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“Here,” I said. “If that’s all right. I’ve had enough restaurants this week to last me a lifetime.”
“Then here it is.” Vivienne shrugged off her coat and hung it on the back of the door like she lived there. Underneath, the green dress clung to every curve. “Pour me one of those, would you? Small.”
I poured. She took the glass, kicked off her heels, and sat sideways on the sofa with her legs tucked under her. Up close she smelled of something expensive and smoky.
“First, the boring bit,” she said, “so it doesn’t get in the way of the fun bit. Condoms always. No marks, no photos, no kissing if I say no kissing, which I almost never do. I can say stop and so can you, and either of us stopping means we stop. All right?”
“All right.”
“Good.” She sipped. “Now. Some men know exactly what they want and say it the second I’m through the door. Others like me to lay out the menu, so to speak, and see what catches their eye. Neither’s wrong.”
She reached over and loosened my tie with one finger, slowly, watching my face the whole time.
“You’ve got two hours, Graham. How do you want to spend them?”