Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
I start to laugh, and it’s like I’ve inhaled some kind of laughing gas or something because I just can’t stop.
“Wow, you okay there?” he asks, his eyes widening.
I put my hands over my face, trying to get myself together. I take a breath. “No. Hard pass. First, I am a terrible workout buddy—any distraction available, I’m all over it. Plus, I get really hot and sweaty—it’s not a good look.”
He narrows his eyes, and it’s like a world class tennis player on the baseline, lining up to smash an ace over the net. “Oh, I can cope with you hot and sweaty.”
It’s like he’s set fire to my face.
I tilt my head in faux admonishment. “It’s disgusting.”
“I can cope with disgustingly hot and sweaty. In fact, I think we should try it. The hotter and sweatier, the better.”
A deep, hot throb pulses between my legs. All I can picture is Beau, naked, his hard, hot body over mine, his hair messy because of my fingers, the tendons in his neck straining because he’s holding himself back. Him looking at me like I’m the only woman he ever wants to look at from now until the end of time.
“I don’t make a good workout buddy,” I mutter, and help myself to something crispy on the platter.
“We’ll see about that,” he says. And then he changes the subject and we start talking about the food.
That’s safer. That will stop the heat between us, the enveloping tension that always seems to circle us when we’re together.
I hope.
FIFTEEN
Beau
I sit up with a start and come face-to-face with my sister-in-law, who is holding out her phone.
“This is you,” she says as if we’re sitting around the table in Norfolk, passing each other roast potatoes. Her tone doesn’t betray that it’s five in the morning and I was deep asleep until she barged into my bedroom.
I slump back onto my bed and groan. “What are you showing me?” I ask, eyes closed.
“You. You’re on the interweb. It’s definitely you because you’re wearing Nathan’s shirt. His bloody initials are on your cuffs.”
“Initials on his cuffs? What a wanker.”
“Are you dating Vivian Cross?” It sounds like she’s furious with me but I’m not quite sure why.
“No comment,” I reply and pull the duvet over my head.
“Nathan!” she calls, despite the fact that she runs a real risk of waking the baby.
I pull the duvet off my head. “Madison! Stop shouting. Why are you angry?”
A sleepy Nathan appears in the doorway, in boxers. “What’s the matter?” he asks through a yawn. “She’s sleeping. I just checked on her.”
“Your brother is sleeping with Vivian Cross and he’s in our spare bedroom and hasn’t told us.”
“I’m not sleeping with Vivian Cross,” I say.
“Not right at this second, no, but you have been.”
“No I haven’t.” I glance over at Nathan, hoping he might help me out and wondering whether I should tell him about my business idea. Will he tease me mercilessly for thinking I could do anything other than be a doctor?
He holds up his hand. “She’s a journalist, mate. Just tell her everything. It’s the easiest way. Believe me.”
“I have no comment. I’m under an NDA, and I don’t even think I’m meant to tell you that.”
Madison’s eyes light up and she plonks herself at the bottom of my bed. “What’s she like?”
I sit up and scoot back against the headboard. There’s absolutely no point in thinking I’m getting back to sleep at this point. “I’m helping her out. We’re just going out to dinner a couple times. That’s all.”
Madison narrows her eyes at me. “You’re helping her out by taking her out to dinner. She’s Vivian Cross. She’s not some poor, shy little bookkeeper who can’t get a date.” She glances back at Nathan. “You Cove men.”
I can’t help but laugh, partly because Nathan’s laughing, so I figure it’s safe and Madison isn’t going to hand me my balls on a plate.
“So how do you think you’re doing her a favor? Showing her how restaurants work in the UK?”
I sigh. “No. But seriously, I’m not meant to talk about it with anyone.”
Madison pats me on the leg. “We’re family, Beau. We have to talk about everything. Anyway, you can trust me, I’m a journalist.”
“That’s exactly why I can’t trust you. You’re a journalist. Vivian has enough written about her in the papers without me feeding the beast.”
Madison holds up a finger. “First of all, I’m not a beast, take it back.”
I roll my eyes. “I take it back,” I say in a singsong voice.
“Second, I’m not that kind of journalist. I write about important, newsworthy things, not who my brother-in-law is shagging.”
I go to speak and she raises her finger in the air. “Plus we’re family, and even if you told me you’d stolen details of Russia’s nuclear capability, I wouldn’t write about it. I just love Vivian Cross. I want this to be true.”