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)
Every precious gem you could possibly think of is present in this space, dangling from ears, draped around necks, adorning well-manicured fingers. Blimey, there must be millions of pounds’ worth of sparklers in here.
When I finally rip my eyes away from the beauty of these women’s jewellery, I find sparkling eyes too. Lots of them. Those sparkling eyes soon turn to curious eyes when they clock me shuffling behind the man who’s clearly known by every single person in the room. It’s like the parting of waters, everyone standing aside to let us pass. I couldn’t feel any more uncomfortable. I remember Mrs Potts’s proud declaration. He’s the best dealer out there. The Hunts are famed in this industry, but Mrs Potts specifically said Becker was the most talented in the long line of Hunt men. What makes him better than the rest? Why’s Becker so special? I wonder if most of his clients are women, because that would explain it perfectly.
I’m about to ask what the deal is with the grand entrance, when I remember the ground rules. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Does that include speaking to him? He didn’t say, so I go right ahead and ask my question. ‘Bit over the top, isn’t it?’ I say quietly, looking right ahead to the white double doors we seem to be heading towards.
‘What’s that, princess?’
‘The grand entrance.’
‘I walked into a building.’
‘And everyone fell silent.’
‘I have a presence.’
‘You have a big head.’
He nudges me in the side gently. ‘One more ground rule.’ Looking down at me, he keeps a straight face, though I can see the playful twinkle in his eyes. ‘You can’t insult me in public. A few eyebrows might be raised if I spank that peachy arse of yours in front of everyone.’
I press my lips together to stop from laughing out loud, as Becker’s pace slows a little when we reach the doors. But just when I’m about to follow suit, something meets my lower back, encouraging me on. Becker’s hand. I’m wrapped up warm in my coat, but I can still feel his heat through my layers of clothes. I swallow and allow him to guide me into the room. The ridiculously flamboyant décor of the space doesn’t grab my attention like it should. None of the incredible paintings, all originals – a Monet, a Dalí, to name just a few – have my mouth hanging open in astonishment. The ceiling mural, a depiction of the Last Supper, doesn’t have me staggering to a stop in admiration. No. I can’t concentrate on anything except the sizzling heat plaguing every inch of my skin beneath my clothes. It’s crippling me to the point of being unable to walk steadily, so I speed up a little, breaking the contact. I need to keep my wits about me. This place is daunting enough, without the added handicap of Becker’s attentive touch. It’s alien to me. I can cope with his arsehole/playful behaviour, bounce off it. This isn’t as easy to deal with, especially when he’s already loaded the pressure on me with his ground rules. Besides, it’s definitely a grey area. I can think of a few ground rules myself.
‘Where to?’ I ask, noting the rows of chairs facing the rostrum. He doesn’t answer me, but when I’m about to turn and face him, I feel a familiar heat closing in again, this time near my ear. I jump out of the way like a skittish kitten, unable to control my reaction to his proximity. If he whispers anything in my ear, even a simple direction, I’m likely to melt into a pathetic pool of uselessness.
Turning confidently, as if I haven’t just practically banged my head on the lovely ceiling from the height of my startled jump, I plaster a smile on my face, but it wavers when I find Becker still bent, his lush lips poised at the spot where I expect my ear was a second ago.
I start to draw breath, ready to ask again where we sit, but my question gets no further than the end of my tongue. Then I virtually bite it off to avoid shrieking an expletive.
What is she doing here?
Tiger bird. Weighed down by a huge fur coat, which, quite frankly, looks utterly ridiculous. Her glossy blond hair is cascading down one side of it, her pink lips pursing as she approaches. Oh, no. I can’t guarantee my silence. She’s not even made it to us and I already want to launch her into outer space. She has one of those faces. One with a constant sneer. One that you instantly want to slap. Add to the equation that I know Becker has screwed it, I’m in souped-up, ultra-bitchy mode. I don’t want her to be one of the ways Becker deals with his demons. I don’t want just any woman to be his outlet. My revelation doesn’t cause me the worry it should, because I’m too focused on keeping my cool. I clamp my teeth down harshly, my jaw instantly aching under the pressure. We’re in a posh, renowned private auction house. I can’t be flashing my claws or cursing.