Page 25 of Pretty Mess

“Fuck, sorry.” I blanch. “Sorry. I’m not supposed to be swearing.Shit.” I wave a panicked hand. “Oh god, can you forget that? If you know Julian, please don’t tell him I swore.”

“I shall take your secret to my grave,” he says solemnly. “Which is probably a lot closer since I walked into this bedroom.”

“Is that a long-winded way of saying you’re not getting any younger?” My eyes widen in complete horror. “Mocking the punter is completely against the rules…”Oh hell. I say in a rush, “Please could you also ignore the fact that I just called you a punter.”

“Yes, it does rather make me sound like I’ve gone greyhound racing. What else was on your list of rules?” His shoulders suddenly tense beneath his beautiful suit.

Maybe he hadn’t meant to ask that question?

This situation is so far from my usual social interactions, and I know I’m doing it wrong. I wonder, panicked, if he’ll decide I’m not worth the money, but he settles back against an antique table and raises his eyebrow.

“I should douche,” I blurt. “Which you should definitely not worry about, because I’ve done it already.”

“The world is indeed a wondrous place.”

I grin at him. I like the wry note in his voice. It’s very attractive. “I have to be willing but not too eager. Some clients don’t like that. I have to wax, which, let me tell you, was one of the most painful things I’ve experienced in my life. You should know that I aged a few years on that table just to make the area around my bits silky smooth and up for inspection.”

“Good god. Like a parade ground.”

“I also shouldn’t talk too much.”

“I somehow think that’s a losing battle.”

“Yes, that’s what Julian said.”

“Julian?”

“He’s a regular here, and he’s like my mentor. He gives me…” I hesitate, remembering that this is a client. “…lots of advice that I can’t say any more about because we have to keep some things secret. Just know that there’s a lot more in my dossier,” I add in a glum voice.

His mouth twitches. “How horrendous.”

“You have no idea.” Silence falls. He seems to be waiting for something. I flinch. “Sorry. I should be naked, shouldn’t I?” I start to tear my clothes off.

“Wait.”

I drop my hands and try to raise an eyebrow of my own, but I’m probably just waggling both eyebrows at him like I’ve told a risqué joke.

“Slowly,” he commands and settles gracefully into an armchair.

“Oh, okay.” I raise one hand to my necktie awkwardly. “Are you sure you want that?” He stares at me. “I mean, sorry. I shouldn’t ever question you, either.”

“Goodness, I could do with Julian training my staff at work.”

He gestures at me to get on, so we’re obviously done with the allotted small talk.

My tie’s knot refuses to give way, and I suppress a nervous sigh. I’ve got naked in front of quite a few blokes, but it’s usually a free-for-all with the other person getting naked too. I’ve never had someone settle down to watch me take off my clothes, and my hands feel like they’re twice their size. He watches me with a shuttered expression. Yet there’s a tic pulsing in his jaw, and something about that tiny, uncontrolled movement floods my body with a wave of heat. I suddenly feel a lot more confident.

Reaching up, I finally slide my tie from my collar. I fist the silk, sliding it along my hand as I watch him, the sound of the luxurious fabric over palm almost loud in the quiet room. I toss it to the side, shrug out of my jacket, and throw it over a chair. Then I reach up and start to unbutton my shirt. His eyes watch my every movement, and I postpone the moment when the cotton will part and reveal my chest. My fingers move slowly along the buttons. When they’re finally undone, I part the shirt with both hands, spreading it out and standing still so he can see me.

I’ve never thought of my body as all that much. I keep fit because I like to look good, but mostly because exercising eases me and lets me think. Now I’m glad of all the time in the gym as I watch his eyes skip over my abs.

“You’re golden in this light.” There’s an intriguing hoarseness in his beautiful voice.

Usually, I’d have a joke ready, as I like my sex free and easy, but now I don’t want to speak. I don’t want the spell I’m weaving to be broken. So instead, I nod and shrug out of the shirt, addingto the pile of stuff on the chair. I deal with my socks and shoes and then step closer, watching his gaze tracking my fingers as they play over my belt. I hope he notices my hard-on tenting the fabric, because that’s totally down to him.

“Yes?” I whisper.

He nods. His expression remains closed, but there’s a flush on his thin cheeks.