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)
Before he fixed his gaze on the wall beyond Ashton’s shoulder—and didn’t look back until his young Master had once more stolen Brand’s bathroom and was safely in the shower, the glass fogged nearly opaque with steam.
The urge to look, to devour Ashton with a single glance and imprint the image of his lissome, willowy frame on Brand’s memory, pulled magnetic in his blood.
He excused himself to the kitchen, and busied himself making the young Master’s breakfast.
By the time he returned with a tray and the morning paper, Ashton had extricated himself from the shower, wrapped himself in a towel, and dressed in his underwear and socks. He smelled of soap and shower-warmed skin and something sweetly enticing, as Brand leaned close to slip him into his suit. There was a quiet pleasure in the way Ash lifted his delicate chin for him as Brand knotted his tie and settled it smoothly against his chest; a certain satisfaction in how Ash’s pulse jumped against Brand’s touch as his knuckles grazed his throat; a certain allure in how Ash cocked his head with his lips parted as if waiting in invitation for Brand to rediscover the soft melted candy taste of him, the sweetness and trembling of his mouth. It meant nothing, he knew.
Yet he took his small pleasures where he could.
That, too, was part of being a valet.
Ash settled quietly onto the edge of Brand’s bed to eat; apparently Brand’s room was Ashton’s as well, now, as long as Ashton meant to make use of his shower. Keeping his smile to himself, Brand retrieved the newspaper he’d fetched from the front stoop and laid it next to his plate, unobtrusively folded to the finance section.
“Share prices are up this morning,” he murmured.
“Because Dad’s out of hospice,” Ash said dryly, glancing disinterestedly at the numbers. “Not because of anything I did. Those reporters move fast.”
“They do.”
Ash fell still, toying a toast point between his fingers, silent, gaze unfocused. “It’s been a long night,” he murmured, shoulders sagging. “A long week. And it’s only Wednesday.”
“It’s Thursday, young Master,” Brand pointed out, and Ash flinched.
“Seriously?” He grimaced. “Fuck. And I still have to go to the office, don’t I?”
“Your father is still incapacitated. You are still the head of Harrington Steel.” But Brand relented, leaning over to pick up the napkin from Ashton’s tray and dabbing at a crumb at the corner of his mouth. “You can nap in the car.”
Ash glanced at him quickly, that startled wide-eyed look he had when Brand did something he didn’t expect, like a deer caught out in the woods by a hunter’s straying light. His eyes widened further still as Brand drew the napkin away—and gave in to temptation, for just a moment. He let his thumb glide over the soft, plump bow of Ashton’s lower lip, feeling how it gave to the touch, its warm, plush, velvety texture. To wipe away another crumb, of course…yet for a moment his gut went tight and hot as he caught the faintest hitch of Ashton’s breaths, before Brand forced himself to remember what was proper and pull away as if he had done nothing.
Ashton stared at him, brows knitted together, before he lowered his eyes, exhaling heavily. “…yeah.” He put the toast point down, uneaten, and took a long sip of his coffee before standing, smoothing his fingers over his suit coat. “I need to do something first.” Then he paused, giving Brand a strange look, before looking away. “…alone. Sorry.”
That stung, oddly. Brand parted his lips, then closed them again and bowed his head in acquiescence. “Of course, young Master. I shall wait for you at the car.”
“Are you even safe to drive?” Ash asked. “Aren’t you tired?”
“I have gone longer without sleep.”
When Ash said nothing, Brand lifted his head, meeting dark eyes turned soft with worry—and Brand’s heart gave a low and quiet beat, stumbling and irregular. Was his young Master actually concerned for him?
“Maybe we’ll call it early today,” Ash murmured.
“We will stop,” Brand said firmly, “when the work for the day is done.”
A laugh broke through Ash’s tired apathy. “You like bossing me around a little too much, Brand.”
“Do you really mind it?”
“No.” Ash’s laughter faded into a smile, small and thoughtful and withdrawn and almost, dare he say, flirtatious. “Not really.” Then he laughed again and bumped Brand with his elbow, before turning and striding from his room with a wave over his shoulder. “See you in a bit, Brand,” he called back.
Leaving Brand alone, looking after him…
And wondering things he had no business wondering.
No business wondering at all.
ASH STOOD OUTSIDE THE DOOR to his father’s suite and wondered why he was afraid to knock.
He could probably count the number of times he’d been in these rooms in the past twenty-three years on one hand, and wouldn’t even need every finger on both hands to count how many times he’d been in the adjoining offices.