‘I told you. Paisley.’ I find myself narrowing my gaze as I consider the conversation the pair seem to have had.What was said?‘You look like that worries you, duchess. Like you’ve got something to hide.’ Cue a further narrowing of my eyes and add to it a little bite of the tongue. Not that I think she’ll have spilled the beans on... on my broken bean.
Not Paisley. Not her. Not to him.
‘So this is where the magic happens,’ he says, turning to the entrance to the studio. Bracing his hands solidly on the frame, he gives me his strong profile and not the bruised side. Not that it’s a terrible sight, especially coupled with the darkened scruff of his stubble and his impeccable suit. He still looks sexy, though in a thoroughly disreputable way.
Flynn sticks his head into the studio, and before I can tell him to stop, he steps out of the hallway and into the room. What’s a girl to do but follow him?
I try to see the space like he might, wondering if it’s titillation he’s after, because if it is, he’ll be seriously disappointed. The most visible tell in the room is a small rack of hangers containing robes. There’s no St Andrew’s cross, no whips or chains, or exposed dildos. On one side of the room is a set that could be a bedroom in some trendy loft—exposed brickwork and a contemporary four-poster bed dressed in pale linens.Nothing salacious. Move along, there’s nothing her to see, folks.
‘Details right down to the specs and the beside lamp.’ He gestures to the nightstand, a hardback book lying open and splayed on the wood, a pair of feminine glasses folded next to it.
‘Women notice the small details.’ Yes, even when there’s a ten-inch penis involved.
‘I bet the drawer holds a treasure trove of naughty delights.’
I smile and shake my head. ‘Looks like someone’s been watching my stuff.’
‘Someone can’t take his eyes off your stuff.’ As though to reinforce the point, his gaze makes a slow perusal of my body, and I have to bite my lip to halt the stuttering release of my breath.
‘Sorry to disappoint,’ I add swiftly, steering the topic away. ‘The content of that particular treasure trove is currently being sterilised.’ Not really. We haven’t been filming that kind of scene today. I expect more questions—demands for particulars—when he turns away, moving to the other side of the large space housing an abandoned office set.
‘Naughty secretaries?’ he asks, casting a wicked glance over his shoulder, a look that makes me wonder what mischief this devil has in mind for my soul.
‘Something like that.’
‘And don’t you look the part today.’
‘So do you.’ The words are out of my mouth without thought.
‘Is that because you think I’m someone’s glorified secretary?’ His gaze hardens a touch, causing my expression to falter. I hadn’t meant it like that at all.
‘I don’t weigh someone’s worth by their job description or their title.’ What kind of despicable arse would do that? ‘I simply meant you look like a boss this secretary wouldn’t mind being bent under.’Jesús, María y José!Talk about inappropriateness and oversharing.
He laughs, a perfect burst of honesty—delight at the escape of mine. Maybe my reddening cheeks stop him from taking advantage of the fact, but I suddenly don’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed that he doesn’t latch onto my statement.
‘Do you always dress like that for work?’ he asks instead.
I look down at my outfit; black pencil skirt and white blouse. ‘Jeans normally,’ I answer, ‘but I had an appointment at the bank. Why do you ask?’
‘I’d have thought it was obvious. You look like a wet fucking dream.’
‘This is perfectly acceptable office attire,’ I reply testily.
‘Dunno what kind of office you’ve been workin’ in. You look hot, like some sexy librarian, your blouse hinting at the lace of your bra and your skirt hugging those curves. And those shoes... ’
He glances down at my black heels, and I concede he might have a point here. I don’t own a lot of heels, and those that I do own were bought for nights out, not to complement day outfits. Still, they’re just shoes.
‘All buttoned up and wholesome on the surface with just a hint of the girl down for dirty fucking.’
‘Flynn... ’ His name sounds like plea, though for more or for a halt, I’m not sure either of us can tell.
‘Seriously. I can’t imagine your actors lasting long being filmed by you in the first place, but dressed like that? No fucking chance. And I don’t remember seeingThe Two Thrust Chumpbeing in the title menu.’
‘My actors are professionals. They’re not looking at me like you would.’
‘Trust me. They’re men, and they have eyes. They’re lookin’. Want to know what else I’ve noticed?’
‘Please, give me the benefit of your fast knowledge.’ Sarcasm travels across the space.
