Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 76759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I don’t want to think about how much Brock is paying him.
I walk to the black limousine, knock on the window.
It opens, and our chauffeur, complete with black flat cap, raises his eyebrows. “May I help you, sir?”
“I’m just wondering, how much do you make an hour?”
“Fifty pounds.”
“So Brock Steel is paying you fifty pounds an hour to drive us around?”
“Oh no, Mr. Steel is payin’ the company I work for.” He looks past me out the window. “I shouldn’t be sayin’ this. But he’s probably payin’ more like two hundred pounds.”
I drop my jaw.
“Don’t worry, sir. Everything is paid for in advance.”
“What about your gratuity?”
“A tip, you mean? We don’t do that in England much.”
“Okay. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“Not a problem.” He smiles and closes the window.
I need to get over myself.
I walk along the lawn for a while, breathing in more of the fresh air. Then I turn to walk back toward the door when—
Shit.
Brianna is out here. Looking beautiful, of course, in jeans and a tight T-shirt. No cowboy boots, though. Nikes. Walking shoes. They were sightseeing earlier. Brianna and Maddie, to my astonishment, didn’t take Rory up on her spa offer.
“Jesse?”
“What?”
She blinks. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“Don’t I look okay?”
“You look amazing as always. But you were so distraught the other night, and I—”
I shake my head forcefully. “The other night never happened, Brianna.”
She chews on her bottom lip.
I don’t want to hurt her. I have nothing against Brianna. She’s a beautiful young woman, and she didn’t deserve to have her virginity taken from her the way it was. I regret my hand—or other body part—in it.
She sets one hand on her hip. “Jesse, it did happen. If you want to never talk about it again, I can’t stop you. But it did happen, and I don’t regret it.”
“I do.” I walk past her, head toward the door.
But she grabs my arm and yanks me back. “I don’t accept that. If you don’t want it to ever happen again, there’s nothing I can do about that. But I can’t believe that you regret such a beautiful moment. I gave you something that I—”
“That I never asked for, Bree.” I sigh. “How am I supposed to live with that? Live with the guilt?”
“There’s no reason for you to feel guilty, Jesse.” She reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “I wanted it to happen. I don’t feel any regret at all.”
My cock aches at just her slight touch. I pull my hand away. “That makes one of us, then. I need to get back inside. My sisters will be worried.” I turn toward the house.
“At least tell me one thing.”
I stop, but I don’t turn to face her. “What?”
“Did you at least…enjoy it?”
Regrets. Wishes. Lies.
I wasn’t lying when I told her I regretted it, but can I lie now? Can I tell her that I didn’t enjoy it at all?
Because that would be a big fat lie—as big as I’ve ever told.
“Are you going to answer me?”
I pause. Mull it over. What is the best way to respond? Finally, “Brianna, whether I enjoyed it really isn’t the issue.”
“It’s an issue for me. I enjoyed it. I loved every minute of it. I’m glad it was you. I wanted it to be you.”
I turn this time to face her. “You manipulated me.”
“I didn’t, though. I simply told you what I wanted.”
“Yes, you did. But you didn’t tell me you were a virgin.”
“Why does that matter?”
“We’ve been through this. You know exactly why it mattered, Brianna. You knew that if you told me, I wouldn’t take you to bed.”
“But I wasn’t—”
“That’s a lie. You manipulated me. We both know it, so stop saying you didn’t.”
She bites on her lip again, and all I can think about is biting on it for her. Chewing on that luscious lower lip of hers, shoving my tongue into her mouth and kissing her, taking her again, this time aggressively, right on this manicured green lawn that belongs to an old friend of her family’s.
“All right,” she finally relents. “If that’s your definition of manipulation—”
“That’s everyone’s definition of manipulation, Brianna.”
She lets out a breath. “I suppose I did manipulate you. But you know what? You weren’t entitled to know my sexual history.”
“What sexual history?” I demand.
“Stop that. You know very well what I mean. If you’d asked me straight out—”
“Who the hell asks that question when they’re about to take a woman to bed?” I shake my head.
“You could have. You know my age. You absolutely could have asked.”
She’s right. I could have. Should have, even. But I didn’t, and I know exactly why.
I fucking wanted her.
This is on me. It’s always been on me. I can try to blame her for not telling me, for manipulating me, but I bear the fault here.