Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 183663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 918(@200wpm)___ 735(@250wpm)___ 612(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 183663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 918(@200wpm)___ 735(@250wpm)___ 612(@300wpm)
I blush at the slightest provocation, which is an embarrassing pain in the butt, though I try to remind myself that it saves me from buying blush.
Every cloud has a silver lining and all that.
Willing the colour away, I bring my wine glass to my lips, trying to brush off the sudden weird vibe by giving myself an internal shake. It’s probably jet lag.
“No matter what time of year,” she continues blithely, “in Amsterdam, you can always guarantee a soaking.”
Jet lag definitely. We’re talking weather, and there’s nothing sketchy about that.
“Well, that’s the one thing we can always guarantee,” Lukas says in that tone again. “No matter where in the world we are, right, darling?”
“I do so love getting wet in Amsterdam,” Annika purrs, linking her fingers over her husband’s to still his wandering hand. “But it isn’t all summer showers and canals.”
“No, of course,” I agree, immediately back to being weirded out again. “I look forward to visiting museums and soaking up a little culture. And then there are windmills, and tulips and—”
“And sex.” What the what what? Lukas’s eyes widen salaciously. “Amsterdam is such a sexual city. And so much fun.” And then he snorts.
Except . . . no, that wasn’t him. He’s still too busy groping his wife.
I sit straight in my seat at the realisation that the masculine sound almost certainly came from the man sitting at the table behind Lukas and Annika. The hottie, I mentally amend. I saw him arrive. I mean, I’m pretty sure anyone with a pulse was aware of him as he’d walked in with a couple of friends. They were a total thirst trap. Which, if you ask me, should be the collective noun for groups of hot guys in razor-sharp suits. But it wasn’t just their impeccable tailoring or how they looked as though they’d just stepped from the pages of a magazine shoot that made me stare. It was their air. Their presence, I guess you could call it. You know the type of men I mean; masters of all they survey. But the trio is down to one guy now, who has to be six-two, easily. Fair of hair, broad of chest, and superhero-ed of jaw. Or whatever. A real city gent. A snorting city gent, one who seems to have found something amusing in Lukas’s words. Or maybe in my predicament. Either way, Lukas doesn’t seem to have noticed because he’s still talking.
“It is such a liberating city. We love to visit. To take in the sights. To stimulate the senses.”
I don’t think he’s talking about the coffee.
He carries on talking, but I barely hear the words, distracted by the suit-wearing hottie. He’s not listening to Lukas, not precisely, but he’s definitely paying attention. I can feel the weight of it almost like it’s a physical thing. Or maybe this is just wishful thinking, given the way he appears to be immersed in the newspaper outstretched between his hands. Almost as though hearing my silent accusation, his eyes appear over the top of the broadsheet, twinkling in their delight. Thick, dark lashes provide a perfect contrast to brilliant blue. I find myself quickly looking away at the rise of one very expressively taunting eyebrow.
So you caught me looking. So what? You started it, Mr. Mystery Snorter.
“But you don’t have to wait to visit Amsterdam to sample those delights.”
What? Oh, no. Please don’t take the conversation there, Lukas.
My glass clatters against the edge of the table as I hurriedly set it down. Something tells me the guy isn’t about to offer me a pink bike with a basket full of tulips. Time for a quick getaway, I decide, sliding my hand between my chair and thigh and tightening around my much loved purse. “You know what? I’m good. I can wait until I get there. For a visit. Get to Amsterdam for a visit, I mean. Anticipation is part of the pleasure, and all that.”
“Anticipation has certainly been part of the pleasure of your company this afternoon.” Lukas’s gaze courses over me with a gleam. “What do you say, darling?” Without looking her way, he takes his wife’s hand again.
“I say she’s perfect,” she answers breathily.
And I’d say she, being me, needs to leave. “Well, would you just look at the time!”
“Come now, there’s no need to be coy.” Lukas’s other hand suddenly curls around my knee. “We’ve enjoyed one another’s company so far, haven’t we?”
His smile is one I can’t return, my gaze unconsciously sliding over his shoulder to find the hottie with the newspaper no longer there. A ball of something like disappointment settles in my gut. With him listening in, the situation didn’t seem so sordid—it almost seemed comical. But I’m not laughing now, even if there’s now one less person to be witness to my embarrassment. It’s not like I was expecting him to save me or anything.