Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“Where’s he taking you?” I ask casually, I hope.
“To dinner, some Thai-Italian fusion place.”
“Sounds like a stomachache in the making,” I mutter. It’s little wonder she treats me like I’m an old git when I behave like one.
“Then we’re going to a club.”
Maybe I should have a word with him, remind him of Mimi’s position in this business. Of how close she is to Mum. Yes, that’s it. A quiet word with Polly should piss on his fireworks.
“Getting back to your sister’s birthday, we’re looking at thirteen people, possibly fifteen. Sixteen if you’re taking a plus-one.” She gives a small, polite smile.
I briefly consider lying. Then remember I’m not a teenager who plays games. “Thirteen. Potentially fifteen.”
“No date for you?”
“I feel like we’ve already talked about this.” Her cheeks pink, and I get a very visceral kick out of knowing she’s recalling our car conversation about a nameless, faceless woman. Why she likes the things she likes. Why she’s sexually submissive.
“We spoke, but it wasn’t what I’d call an edifying conversation.”
My smile slides into a tease. “You don’t think so?”
“Not where you’re concerned. You don’t date, but you have…assignations. I think that was about the strength of it.”
“How prim, Mimi. You can use your big-girl words, you know.”
“Curse, you mean?” I nod. “I don’t like to,” she adds. “It’s not my thing.”
But I’m not yet ready to give up. “My dad used to say that vulgarity is like good whisky. That it should only be shared with the right people and on the right occasion.”
“Is that what you believe, too?”
“No. I did once try to give up swearing, but I found I cunt.”
Her expression darkens, unimpressed.
I set off laughing. “So prim and proper,” I tease.
“I just don’t swear,” she proclaims as my chuckling draws off.
“You will.” At least I’d like to make her. Make her eyes roll back in her head as she spews a filthy stream of consciousness.
“You think you can make me?” she answers with a little too much daring. She barely moves but her answer is all cocked hip and attitude.
“Working with me will drive you to it.” It’s the nearest I’ll allow myself to get to the truth of it. “And being at Lavender’s birthday dinner pretty much guarantee’s it.”
“I’m invited?”
She looks surprised. And happy. I hadn’t meant to invite her, and while Polly would’ve done so anyway, I find I want her there. I bet she’ll turn up wearing a pretty dress, the kind that makes her look like a gift. A gift I’d love to unwrap but will end up just staring longingly at instead. But I’m not about to say any of this.
“Of course you’re invited. I’ll need your help as referee.”
“You’ll have games?” Now she looks slightly confused.
The game I want to play is let’s unravel Mimi. It’s a bit like pass the parcel but with only one player. Me. I get to unwrap each of her layers as I unravel her mind with my filth.
“Games? Only if you consider frightening whichever boy Lavender is currently dangling from her black-painted fingernails.”
“That’s not nice.” Her lips purse in disapproval.
“No, but someone has to do it. She has terrible taste in men.”
“And the role automatically falls to you?”
“Sadly, yes. At least since Dad died.”
“So you play the dad—” Her eyes fly wide as she bites off the end of the word, her cheeks going from pink to beet red.
“Like a dad, yes.” My lips quirk as I consider this. “Which is not,” I add, dropping my tone, “at all like playing a daddy.”
She swallows, her lashes fluttering as her breath leaves her chest in a whoosh. “That’s what I meant about your explanation not covering all the bases.”
“That’s a curious turn of phrase,” I purr, unable to help myself, it seems.
“I was kind of surprised how much fun skipping straight to third base was.”
I curl my hands around the arms of my chair, anchoring me to it when all I want to do is round my desk, pick her up, and slide home.
This is becoming a bit of a recurring theme. But then her phrasing penetrates my lust-filled brain.
“You’ve never…” Shit. “Don’t answer that,” I add quickly, but she’s already shaking her head, those gray eyes wide and solemn.
“They usually start north of my waistband, not that I have a ton of experience.”
Why do I like the sound of that? I’ve always preferred experience over a novice. Haven’t I? “Right, well, this conversation has crossed over into the inappropriate, so let’s—”
“I thought there must be a guy manual or something.” She gives an adorably pensive twist to her lips.
“A manual?” I’m really not sure what’s going to fall out of her mouth next.
“I don’t know. Like sexual lore or something.” She scratches her temple with her index finger, still in contemplation. “Maybe something on the internet?” And now she’s looking at me as though I have all the answers, which is flattering but also slightly daft. “It’s just, the handful of guys I have been with have all, you know.” With her palm, she makes a circle over her breasts. “Sung from a very similar hymn sheet?”