I’m about to close my eyes and turn my cheek to the side, when I hear him say, “Don't. I want to see your face.”

So I don’t. I watch his red and sweaty face as he fucks me. I memorize every sound, every smell, every grunt, and every soiled kiss. I repeat over and over again that this is what I want until the words don’t sound so hollow in my ears.

When he pulls out, I hate to see that he’s covered in my body's response to him. And when he goes down on me, I can’t help but moan when I feel the wet softness of his tongue licking my clit, sucking it and biting it between his teeth. I don't want to like it. I want to be disgusted, and I am, but my body can’t lie to me. It won’t lie to me. My body likes the way this man is fucking me. On the outside, I moan and pant because it’s me, but on the inside ... on the inside I’m dying a slow death with each thrust.

But I don’t care.

This is me taking control of my life. This is me becoming whatever I need to be in order to achieve my goals. And, most importantly, I don’t care because when this is over, all my sins will be paid for.

Very well.

Besides, he promised to take me apartment hunting tomorrow morning, because his lovely Blaire needs a place of her own.

“We’re here, Miss,” I hear him say, bringing me back to the present.

I shake the memories and forget about Luke. That man turned out to be a pig. He gave me all the money I needed to live more than comfortably, but he had a thing for forgetting the meaning of the word no after one too many drinks.

We leave the tall iron gates behind and drive for a while, past opulent green lawns and majestic trees until a large house comes into view. I’m surprised by how beautiful it is. It’s not as big as I expected but still very impressive.

“Oh my God. It’s perfect,” I say as I stare at the Victorian home with its picturesque windows and thick columns made out of marble. The house must have at least twenty rooms.

I hear Tony chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” I’m afraid to have sounded naïve or green. Oh, the horror.

“That’s only the guesthouse, Miss Blaire.”

“O-Only?” I ask, my voice breaking.

“Yes. Just one moment … The Hall is coming up.”

I stare ahead as he drives for another couple of minutes, truly nervous for the first time since we’ve left my apartment.

“And that, Miss Blaire, is Rothschild Hall,” he says, beaming with pride when a house (more like a damn castle) that would put Oprah’s to shame comes into view. It’s splendid.

“Whoa.”

What the fuck did I get myself into?

I might just be out of my league this time.

THE GRAND OAK DOORS OPEN.

The Rolls Royce parks next to the steps leading to the main entrance and the welcoming lights coming from inside illuminate the darkness around us. Once Tony lets me out of the car, I’m engulfed in the warmth and mugginess of the night.

“Have a lovely evening,” Tony says as I watch an older man dressed in a striking black suit step outside and wait for me, observing me closely.

“Thank you, Tony.” I smile. I’m about to ask him if he’ll be the one to drive me back to the city when I’m ready to leave, but I don’t. I’m not exactly sure what will happen tonight; if I’ll leave after a couple of hours or if I’m supposed to spend the night. Maybe Lawrence expects a trial fuck—or a couple—before sealing the deal? I shrug. It doesn’t matter one way or another.

As I climb up the steps, a cool breeze blows past me, kissing my bare arms and legs. It provokes a delicious feeling within me. I’ve almost reached the landing when a prickle of awareness makes me lift my gaze to the second floor right above the open doors. I expect to find someone standing there, but the window is empty; nothing but a warm glow coming from the inside is visible. I rub the back of my neck, dismissing the feeling of being watched, but the small hairs on my arms stand on end.

“Good evening, Miss White. I’m William, Mr. Rothschild’s Butler. If you would be so kind as to follow me, Mr. Rothschild is waiting for you in the library,” the older gentleman says gravely.

“Hello there,” I say cheekily. Something about his serious expression compels me to try and make him smile. Sadly, it doesn’t work. Sighing, I let my eyes survey my surroundings. I don’t want to be impressed. I don’t want to feel awestruck by the grandeur of this house. I really wish I could rub it off as something I’ve seen hundreds of times before, and maybe in a way I have, but nothing on this scale. Staring ahead as I wait for William to close the doors behind me, I take in the black marble staircase that splits in two at the bottom. My gaze follows its length until my eyes land on the crystal chandelier hanging from the cathedral ceiling. If that thing were to fall on someone, it would crush him to death. It’s enormous, and absolutely radiant. The paintings lining the entrance hall alone must be worth a queen’s ransom. With a quick glance, I’m able to recognize a Picasso, a Frida Kahlo, and a Dali. Except for the Frida, who’s Mexican, you can say that Lawrence has a thing for Spanish artists.

Doing a 360-degree turn, I absorb the red roses and orchids in enormous crystal vases and the gleaming white and black marble floor. I hear someone cough, making me realize that I’m gawking. I shake my head.

I’ve got this. This is nothing new. Just another man, just another day.

Yet the beating of my heart only gets louder, and the butterflies creating chaos within me only get rowdier with every step that I make, with every step that brings me closer to him. My body never lies—I’m nervous. Crazy enough, I’ve forgotten what he looks like except for the color of his eyes. His calm and vacant eyes that remind me of money. The eyes I forgot all about while dreaming a little dream with a brown-eyed boy.

Curling my hands into fists, I’m angry with myself because Ronan isn’t supposed to usurp my thoughts. He’s supposed to be a thing of the past. And he will be. Even if it’s the last thing I do.

When we stand in front of the double doors, I watch William rap on the door twice. Not a minute goes by before I hear him order loud and clear, “Come in.” An unforgettable voice with the power to make the bravest of men quake in their shoes fills my ears.

“Hello, Blaire.”

I watch William quietly close the door behind us.

All alone now, I turn to face Lawrence, who’s watching me closely, an indecipherable expression on his face.

“Please, sit down,” he says.

“Thank you.” I walk toward a chocolate brown leather sofa.

Once I sit down, I stare at him, expecting him to start a conversation, but he doesn’t. As a matter of fact, he just stands there looking at me. I get the feeling that he wants to get under my skin, but I sure as hell won’t let that happen, so I just return his stare. But as the uncomfortable silence in the room stretches for thirty seconds, a minute, two minutes …

I laugh.

A deep chuckle escapes my lips, and it feels so fucking good. The sound cuts through the tension in the room.

A cool Lawrence places his hands behind his back and continues to stare at me. “May I ask what you find so amusing?”

“I feel like I’m stuck in the most bizarre dream. Some parts are Pretty Woman and others Pride and Prejudice, which is pretty funny if you think about it. It’s like having Julia’s character going to Pemberley Hall for a quick fuck.”