. So yes, fuck it, the gloves are off.

I know attraction when it smacks me in the face, and this woman is attracted to me. So why the heck is she trying to be all cool? Could it be this place? Is she wary of my elaborate high-end sex club? That’s the stupidest question I’ve ever asked myself. Of course she is. Everyone unfamiliar with this lifestyle is wary of it. It doesn’t usually bother me. Not with anyone—my parents, my sister, no one. But this woman? I care that she might think it’s debauched. That I’m debauched. And worst, I care that she’s right.

“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.