Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
I’ve never seen a woman so clearly. Never wanted one before I’ve had a drink. This woman though? It’s instant, uncontrollable attraction, and that is so very unfamiliar to me. So unfamiliar, in fact, I have absolutely no idea how to be.
“Yes. Ava.”
I shake myself out of my useless state as I step away, aware I’m crowding her. I’m not dealing with the kind of woman I’m used to. I also slip my hands in my pockets, restraining them. Everything feels out of control—my mind, my mouth, my body. “Thanks, John.” I glance across to him where he’s standing by the door, giving him a look that tells him I’m in unchartered territory. But he knows that. He knew it the moment he met Ava O’Shea at the door.
He smiles. Leaves.
And my eyes fall back onto her, starving for more. Jesus. I shake my head to myself, searching for some direction. A seat. Offer her a seat. I motion toward the couches as I head for my drinks cabinet. “Can I get you a drink?” I stare at the endless bottles of spirits, my head totally bent. A drink? Did I just offer her an alcoholic drink in a midday meeting? I frown to myself and turn to find her.
She’s looking at the cabinet too, her own frown in place. “No, thank you.”
“Water?” I ask, unable to stop laughing on the inside at my own stupidity.
“Please.” She smiles mildly, still standing where I left her. Is she experiencing the same level of uselessness as me? Shaky legs, brain malfunction?
I pull two bottles of water from the fridge as she finally makes her way to the couch, giving me the perfect view of the perfect silhouette of a perfect body in that perfect dress. Good Lord, help me.
I collect a glass. “Ava?”
She pauses. Looks back. And my cock, the one that usually only responds under the influence, twitches behind my boxers.
It’s alarming. Unsettling. How old is she? I’m frowning to myself again. Actually, how old am I? I haven’t celebrated a birthday since I lost Jake.
“Yes?” she asks, turning to face me.
“Glass?”
“Yes, please.” She smiles and my dick very nearly fucking explodes. I work to talk it down as she settles and pulls something from her bag, setting it on the table before her with her phone, shaking her hands subtly as I wander over and sit opposite her. Right now, it’s the best seat in the house, and there are some fucking amazing seats around here. I put the waters on the table and relax as she scribbles notes on a pad. I can’t help but think she’s distracting herself.
“So, where do we start?” I ask, trying to kill the awkward silence that’s fallen. She looks up as I take a swig of water, her eyes falling to my lips. I smile, and she startles, distracting herself once again by pouring some water. I should have done that. Poured her water. What kind of gentleman are you, Ward?
“I guess you should tell me why I’m here.” She braves facing me.
“Oh?” Yes, why is she here? My thoughts are all over the place, and she is dominating them. Just her. Nothing else. No shitty past. No guilt. No shame. No pain. Just her.
“You requested me by name?” she murmurs.
Ah. Interiors. This beautiful specimen is a dab hand at amazing interiors. “Yes.” My smile is natural. Not forced. I just love how she’s struggling to look me in the eye. She keeps taking a timeout, looking away, gathering herself, before facing me again. It’s . . . fascinating. I know I affect women, but none of them try to hide their attraction. Perhaps, maybe—definitely—because all the women I encounter are members of my fine establishment. Inhibitions are lost. Beating around the bush is just a waste of time, when you could simply spell out your desires and get-fucking-on with it. Which everyone does at The Manor, including me. But this woman . . . that’s not in her. Boldness isn’t the way forward here.
But it’s all I know.
I feel my forehead wrinkle again. The way forward to what exactly, Ward?
“So, may I ask why?”
“You may.” I inch forward on the couch and rid my hands of my water, keeping my arse on the edge, my forearms on my knees.
“Okay. Why?” she asks, unsure.
“I’ve heard great things about you.” Is she blushing? It’s cute. And something else I’m not familiar with.
“Thank you. So why am I here?”
“Well, to design.” I laugh to myself, my thoughts filthy. My answer could be very different.
“Design what, exactly? From what I’ve seen, everything is pretty perfect.”
She’s right, but as of now I’d have her redesign the entire place if it meant keeping her here for longer. Just to look at her. Admire her. Feel these odd tingles and be rid of the never-ending cycle of self-annihilation that is my life. “Thank you,” I say. “Do you have your portfolio with you?” I’m dragging this out. I don’t need to see her previous work. I’ve seen everything I need to see at Lusso to know she’s the woman for the job. But, shit, I’m getting far more than I bargained for.