The next morning, Kent is working in his office when a knock comes at the door.
“Come in,” he calls, hardly paying attention.
The door creeks open but no one says anything. Annoyed, Kent looks up, ready to tell whatever captain or guard was coming to report to get on with it and stop wasting his time.
To his surprise, though, Fay stands in the doorway. Kent leans back in his chair with a smirk, curious. What on earth could she want now?
“Yes?” he asks.
“Um, can I come in?” she says, anxiously playing with her hair.
“I already told you to come in, Fay,” he says evenly. Annoyed, she drops her hair and takes two steps into the room, pushing the door closed behind her. Then, she leans against the wall, a little afraid.
Like a kitten in a tiger’s cage. Kent can’t help but smile at the sight of her.
Today she’s wearing brown riding boots over tight jeans, a green cashmere sweater on top. The green brings out the cream of her complexion, the fire of her hair. As he knew it would.
He’d selected the sweater for precisely that reason, had it sent up to her room with the housekeeper.
She starts to play with her hair again, and Kent decides that he likes it down better than up. He makes a mental note to tell the housekeeper to leave it down more often.
“Yesss…?” Kent prompts, impatient.
“I just wanted to talk. About last night.” She hesitates again. “Is it safe to talk in here? About…”
He sighs and gives her a little glare. “Yes, Fay. Go ahead.”
“I just wanted to offer, again, to help. In whatever way I can. I’m happy to offer my services.”
“Your…services,” he says, letting his eyes rove over her body as much as they want to, deliberately trying to be lewd. If he embarrasses her, she’ll give up, he thinks. As she’s done before.
She blushes deliciously – he feels a stirring within himself, watching her squirm – and then stands up straight.
“You know what I mean, Kent,” she says. “I could council you, offer some therapies.”
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