CHAPTER SEVEN

“Right, where were we? Ah, yes, do I think you’d be happy giving up control?” He sliced one of his juicy scallops in half and speared it with his fork.

Melted butter dribbled onto his plate as he raised the morsel to his mouth. I found myself watching in fascination as he chewed.

When I realised what I was doing, I subsequently wanted to slap myself, but how can you war with your own hormones? I was a mess.

“I’m going to rely on my intuition for this one, I think,” he continued, unaware of the inner struggle I was having.

“I don’t think you’ll be happy giving up control. I suspect you might even be a control freak and have your life ordered out to the smallest detail, but that’s not what you asked, is it?” He finished his mouthful, and his words had just about registered in the haze of pheromones that surrounded me, jolting me to my core because he had pegged me with frightening precision.

“But yes, I think you’ll find the relief you seek. In body more than mind, perhaps.”

And wha