24. Darcy

‘Take it off,' Max growls in the vicinity of my dress as soon as I cross the threshold of his flat. He's in another perfect white t-shirt that I bet cost more than my entire wardrobe and a pair of navy athletic shorts.

I give him my most coquettish smile and hand him my clutch so I can undo my halter neck. ‘Whatever you say.'

‘Wait,' he says. ‘Have you eaten?'

I consider. ‘I had a Snickers at five, maybe?'

‘You had a Snickers at five?' He looks at me in horror and grabs one of my wrists, pulling it away from my neck. ‘Bad, bad girl. You need to look after yourself.'

‘I'm fine,' I protest, but I kind of love the way he puts my clutch on the console table and hooks an arm around my waist, drawing me right up against him. I smile happily up at him.

‘You're not fine,' he says, but he's grinning down at me. ‘You're a bad girl, like I said. You're a dancer, for fuck's sake. You should know how to look after your body.'

‘Uh, dancers are the worst when it comes to looking after their bodies,' I scoff, but I don't argue my case further, because he's closing the distance between our faces, releasing my wrist so he can slide his hand into my up-do and angle my head just the way he wants.

‘Well, that stops now,' he whispers before taking my mouth in a kiss that's simply fucking perfect. It's soft, but ardent, and hungry, and he tastes of scotch, and I adore it. I adore how his tongue seeks mine, how his body is so hard pressed against me, how he keeps hold of my head like he can't get enough.

But then he's pulling away and slapping me on the arse.

‘Come on. I brought half of China Tang home with me. There was so much food left over.'

At the magic L-word I follow him obediently through to his enormous marble kitchen area. Bloody hell, he wasn't lying. In the middle of the big white island is a massive stack of fancy-looking plastic takeaway boxes.

‘Oh my God,' I murmur reverently.

He busies himself pulling off the lids. ‘You ever been to China Tang before?'

‘Nope. Isn't it crazy expensive?'

‘Obscene,' he mutters, pushing a box in my direction and handing me some chopsticks—not wooden takeaway ones, but fancy black lacquered ones with a delicate gold pattern winding its way down their length. ‘That's why I couldn't bear the thought of leaving all this stuff there. What a waste. Do you want me to heat it up for you?'

‘Are you kidding me?' I waste no time delving into the nearest box with my chopsticks. ‘Cold Chinese is the dog's bollocks. Is this what I think it is?'

‘If you think it's lobster noodles, then yep.'

I wind my chopsticks around a good chunk of my noodles and bend right over so I can feed as huge a portion in as possible. The mouth-gasm hits instantly. ‘Oh my fucking God,' I moan with my mouth full, and Max laughs.

‘Good, right? I'm stuffed, so knock yourself out. Let me open some wine.'

I take him at his word, shoving food in my mouth like I've never been fed as he slides various boxes over to me, each one containing tastier delicacies. Peking duck. Crispy tofu. Sesame-drenched pak choi. Even some cold and deliciously stodgy dim sum. I had no idea I was hungry, but I'm fucking starving.

Max puts two glasses on the table and comes to stand next to me with a bottle of white, which he uncorks with controlled efficiency. He pours us both a glass, slides mine over to me, and stoops to drop a kiss on my shoulder. It's intimate and sweet and not necessarily what I'd expect from a man like him. A man who devoured me last night and has summoned me here for a booty call.

‘I need to slow down,' I mumble, ‘or I'll be too full to have sex.'

He laughs. ‘I overdid it, too. We can take our time—there's no rush. You're staying tonight.'

It's not a question. I sigh as I reach for my wine. ‘Fine. How was your day with your clients?'

He runs a fingertip across my back, tracing my shoulder blades before coming to perch on the stool next to mine. ‘It was fine. The cricket was excellent. The company was pretty dull.'

‘What kind of clients were they?'

‘They weren't clients, actually. They were investors. Permira and Sequoia—two massive private equity funds who together own thirty-four percent of Wolff and have a very keen interest in ensuring that the IPO process is on track. Here—try a prawn.'

He picks one off its bed of lettuce with his fingers and holds it to my lips.

‘I thought Anton owned the whole thing,' I say before I close my teeth over the tasty morsel he's dangling with all the finesse and patience of a baby crocodile.

He laughs. ‘No. He still has a majority stake, which is pretty mind-blowing. But we've brought private equity in over the years to help us grow. Like most companies, we use a mix of debt and equity capital to fund growth, scale, diversification. That kind of thing.'

I swallow my prawn. ‘So will they sell when the company floats?'

‘It's a good question. They'll sell down their stakes, yeah, because they've done very well indeed out of their investments, so it's time for them to crystallise that value.

‘We're going public partly because it's the right time, and partly because our investors want an orderly exit, but also because we'll raise primary capital—that's fresh capital—in the public markets to fund even more growth in the future. Does that make sense?'

I smile at him as I swirl my delicious wine around my wineglass.

I like that he's feeding me. Spoiling me.

I like that he's not just behaving like I'm some random he's invited here to fuck, even if that's all I am.

I like that he's taking the time to explain his work stuff without talking down to me like I'm some total dumbass.

And I really like that he's so impressive, so clearly great at what he does. My competence kink is in overdrive, and it's giving me the horn.

‘It makes perfect sense, thank you,' I tell him.

‘Good.' He strokes a loose tendril of hair off my shoulder and then grazes his fingertip up my face, tucking the strand gently behind my ear. ‘You really are extraordinarily beautiful, you know. I was hoping last night would get you out of my system, but if I'm honest, I knew it would just make me want more.'

We stare at each other. He has that hungry look on his face again, the one he always gets around me. But it feels deeper, more charged, somehow. Probably because we both know how good it is between us. I love the anticipation of fucking someone I've felt great chemistry with, but it's even more fun when you've consummated that chemistry.

This is the second time in less than an hour that I've stared deep into the eyes of a heavenly man, and his words have the added unfortunate effect of triggering the flurry of butterflies I felt when I told Dex he was beautiful.

This, right here, is great. Perfect. I'm thrilled to be here with Max, in his mausoleum of a flat, while he feeds me extortionate Chinese leftovers before sweeping me off to bed. I know what a catch he is. I know how good we are together, even if it's casual.

But I'm a greedy, greedy girl. I just spent a couple of hours sitting next to a guy whose sheer physical perfection would challenge even Max's. I know he wants me, even if I suspect he'd need a hell of a lot of cajoling to do anything about it. I suspect he's shy. Moral. Noble. And I suspect none of those personality traits, however impressive, will do my cause any favours.

But I'd like to have a crack at him, anyway.

And everything I know about Max tells me he's open-minded and kinky and up for anything. We're casual, and he won't have wanted to put any dibs on me yet. He shared my sister with Anton. Jesus, he shared Anton's assistant with Anton, according to Gen.

He's a naughty boy, and that's a huge part of his attraction for me. I love his debauched side. I want more of it. I came back here to work in a sex club but, last night aside, I've been as virtuous as a nun.

Maybe Max is the key to my letting loose.

I set down my chopsticks.

‘Can I ask you a question?' I ask.

He grins adorably, putting his warm hand on my thigh and massaging it through the slinky silk jersey of my dress. ‘You can ask me anything.'

Here goes.

‘Would you be up for a threesome?'