by Lacey Alpha
He bites the inside of his cheek. I don't seem to be turning him off me at all.
"You're very uptight."
I glower at him. "And you're very presumptuous."
He smiles again like I'm amusing him. Funny am I? I'll give him funny. I move away from him and find myself near the port. I whip out the cork and take a swig from the bottle. Ha. It probably costs a fortune. Instead of looking annoyed, he follows me and takes the bottle from my hand, swigging from it himself.
"You're very intriguing..." He watches me, making my stomach tie itself in knots.
Before I can answer with something smart - not that I had anything smart to say - the door opens and Amelia enters.
"Sorry to interrupt, sir. But you have another guest. Miss Iris Twain?" She looks a tad baffled.
I roll my eyes and Mr Cane keeps his gaze on me, looking mildly irritated. "Tell her to go. We'll rearrange another day."
No way, mister. "She can stay. I'm leaving." I push past him but he snatches my wrist.
"Tell her to go," he commands.
Amelia nods and heads out the door.
"I'm not what you're looking for," I insist.
"I beg to differ."
He drops into a seat and pats the space next to him. "Stay. Have a drink with me."
I hesitate, glancing at the door. I really should go.
"Sit, Evelyn," he demands.
He's so bossy. Despite myself, I drop into the seat beside him, turning my knees away so they aren't touching him.
He swigs from the bottle again. "I completely respect the fact that you're probably looking for a serious relationship. I can see that you didn't agree to this date for sex, though why you'd be on a trashy dating site like MeetCupid is beyond me."
I bite my tongue. I'm not telling him the truth. If he knew I was writing an article for a magazine he might not be so open about his sex life. And I can tell there's a story here.
He passes me the bottle. I take a small swig and place the bottle on the table. I've definitely had enough to drink. My head is swimming.
"I'm curious." He leans closer and I'm filled with his intoxicating scent of something fresh and mellow. "What does a girl like you look for in a guy?"
I swallow, my mouth too dry and my pulse too fast. "Well..." I gaze down at my hands, knotting them together. I've not told anyone I'm a virgin. Everyone just assumes I'm frigid or uptight. But I'm not.
"What is it?" he growls, looking at me intently.
I don't know whether it's the wine, his beautiful face, or his insistent tone but I say, "Well I'd just like a nice guy to...you know."
"Fuck?" he finishes for me, that smile playing around his lips again.
I nod, cringing inwardly.
"Am I not nice enough?" He looks down at himself in disbelief.
Arrogant arse. I shake my head, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. "It's not that."
"Then what is it?" he practically snaps.
He frightens me but in a way that almost turns me on. Almost. "I've just never..." I gesture between us. Dammit why can't I say what I mean? It's just too cringe-worthy.
His blank expression tells me he's not getting it.
I sigh heavily, take a large swig of port and blurt, "I'm a virgin."
His mouth falls open and I feel completely naked in front of him. Thank god I'm not.
"Jesus...and you came here?"
I nod, unsure what that means. Is this some kind of sex palace? Do sex palaces exist? If they do, this is definitely one.
He scrapes a hand through his hair. "How the hell is someone like you a virgin? Are you religious?"
I shake my head. I wish I was. I wish I had any excuse but I have nothing to offer.
"Well fuck," he exclaims, looking at me like I'm an alien. "I didn't expect that."
I shift in my seat. "Now it's your turn to tell the truth. What's going on here? Do you lure people to your fancy mansion to have sex with them?"
He laughs. "I don't lure people. My clients come to me willingly."
"Clients?" I frown, a little disturbed. "You're a prostitute?"
He laughs again, the sound almost musical, shaking his head. "No, I'm not."
I raise my eyebrows, hoping for further explanation.
"I think it would be unwise of me to tell you anything more. My clients are the only ones who know what I do and their participation assures their silence to me."
"Is it illegal?" I whisper.
He just smiles.
I stand, feeling completely bewildered. "I should really go..."
He stands too, following me like a hound on my scent. "Stay."
"No," I insist.
His breathing is heavy, wanting,
Shit, I need to get out of here. "Goodbye, Mr Cane."
"Jonah," he corrects and I nod vaguely.
I hurry out the door which Harold entered through. The corridor leads to a large kitchen where Harold is seated, looking half asleep. "Harold? Could you take me home?"
I feel bad to imposition the man so soon but I really must get out of here.
Thankfully, he doesn't question me. "Of course, miss. I'll fetch your coat."
A few minutes later I'm sailing along in the BMW, heading back toward London. I'm left shaken and a little dizzy. I can't get Jonah's hungry eyes out of my head.
I blink hard, forcing my attention on the road lights outside the car. At least this is going to jazz up my article. Take that, Jody.
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