Page 21 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

Ah. I’m not sure I’m in the mood for an Italian sex club. Then again, he is paying me.

“I assume you don’t get squeamish or uncomfortable over kink?”

Why would he assume that?I must be frowning because he quickly backtracks.

“I apologize—of course this isn’t required. It’s something I find entertaining, but I shouldn’t presume?—”

“It’s fine. I’m not squeamish—I’m just not sure I get it.”

“Fair enough. But it’s an interesting way to pass an hour or two, right?”

“Do I need to change?”

He looks me over, taking in my tank top and joggers with the attention of a critical spouse. “Switch to jeans and add a black blazer.”

Yes, sir.I take a bottle of water back to my room to change.

Since I didn’t get instructions on shoes, I put on the ones his tailor brought me. They’re the nicest things I’ve ever had on my feet, both in appearance and feel. Once I’m dressed to Gibson’s specifications, I run some product through my hair so it’s no longer hanging in my face. And because I believe in dressing up when I go out, I run some black eyeliner along my inner eyelids.

I’ve never been led to believe I’m bad looking, but I’m not a huge fan of my face. I like my eyes, though, and I figure the more they stand out, the less likely anyone is to look too long at anything else like my dimpled nose or big chin.

Gibson is in a full-fledged suit when he returns to the living room. This one is dove gray and slim cut. The white shirt beneath sets off his tan, making him look utterly Mediterranean. He looks good, but he needs help with his right cufflink.

I try, but fumble. “These aren’t exactly self-explanatory.” I’m definitely buzzed.

He sighs, and I smell the whiskey on his warm breath as it hits my cheek, strong enough to give me a contact high and send a shiver down my spine.

I press my lips together and try to focus on the stubborn piece of jewelry, but with every second I struggle, the more aware of him I become. His size. His heat. His scent, which is soft butmildly drugging. The word that keeps skipping through my mind isarrangement.

Maybe I’ll get drunk enough to ask aboutthatlater.

Finally, I figure out the puzzle, and the cufflink comes together. He takes a moment to tug at each sleeve when I step away, but then I feel him looking me over again.

“Do I look okay?” I ask.

“Perfect,” he says.

I swallow once and nod.

“No matter what you see down there, remember everything is consensual. Even when it looks like it isn’t.”

“Got it.”

“You don’t happen to have a safe word, do you?”

I laugh. “Never needed one.”

“If you’ve had enough of being down there, just lean in and say something random. I’ll get the idea.”

“I’ll be fine,” I tell him.

He straightens his blood-red tie. “I can never tell whether you’re judging me or not.”

“Usually not.”

His mouth quirks into half a grin, and I won’t lie, it’s highly attractive.

I decide to press my luck. “Will I need to take notes tonight? Since this is for business?”

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