Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“It’s not what I want unless you’re okay with it.”
I stared at the floor.
“Are you okay with it, Astrid?”
I nodded.
“I’m going to need more than that.”
I raised my chin and finally looked at him, and it hurt to see that face, to imagine another woman’s lips on that mouth I’d kissed so many times. It was hard to imagine him naked and inside someone else, fucking someone else while I slept alone. It hurt like hell, but I was afraid if I didn’t accept it, I would lose him. “I’m okay with it, Bolton.”
Despite their unpopularity, the paintings that Theo had selected were expensive. Some of them were hundreds of years old. Pieces of history that only a few people had ever witnessed. They were carefully wrapped and the corners secured with padded edges before they were transferred.
I informed George before my arrival, and the transport team arrived outside the gates and began the process of unloading the paintings from the truck and bringing them into the palace where Theo lived alone.
The second we walked inside, I felt the heat across my flesh, feeling that man’s presence even though he was nowhere in the room. His essence was in every inch of the hardwood floor, the luxurious rugs, the portraits that hung on the walls.
The paintings were carried upstairs to the study and leaned against the pieces of furniture so they wouldn’t scuff the walls. Unpacking each piece would take time, so I worked on that while the guys left. I still had to take my measurements and then ask Theo where he wanted each one. Knowing him, he probably didn’t care, but I would never be that presumptuous.
I unwrapped each painting and made a pile of trash to take back with me, rolls of plastic and tape and padding. His walls were twelve feet high, so the paintings were substantial and grand enough to fill the space appropriately.
I was on my knees, loosening the tape from one corner, and I couldn’t explain it, I just knew Theo was there, standing behind me. Raindrops started to hit the window at that very moment, like he brought it with him.
Footsteps sounded, and then he appeared beside me, down on one knee to help me, even though it wasn’t his job.
He was shirtless. And barefoot. Just in gray sweatpants like it was a Sunday morning rather than a Tuesday afternoon.
I tried to focus on the painting and not look at him beside me. “You don’t have to help me.”
He didn’t address what I said. Instead, he lifted the painting and turned it on to an alternative set of corners so he could pull the tape off another section.
I was still on my knees when I looked up at him, seeing the muscles of his body segmented by distinct shadows, the cuts of muscle up and down his arms, the tightness of his strong stomach, the defined lines over his narrow hips.
It was a cold winter day, but it felt like summertime in Death Valley.
He finished pulling off the tape and tossed it into the pile I already made.
“Thanks.” I forced myself to stare at the painting instead of him.
He turned his head to look at me, his stare on the side of my face.
I avoided his look as long as I could. While I desired his attention, I didn’t want him to know that, how tense he made all the muscles inside my body, the way he unnerved me whenever we breathed the same air. But I turned to look at him anyway, to regard him with as much emptiness as I could fake.
His eyes continued to burn in my face. “What is it?”
“What is what?” I asked.
“You’re upset.”
“I-I didn’t say anything.” How did he know? How could he possibly know every bone in my body was broken?
His eyes shifted back and forth slightly before he stepped away, turning his muscular back on me. “I can tell.” He moved to one of the paintings that leaned against his couch, the fireplace behind it. He regarded it for a while before he looked at the empty space above the fireplace, as if he wondered if that’s where he should hang it. “Some men are blessed with great intelligence, others wisdom, and men like me…intuition.” He turned back to me. “Don’t worry, I won’t pry. I can tell you don’t want to talk about it.”
My eyes were locked on his face with no desire to move. I was fascinated by his appearance and his presence, and not just because he was drop-dead gorgeous, but for another reason I couldn’t describe. I tried to counter the invisible spell he cast with a change of subject. “You look like you just woke up.”
“Because I did.”
And he looked that sexy when he rolled out of bed? “It’s three in the afternoon.”