Page 46 of An American in London

“Hmm, I suppose that doesn’t make much sense when you’re the boss. But doesn’t it just mean you can do it more often? We should try it when we get back to London. I’ll tie you to the bed and force-feed you hot buttered popcorn and Daniel De Luca.”

“Not my kink,” he replies dryly.

Tiny explosions start going off in my shorts because I can’t help but wonder what his kink is. Does he want me to ask? It’s like he’s left a door ajar, and I can’t tell if he’s being deliberate or oblivious.

“Hmm. Maybe more of a Timothée Chalamet fan?”

Ben chuckles. “Definitely not.”

He’s not giving much away, but now I can’t help myself. “So what do you like?”

“I don’t watch many films,” he says, and I don’t respond because I know this already. It was on the form. I want him to give me more without being pushed. I’m not sure what I’m asking for. I don’t want to know his favorite sexual position—or maybe I do—but I want to know him better. I want to know all of him. “I like to work out and make myself cheese on toast when Lera is off.”

“Toast in bed could create a crumb catastrophe.”

He smirks. “Every now and then, I’ve been known to watch a little ...Strictly Come Dancing.”

I’m mentally deep diving into my Anglo-American dictionary, trying to figure out what he’s saying. “The show? LikeDancing with the Stars?”

“My mum was a dancer. When I was a kid, I used to take Latin and ballroom classes.”

My ovaries switch into hypersonic overdrive. “You candance?”

“A little.”

All I can focus on is the thought of his hand on my back and hips pressed against me, his thigh sliding against mine. “Holy shit.” It’s the only appropriate response. A man like Ben should be strictly a dad dancer. There’s no way the women of the world are ready for this man being able to dance.

“Well, that’s settled. Cheese on toast—whatever the hell that is—plusDancing with the Strictly Stars. In bed. You deserve a day off when we get back from here.”

“You’ve decided that’s what I need?” he asks. “You’ve diagnosed my problem, and high-fat foods and shit TV shows while bedridden is the prescription.”

I sigh and flop back onto the bed, propping my head up with my hand so I can still see him. “It’s pretty much the solution for every problem I can think of. I swear, all international diplomatic relations should be conducted from bed. The UN should rip out the seats from the Assembly Hall and replace them with beds with a built-in wide-screen. The world would be a better place for it.”

“You’ll have to police me,” he says. “I’m not sure I’ve got the staying power to last a day in bed.”

“Police you? Not my kink.”

He chuckles, reaches for the eye mask on the table, then turns off the lamp next to the couch, sending the room into darkness. “No costumes required. Just a partner in crime.”

“Maybe you haven’t had the right incentive to spend the day in bed before?” I suggest.

“You’re right,” he says. “Maybe you’re what I’ve been missing.”

I pause, waiting for a sarcastic follow-up, but it doesn’t come.

“I need to state for the record, I’m entirely onboard if you’re offering snacks and trashy TV.”And a day in bed with you,I don’t add.

“Good night, Tuesday,” he says.

It’s one of the few times he’s used my real name, and the sound winds around my body like one of his large hands sliding around my back, readying us for a waltz.

Chapter Sixteen

I’m dressed in jeans, a cream cashmere sweater, and a navy quilted jacket. I feel underdressed, considering I’m staying at the stately home of a duke and duchess, but everyone I’ve seen so far today is in more or less the same. We’ve gathered in the “morning room” to start our day. I’d like to see the afternoon room, to see how it’s different. Why do they have different rooms for different parts of the day? Maybe it has to do with the position of the sun, or maybe if you’re a duke and duchess, life can get tedious with just one room for the entire day.

The day’s itinerary has all guests meeting in the morning room before we go shooting, but Ben and I are the only ones here. Did we miss a memo?

“I’m so sorry, the duke’s not here and hunting is canceled,” the duchess says as she enters the room. “The gamekeeper has been taken ill. It’s a dreadful shame. The duke is stuck on a call with some Indian business associates. We’re not having the best morning. Again, I apologize.”

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