I turned and walked back to my office.
My gaze settled immediately on the cream couch she had been sitting on.
It was nothing like the antique red velvet one in my sex den—an original piece from a prominent London whorehouse, preserved and restored long before it came into my possession.
This couch was modern. Clean. Professional.
Or at least, it had been.
I topped my glass up before crossing the room, taking a slow sip and letting the scotch roll across my tongue, the familiar burn grounding me as I lowered myself to the wooden floor.
And something else.
My nose grazed along the leather until I reached the spot.
There was no mistaking her scent.
My fingers tightened around the glass as I leaned closer, dragging my tongue slowly over the padded leather.
She was perfect with scotch.
Sweet.
Ripe.
Mine.
I licked the spot clean before taking another sip of my drink. As I stood, my eyes drifted to the turquoise-and-gold-bound notebook.
She’d opened the gateway.
I was ready for her.
???
I scoured another floor but didn’t see Stella. I was about to turn toward the stairs when a couple moved aside, exposing a pile of red hair twisted high on someone’s head.
Her.
With my phone tucked away, I moved towards her.
She stood staring at a painting.
I rested my hand on her shoulder and she jumped.
“Dr Maddox,” she gasped.
“Just Maddox out here,” I murmured, releasing her shoulder, though my fingers trailed lightly through the strands of hair escaping her bun.
Her green eyes darkened, her pupils widening as her lips parted. She began twisting the strap of her purse between her fingers. A slow blush crept across her cheeks. Her breath shuddered before she deliberately slowed it, inhaling long and deep.
I didn’t say a word when I offered her my arm.
She stared at it for a moment, swallowing before slipping her arm through mine. I pressed my arm gently against hers as we turned back to the painting.
“A cow,” I murmured.
“A pretty cow,” she corrected.
