Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Was that what I wanted?
As the night wound down, Lydia bustled over with my coat. “There you are. Cora said to fetch you. The viscount’s gone—probably having drinks with a few MPs—and he suggested you ride home with us. Are you ready?”
I wanted to be annoyed that Landry had left without a word, but I couldn’t be. This was to be part of his job—securing votes, playing the game. More than that, I guessed he was deliberately giving me space.
Space to decide. Without pressure or expectation.
Because for all his confidence, Landry was scared, too.
I nodded and slipped on my coat before following Lydia downstairs, where Cora and Jamie were waiting.
Cora held an armload of deep pink roses. Our eyes met, and she winked.
The ride home was a blur of exhaustion. I nodded off as the car slid through the city streets, lulled by the low murmur of Cora and Jamie’s conversation and Lydia’s occasional interruptions. When we finally pulled under the house and got out of the vehicle, the chilly night air jolted me awake.
As the elevator doors opened, Cora slid the flowers into my arms and shot me a grin. “Put these in my room, yeah? Jamie and I are nipping out for another glass of wine.”
I nodded, knowing she was only saying that to keep her nosy mother out of my business. I thanked her with a kiss on the cheek and rode up with Lydia. We exchanged polite, if cool, good-nights before going our separate ways.
I walked slowly down the hall to Landry’s room, wondering how long I’d have to wait for him…
But when I opened the door, Taylor Swift’s “Lover” played low and sultry. Candlelight flickered from candles over the mantel and bedside tables. Instead of a bottle of champagne or wine, a bottle of my favorite fruity water sat on a tray with cut crystal glasses.
My heart skipped.
I scanned the room… and there he was, propped in the doorway to his dressing room, watching me.
Landry’s jacket was gone, shoes missing, tie and cummerbund nowhere to be found. His sleeves were rolled up again, forearms on full display.
He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a luxury campaign—the kind that made you want to buy whatever they were selling if it meant you could have the unattainably beautiful man in the advertisement too.
But the way Landry watched me—tense and wary, like someone who’d placed his final bet and awaited the turn of a card—it was clear he wasn’t selling anything tonight.
I stood there dumbly, clutching an armful of roses. “I thought you were going to let me choose.”
TWENTY
LANDRY
I shrugged. “Changed my mind. Figured I’ve let you choose for the past nine hundred and eighty-four days.”
The air seemed impossibly thin, useless for breathing. Fear clawed at my ribs. But there was no way I was giving him the opportunity to make the wrong decision here.
I knew Kenji cared about me. That wasn’t the problem. But loving someone didn’t always mean you could build a life with them. And sometimes pushing too much, too soon, broke things beyond repair.
But I’d come too far to back out now. I had one move left. I’d already sacrificed my pawns, and now, I was advancing my queen—risking everything for the endgame.
I pinned him with my eyes as I stepped closer. “That’s enough days, Kenji. And you’re a terrible chooser.”
He dropped the roses and leapt at me, wrapping his arms and legs around me so fast I nearly lost my balance. I barely managed to catch him, locking my arms around him as he clung tight.
Our kiss was fierce, a battle of lips and breath neither of us wanted to win. I spared a fleeting thought for the poor tailor who’d custom-made Kenji’s suit before I tore it off without remorse. Within moments, he was on his back in the center of the bed, naked as the day he was born. His long black hair fanned across the pristine white pillows, his chest rising in rapid, uneven bursts.
He tugged on a strand of my hair. “I’ve always wanted to see you as a brunet.”
“You’d hate me with my natural color,” I said absently, leaning down to tease his nipple with my tongue.
He threaded his fingers through my hair. “Brunets have a more classic look.”
Something about those words sounded familiar. I pulled back and met his eyes. “The Armani contract,” I said, realization hitting. “I thought you were mocking my blond hair.”
He smiled. “I wanted you to go brown. I was trying to be subtle.”
I gaped at him. “There’s such a thing as too subtle, asshole! Why didn’t you just say, ‘Hey, I think you’d look like a Greek god if you—’”
Kenji cut me off with a hard kiss, tumbling me onto my back. I wrapped my arms around his slim frame, hands roaming over his smooth skin. His hard cock brushed against mine, and I arched up, chasing more.