Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
I was wrong. I didn’t just push a button, I whacked it. Becker’s nostrils flare, his features going sharp. He looks murderous. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ he warns.
There it is again. Possessiveness. Becker scowls, and I grin. I can’t deny it, I get a really big kick out of it, especially since I know Becker Hunt isn’t possessive about anything other than his treasure. So, really, doesn’t that make me different already? ‘Okay,’ I sigh. ‘No cavorting with any enemies. What about cavorting with co-workers?’ I ask.
‘You want to get familiar with Mrs Potts?’
I purse my lips. ‘What about cavorting with my boss?’
‘Oh.’ He feigns realisation, grinning. ‘That’s allowed.’
‘Of course it is.’ I roll my eyes and try to get us back on serious ground. ‘We need ground rules.’
He pushes the NDA aside and rests his forearms on the desk, leaning over. He cocks his head for me to come closer, so I pull my chair in and mirror him. ‘It’s simple, princess.’ He reaches forward and brushes a strand of hair from my face, and I look, wondering what’s so simple in this heap of complexity. ‘Now I own you professionally and personally.’
‘What?’ I stammer. ‘You don’t own me.’
A hint of a smile breaks through, and he slowly comes closer, closing the gap between our mouths, rising from his chair as he does and bracing his hands on his desk. He’s looming over me, and I’m looking up at him like the worthy god he is, waiting patiently. Tenderly, his lips meet mine, and I’m blindsided with the most worshipful kiss in the history of kisses. Every woe and worry pales into insignificance under the gentle attention of his mouth. The feud with Brent vanishes from my mind and his grandad’s warnings evaporate. ‘Kissing the boss, princess?’ he mumbles into my mouth, slowing down our kiss until our lips are simply touching. ‘And during working hours?’ He pulls back and gives me a genuine disapproving look that snaps me back to life. He sits, takes his phone and dials someone. ‘I own you,’ he asserts confidently.
The call connects, and I hear a familiar voice greet him. Paula. His therapist. I might need a therapist myself soon, because my mind is becoming increasingly fucked. He can’t be real. But, scarily, he is. Very real.
Narrowing my eyes at him, I rise from my chair and gather my pad and new phone, then walk quietly around to Becker’s side of the desk. I bend and get my face close to his, close enough for Paula to hear. ‘You don’t own me, Hunt.’ Let’s see what his therapist makes of that. ‘Never will.’ I walk away with my shoulders straight, my chin high, turning as I’m pulling the door closed behind me. His smile is back, and his eyes are dark, hooded, full of sex, and nailed to my arse.
Who owns who, Hunt?
Chapter 28
Over the next few days, Becker proves his point. He really does own me. The notion doesn’t disgust me, more thrills me. But he’s delusional if he thinks he’s in full control here.
When the working day is done, I’m carried up those stone steps to heaven. I’m lost in the clouds. His smiles, his words, his need to ravish me, it’s all making me tumble harder. The grey areas have never been so grey. But grey has also never been so bright and alive. Yeah, he owns me. But I’ll never admit it to the egotistical arsehole. I’ll just keep telling him that he doesn’t. And he’ll just keep smiling in return.
On Thursday, after I escorted Lord Demontford, a middle-aged, stuffy, portly man with a roving eye, into the showing room, Becker greeted him with a firm handshake and proceeded to stand by silently while he gushed and swooned over the magnificent Constable that depicts the beautiful English countryside. The look on that man’s face when he clapped eyes on it can only be described as pure ecstasy. Within two seconds, he was asking Becker to name his price. I quietly made my way to the door to leave him to business, but Becker flicked me a look, one that told me he wanted me to stay. I did, and as I stood there watching him, I might have fallen deeper. Becker Hunt is a sexy bastard under normal circumstances; when he’s selling one of his treasures, he’s deadly. He was calm, cool and collected, just like he was at Countryscape, whereas Lord Demontford couldn’t contain his excitement. It gave Becker the ammo he needed. There was no back and forth or meeting in the middle on a mutually agreeable sum. Becker named his price and made it clear it wasn’t up for negotiation. ‘I’ll give Sotheby’s a call,’ he’d said when Demontford decided he was going to try his arm. Of course, that call never happened, and it was never going to.