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His eyes darken dangerously. “You have no idea how much I want to put you over my knee right now.”

“Too bad I don’t have time for that,” I say breezily, running my hand over the waterfall marble island. Jesus. It must be nice to be rich.

“What I’m saying is, we could maintain a casual, just-sex situation. Nothing more.”

“Cool. An awkward, surface-level situationship. It’s the dream every girl dreams,” I say, distracted by the lovely brass faucet on the island sink.

“You can think about it.”

“Golly. So many choices.”

He seems to let that one go by. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to burn himself with any sudden movements. You’ve really got to keep an eye on that steamer.

“I was also thinking?—”

“I can’t wait to hear this one.”

He glares at me warningly. “You need a kitchen. I have an extra kitchen.” He stops there.

“Uh, I have a kitchen. As I already mentioned. There’s one in my house, as there is in most houses. I’m starting to think you may need to get your hearing checked. And your eyes, since you saw my kitchen yourself.”

“Yes, I saw it. Which means I know how badly you need one for your business. You can’t make cakes for clients in that place.”

I can, actually. It’s just extremely difficult and unenjoyable.

“So,” he presses on, “you can use this kitchen. For Quinn’s Cakes. You know… just for now.”

I’m shocked, truly. I can’t even believe he just said that.

“You want to trade sex for a kitchen?”

He glowers. “No, Quinn. I’m not mistaking you for a sex worker. The two offers are independent of one another.”

“How wonderful. Penisandappliances. It’s not even nine o’clock. This must be my lucky day.”

“How about this,” he says darkly. “If you sass me one more time, I’ll consider it an invitation to that spanking I mentioned. And it will bethorough.”

I ignore my lady parts as they beg me to sass him one more time.

“Look, I warned you that I need coffee. I’ll be much more equipped to handle the penis and appliances talk with caffeine and sugar.” He’s still glowering, so I add, “Sir?” There’s absolutely no deference in it, like there was when I said it while he was pounding me, but it’s the thought that counts.

He’s still frowning, but doesn’t pull me over his knee, so I think we’re good.

He pours the milk into our mugs, slowly. “So, sugar?”

“Yes, please.”

He stirs in sugar, then starts spooning in the foam like he’s gunning for some barista of the year award as I continue my wander around the room.

“So what do you think about the kitchen?” he asks me. “Will it work?”

Is he insane?

It’s absolutely gorgeous, and huge. The appliances are Miele. And the endless countertops, floor-to-ceiling cupboards, and ample shelves are a baker’s dream.

“I think I just need a minute.”

“Take all the minutes you need. I only have back-to-back meetings this morning.”