Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Yet it would be so easy to drop my head to his shoulder when now more than ever I just want to sink into him. To unburden my troubles, let my fear and my worries be absorbed by him. But that would be wrong. This is my life and my mess.
“Are you staying the night?” I ask, turning back to face him while trying very hard to keep my tone even.
“Will you come to me, steal away with a little more of my heart?”
“It’s such a good thing you have such a big heart, isn’t it?” I retort, hating the sad glance he sends me in return.
“I won’t be visiting,” I say before I change my mind, though the temptation to lose myself in him is great. “This has been good,” I add hesitantly, laying my palm against his chest. “You’ve made me feel good, Niko, and for that, I’m grateful.” My gaze flicks away at the almost scornful flick of his brow. “It was what I needed, but I won’t be visiting your room tonight. Or anymore.” His expression resets to that urbane look he wears so well. No taunting twist of the lips. No hardened glance of displeasure. “I’d like us to remain friends.”
His large hand covers mine. “You don’t need friends like me, Isla.”
“I do,” I answer quickly. “I also need to be in London tomorrow. I’d booked the early morning commuter flight, but—”
“Of course. My flight is scheduled to leave at seven.”
“I can hitch a ride?”
“I’d gift you the jet if I thought it would help persuade you to give us a chance.”
I shake my head. We had our chance years ago. What happened more recently was just an ego boost, or so I tell myself. But the man never misses an opportunity. He cups my face and, leaning in, presses his cheek to mine.
“I would give you the world if only you’d let me.” Pressed as close as we are, I can’t see his expression, but it doesn’t stop me from hearing the longing in his voice.
“You’re a good man, Niko, despite what you say. But I can’t be with you. I can’t be with anyone.”
“In time—”
I shake my head. “You will always bring out the most selfish version of me. You make me greedy. And I have to think of my family right now, not myself.”
“All right.” His fingers slip around mine, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “For now.”
“Mummy!” We spring apart at the sound of Archie’s distant voice. “Hurry up, I’m hungry for cake!”
20
Van
THE BEGINNING – FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
“Isla?” I’m leaving one of the smaller exhibition spaces when a familiar blond ponytail bounces past me. Shock and delight blooms deep in my gut before a secondary wave of something less pleasant hits me. I’m not sure if it’s this or if scaring her last time makes me hesitant to reach for her.
Fuck knows I’ve tried to stay away from her, but it seems the devil is intent on putting her in front of me anyway.
“Van!” The object of my borderline obsession turns and throws her arms around me in a friendly sort of hug. “How are you?”
“Better for seeing you.” Better for having her pressed up against me, no matter how briefly.
She pulls back, a delicate pink spreading across her cheeks as a couple of women pass, their sharp eyes and lopsided smiles distinctly unfriendly.
“What are you doing here?”
“Working,” she says as I bite back a retort of you don’t work here when she steps back to let a wave of people pass, and I notice her outfit. Her black pencil skirt and a diaphanous blouse tucked in at the waist. As the punters pass and she steps closer, I notice its printed with tiny stars and that the fabric is almost transparent. She’s wearing a dark camisole under it, and her outfit is completed by heels. Shiny black fuck-me heels. Her whole outfit makes my dick twitch.
“I thought you worked in Mayfair.” I clear my throat, my voice sounding husky, but I’m glad when she doesn’t ask how I know. Not that I’d admit to the extent of my knowledge. It’s not stalking. I don’t follow her around, noting her every move. But I know where she works, where she lives, and where she hangs out because I wanted to be sure our paths wouldn’t cross after the fuckup in T’zuma. It was a mistake to speak to her in front of my uncle. When he has an idea, the bastard is like a dog gnawing away at a bone.
“That’s right, but this is my little gallery’s big brother,” she says, her eyes flitting around toward the main exhibition space, where she’d seemed to be heading. “And it’s all hands on deck for tonight’s exhibition.” She pulls an unenthusiastic face. “Sabine, the owner, is hoping to cash in on next week’s Sotheby’s sale. Did you hear they have one of Modigliani’s nudes for auction?”