Page 19 of Filthy Mouth
“Do you want the bed to be black? The chains for the handcuffs are retractable or attached to the wooden panel, like the picture?”
“My mind’s open to all options,” he said, watching me.“I want it aesthetically pleasing without any part of the room becoming an eyesore.”
“Send me all the photos you have,” I said, reaching into my case to pull out the samples I had for red.
I passed him the sample book, and he flicked through it slowly, brushing his thumb over each swatch as if he were feeling more than just the texture. When his eyes lifted to mine after pausing on one, it felt like he’d just made a choice about more than colour.
“I have an architect on board, and I’m waiting on consent approval to adjust the walls,” he said, still idly turning pages.
“Do you know how long the process will take?”
“My request has priority,” he replied, closing the book and handing it back, his fingers lingering against mine for a beat too long.
He’d chosen a deep crimson close to the picture he’d shown me earlier. The fact he could fast-track his request didn’t surprise me—it gave me time to line up suppliers before the wall came down, though something told me I’d be the one dismantled before this project was finished.
“The sample you chose isn’t final, but it gives me enough to work on. Once the wall comes down, you may want to revisit the requirements.”
He looked up from his phone, gaze locking on me, the corner of his mouth tipping in a slow, knowing smile.“How much will you cost me this time?”
“A hundred times more.”
The size of the floor was extensive, and it was a specialist job.
His eyes dipped to my mouth, lingered, then rose again.“Are you worth it?”
“Were you disappointed last time?”
“No.” His voice was low, almost intimate.“You were worth every penny.”
My palms dampened when his eyes darkened, heat pooling low in my stomach.
“Why don’t you show me the floor?” I said quickly, clutching the sample book to my chest like a shield and rising to my feet.
“As soon as the structure is complete, I want the room finished within four weeks. I’ll pay a premium for you to oversee it all,” he said, following me up.
And there it was—the sting.
Fuck it. I could handle Benedict Owen Lancaster.
Chapter 9
Benedict
I watched her inspect every inch of the floor while all I could picture was taking her in every way possible. She scribbled notes on her tablet, paused to assess the windows, then held the sample page against the wall as though she could already see the finished space.
“Why don’t you join me for dinner? It’s late,” I said once she’d finished taking pictures.“I do have another proposition for Iona Designs.”
Her head snapped up, eyes wary. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to the cook to set the food in the formal dining room.
“What kind of proposition?”
“A lucrative one. You know I develop properties, and I saw your reaction to the apartment I showed you. I may be ready for a change from my current interior designers.”
Her eyes widened, a faint flush rising to her cheeks, but I was already leading the way to the lift. I was a businessman—I’d seen the company’s work. Iona Designs had a classic elegance that didn’t tip into gaudy excess. They could set my developments apart. She might not like what I wanted in return for the contract, but the PI had given me enough about her mother’s company’s history to convince me this was the way forward.
The lift doors slid shut, enclosing us in the faint, expensive sweetness of her perfume. Her hair was pinned up tonight, exposing the nape of her neck. I towered over her, and I hoped she remembered that when she started looking into furniture for my red room.
On the library floor, I took the sample book and tablet from where she’d hugged them to her chest and set them inside.
