Free Your Red Always by Leeann Whitaker

you entertain often?” I ask, quite normally.
    “Yes, of course.” Great. I’m so hopeless at small talk . “Do you take sugar?” He asks.
    “Yes.”
    He takes a selection of sugars in a crystal bowl out from beneath the green granite, and places them on the island. I’m kind of awestruck. I’m sat in some multimillion pound penthouse, and Mr Knight is making me coffee. Suck it in Liz .
    “So” I try not to shout, but he’s a good fifteen feet away. “What’s Washington and the Big Apple like? I mean, is it as chaotic as London.” 
    Jeez Liz. Shut up. If all that’s going to come out of your mouth is verbal diarrhoea, be silent . I inhale, hoping he doesn’t find me as ditzy as I find myself.
    “Why Miss Lovell, I do not believe I have discussed such details with you yet.” He smirks wickedly, and I sink into the chair.
    Oh that’s it. I throw in the towel. This is a freaking nightmare.
    “Elizabeth… calm down,” he beams. “I told you I don’t bite.”    
    Full of shame, I glance through the wall of windows. Each one is coated with a tint. The view is stunning. I can nearly see the whole of city from here. Tower Bridge. The river Thames. The old and new London, across the horizon. 
    “Where am I?” I finally ask the question I should have asked long ago.
    “It’s one of my pit-stops in this country. I travel frequently, and like my own place,” he says.
    Okay. He’s boasting now. Of course his has several of these properties all over the globe. He probably owns a castle somewhere too.
    “So, I’m where exactly?” I ask again, peering at the grey sky.
    “You can’t work it out from the view?” He sounds surprised. “Look,” he orders. “We’re on the sixty-third floor of the Shard.” He glides his hand from window to window.
    Sure we are. What a silly question Liz. I do apologise Mr Knight. Liz, you’re in the penthouse in one of London’s most famous buildings, get a grip.
    Slyly, I watch him. He pulls down one of the handless cupboards to reveal a state-of-the-art, the whole shebang coffeemaker. He takes out a tiny espresso cup, and a cappuccino style mug.
    “What would you like?” He asks. “I think espresso.”
    Okay, that’s dig number one for our Aroma encounter.
    “After last night you’ll need a pick me up.” There it is, dig number two.
    I won’t tell him I’m not a fan of espresso. I guess I do deserve those jibes.
    He brings my coffee and sugar over to the table. I’m hung-over dehydrated, and don’t think espresso will help. But I do need fluids, so rummage around the crystal bowl, and take out a sachet of Demerara. I rip, tip, and stir, then lift the cup to my mouth.
    “Aww.” I burn my lip.
    “My-my-my Elizabeth… you’re impatient aren’t you.” 
    Oh, you have no idea of my impatience Mr Knight. 
    He takes his cool thumb and strokes it across my lip. I close my eyes for a moment, melting into the back of the chair with a sigh. He smirks, then sits back. As though touching me in such a sexual way was a normal thing to do. But it wasn’t. I now have the need to throw myself at him. Hell, my self-control is fading fast.
    “Are you feeling okay Elizabeth?” He’s toying with me. God. Please stop Mr Knight.    
    “Hmm yes… I’m fine.” I notice he hasn’t made himself coffee. “Do you not like coffee?” That was a suitable question to dampen my lusty instincts.
    Our knees nearly touch as he adjusts position in his seat, and I unintentionally flinch. Why is it so impossible to hold a conversation with him? I’m right back to square one here. Eyes fleeting in all directions, trying not to quiver and drool. My temperature is soaring dangerously high. And there’s this hellish desire that needs to be put into action, but I haven’t got the nerve to do it. 
    “Not really,” he says. “I require something with a bit more substance,” he adds, his face completely unreadable.
    What does he mean: normal substance, or naughty