I waved one hand carelessly, encompassing the whole of what had to be a fifty-million-dollar apartment. "Who cares about that?"
"Well, I do, actually." His mouth curved.
I stabbed my fork into a German fried potato, thinking that Peter Luger's food was almost good. Almost. "I'm interested in your money only if it means you can afford to stop working in favour of lounging around naked as my sex slave."
"I could afford to financially, yes. But you'd get bored and dump me, then where would I be?" His look was warmly amused. "Think you proved your point, do you?"
I chewed, and then said, "Should I prove it again?"
"The fact that you're still horny enough to want to proves my point."
"Hmm." I drank my wine. "Are you projecting?"
He shot me a look and casually chewed another bite of the tenderest steak I'd ever had.
Restless and worried, I took a deep breath and asked, "Would you tell me if our sex life didn't satisfy you?"
