Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
And Forsythe held his gaze unwaveringly, trapping him like a cobra mesmerizing a mouse, as he stepped forward—and with measured, deliberated strides, backed Ash from the bathroom and into the bedroom, the sheer bulk of his body herding him. Clutching at the towel, Ash stumbled back, retreating, but Forsythe never let more than an inch of space flow between them as Ash wobbled into the bedroom, then bumped up against the post at the foot of the bed. He froze, staring up at Forsythe as the man leaned in, that crushing bulk nearly pressing into him.
And leaning around him to pluck a pair of clean boxer-briefs from the clothing laid out on the bed.
Forsythe arched a brow, the glint in his eyes bordering on amused, as he sank down to one knee. Ash groaned, closing his eyes, and thunked his head back against the bed post.
That man wasn’t a demon.
He was the fucking devil.
He didn’t resist as Forsythe gently encircled one ankle, lifted it, and guided Ash’s foot into the boxer-briefs, then the other, before skimming them up his calves and thighs. For a moment heavy hands framed his hips as Forsythe settled the boxer-briefs into place, gripping as if in possessive claim…before falling away to tug the towel from Ash’s unresisting fingers and drape it across the footboard. His undershirt pulled over his head, next, then a white and crisply starched button-down—and Ash looked up at Forsythe with his thoughts a formless, wordless knot of confusion and wondered at his own obedience as he raised his arms so Forsythe could slip them into the sleeves.
As Forsythe began to button the shirt, his gloved knuckles grazing against Ash’s skin through the undershirt, he murmured, “You are staring at me, young Master Ashton.” That pointed brow again, darkened eyes drilling. “You have been staring at me.”
“I’m practically naked. You’re dressing me,” Ash managed to force out, throat dry. His entire body felt too tight, and only drew tighter as that touch grazed higher. “And you kissed me yesterday.”
“I am aware,” Forsythe responded blandly, as if reciting his appointments for the day. “Did you think I had forgotten?”
“I don’t know!” Ash spluttered. “I…is…like is that an English thing?” He didn’t know what he was saying, words coming out jumbled and all wrong. “Valets are also like…personal concubines?”
Forsythe’s mouth curved slightly at the corners. He buttoned the top button underneath Ash’s chin, then pulled away to catch his trousers next, holding them so Ash could step into them. Forsythe pulled them up around his hips, deft fingers teasing against Ash’s waist as Forsythe tucked his shirt in—only to make him gasp, stomach dropping out, as Forsythe briefly jerked him forward by his grasp on the waistband, before dragging the zipper up and firmly slipping the button closed.
Only to frown, immediately unbutton and unzip Ash’s slacks again, and drop to his knees.
Ash froze. “Forsythe!”
“Your button is loose,” Forsythe said, as if the button had personally offended him, and tugged at the slacks—giving Ash no choice but to stumble out of them. “And to answer your question, no. That is not ‘an English thing.’”
That…really didn’t answer anything at all.
It just left Ash staring at Forsythe, just as confused as before, as the man slipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved a little paper card with several needles stuck into it, one end wound with different colors of thread.
“I shall mend it,” Forsythe pronounced, already selecting a needle, “and you can have it back.”
“You keep a needle and thread in your pocket?”
“A proper valet is prepared for anything.” And Forsythe was already picking out a slim length of thread, black to match the slacks, and deftly threading it through the eye of a needle.
Suspicion pricked at Ash. He eyed Forsythe. “Including your employer wanting to duck out in the middle of the day for a hookup?”
“Precisely,” Forsythe said without missing a beat, and stabbed the needle into a buttonhole.
Ash let out a startled laugh. “That was an asshole move,” he said, and Forsythe’s lips curved—dark, pleased, almost certainly smug, but a quiet smile nonetheless.
“It worked.”
The next beat of Ash’s heart came erratic and strange. “…you smiled.”
For a moment, Forsythe’s gaze darted up to him. A glimmer of warmth darkened them…or was Ash imagining that, in the reflections off his glasses?
“You gave me reason to,” Forsythe murmured.
“Oh.” Ash dropped numbly to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his hands. “I…” He didn’t know what to say. Fuck, he’d been a prickly mess since the moment Forsythe walked into his office. Before. He stole a shy glance at the man, then offered, “I…I’m not trying to be a disappointment. I’m not trying to be a fuckup. Really, I’m not. I swear.”
“No?”
“No.” Ash bit his lip. “I’m just…scared. I thought I’d have time before this happened. I thought I’d have forever. Me taking over the company was just one day, but suddenly it’s now—and I’m scared.”