Page 16 of Binding Their Hearts

He held out a tray, and Jay hustled it over and restacked the dishes. He carefully scooped up the origami animal he’d made her today and set it atop the plates. Incredibly fucking sweet—every day for the last week she’d gotten a different piece at dinner, all made by his own hands. Shame he’d have to get dressed for dinner on the roof. His long, lean muscles moved so smoothly as he strode around the table.

“Regardless of the time frame”—Henry ran his fingertip down the slope of her nose and tapped the end—“the elevation shows management’s faith in you and your abilities.”

“No, you’re right, you are.” She leaned back on her elbows, the granite breakfast bar cool enough to pebble her arms. “You know, I keep getting the things I ask for at home…” She cocked her head toward their beautiful submissive, dutifully undoing the work he’d likely finished just minutes before she got home, and flashed suggestive eyebrow lifts at Henry.

“That could be arranged,” he murmured.

“And I’m kind of a big deal team leader in Project Clean Room…” The extra hip wiggle in Jay’s step added a coiling possession to the heat stirring in her. She hadn’t conducted their room check yet this week. “So I thought I might have the skills to pull it off.”

Henry’s sparkling green gaze agreed. “Certainly, if you can manage Jay…”

“Hey, whoa, I’m so manageable.” The tiniest clatter came from the silverware as Jay added it to the tray. “I’m a perfect angel.”

“You’re easy, stud.” With a crooked finger, she called him to her. His cock swung gently as he trotted to her side. “That’s not the same as angelic. But I like a little devilishness.”

Clasping his face in both hands, she kissed him. She sought the seam in his lips and slipped her tongue inside, rolling and pressing and matching the undulation with her body until his pleading whine spiraled out. A low, approving moan poured from deep in her belly, but she calmed the kiss, retreating into tiny chaste nibbles.

Deep brown eyes glazed with worship and adoration followed her every motion. “If it gets me more kisses from you, you can call it whatever you want.”

Henry winked at her over Jay’s shoulder. “So you’ll have additional responsibilities in this post, Alice?”

“A lot more.” She stroked Jay’s chest, smoothing a nonexistent shirt. His firm heat tingled in her fingers. “I'll lead a team of eight.” Her coworkers. Peers. Who she’d be bossing now. “More work and more…” With her personal life in the midst of Big Stuff already. House hunting. Flogging practice. Time-consuming things. Ryan’s wife couldn’t have held the kid in for a few more weeks? “More hours, probably—”

The amusement on Henry’s face slipped into neutrality. His usual expression, absolutely nothing to worry about, but added to her emerging doubts it jabbed at her like an unresolved error cascading into a failed test run. “Um, but more influence, too, over the design solutions we present. And a bigger paycheck.”

The extra money wouldn’t hurt, not with all the expenses they had coming their way. Even if Henry insisted she didn’t have to contribute equally to be equal.

“All the better to support your gigolos.” Jay’s straight face collapsed into a grin four seconds in. He couldn’t do deadpan like Henry; her adorable flirt was forever too eager to laugh. “I’ve always wanted to be a kept man.”

“Are you kidding me?” She teasingly shoved his shoulder, forcing her inner panic to go sit in the corner. She had more important thoughts to chew on tonight. Maybe Jay could wear a tank top for dinner and keep those well-defined arms on display. “You are a kept man.”

“Aha!” Jay thrust a finger into the air. “Not so—I leave the house for work. Henry’s a kept man. How he managed to be the one in charge while also being the one who gets to stay home all day is a mystery for the wisest of sages.” Hands clasped, Jay bowed in imitation-martial-arts style toward their dominant. “Truly, his cleverness is its own reward.”

The faux-formal tone knocked loose Alice’s laugh. She slung her arm around Jay’s neck and squeezed. “What was that about being manageable?”

While she waited for him to wrestle free and steal a kiss, he gripped her forearm tighter, sidestepped into her hips, and hoisted her onto his back in a firefighter’s carry. Her shriek of surprise might’ve carried all the way to the roof.

Chapter eight

Henry

Not that Henry would have expected an assortment of floggers and ball gags lining the walls, but the small drawing room gave little hint to the personality of the home’s owner. The household staffer who’d admitted him had left him on his own after ascertaining his drink preferences—nothing for the moment, thank you—and in the ten minutes since, his prospective client had yet to appear.

Unconcerned with punctuality, that was one clue to Ms. Driscoll’s personality. He would allow five more minutes before abandoning the appointment as a waste of time.

Initial consultations could be hit or miss; that was the nature of taking work on commission. But commissioned work could be both more lucrative and less risky than gallery shows—the smaller investment up front and guaranteed return would be useful in financing a new home. Despite Alice’s uneasiness about money, the options they’d explored thus far wouldn’t be much of a financial stretch. But the less he dipped into his share of the family business or the trust fund from his grandfather, the better future he could secure for their eventual children. He’d vetted three additional properties this week, all insufficient for their needs and unworthy of Alice and Jay’s time, and exhausted the current stock on the market. He would be obligated to expand the budget if he meant to make their home in Beacon Hill. Perhaps they might—

The wood-paneled doors flung wide, and he respectfully gained his feet as a woman, presumably his tardy client, stood in the center of the space with one hand clutched at her throat and the glittering light from the entryway chandelier behind her shining through the classic Hollywood peignoir set she wore. “Oh, do forgive me, Mr. Webb.”

Wonderful. She apparently held the sort of misperceptions about artists that he thoroughly appreciated correcting late on a Friday afternoon when he had a delightful evening planned for his lovers.

“Ms. Driscoll, I presume?” He let nothing of his distaste bleed into his professional, distant tone. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Irene, please.” She extended her hand in greeting, palm down and knuckles up. Soft brown waves fell from her artfully styled messy bun, more strands slipping as she shook her head and shrugged her shoulders with a coquettish smile. “And do you prefer Master Henry? I’m of course eager to accommodate your desires.”

“Mr. Webb will be fine, thank you.” More formal than his typical interactions with clients. His pique might be showing after all. He inclined his head and lightly grasped her fingers, delivering a brief, gentle shake.

Her moue as she dropped her hand might have been in response to his lack of a gentlemanly kiss. “I meant to be on time, but it simply couldn’t be helped. Not a single thing in my closet spoke to me. I couldn’t at all decide what one ought to wear for an artistic consultation. Will this do, do you think?” She ran a hand down her side, pressing the silk against her body and outlining what she undoubtedly considered her many alluring charms. “I can change if you’ve something else in mind for me.”

---