Spicy Hot
She looks around, impressed, her fingers brushing the fabrics, the precious woods.
— Is this yours?
— The company's.
— Do you travel often?
— Too much. But tonight, it's different.
— Why?
— Because you're here.
She blushes. I love that. I love making her blush. I love seeing that pink rise on her cheeks, descend onto her neck, disappear into the neckline of her dress.