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)
“She’s enigmatic,” the other man protests. “And a Rubens, I think. Not one of his contemporaries, as Lady Isa said.”
“Isla is right. It’s not a Ruben.” At Alexander’s low whisper, I find myself suppressing a shiver. Attuned to my every move, as close as he is, he doesn’t miss it.
“The only Ruben I know is a sandwich,” I whisper dishonestly. “I don’t think they’re looking at one of those.” Alexander’s chest moves against mine in a silent chuckle.
Ack! Why did I say that? It wasn’t for the lols. I know we’re not suited, but I don’t have to make myself out to be some backwoods hick.
“I know what a Ruben is,” I whisper, ducking my head to hide the twist to my lips. “I saw Sampson and Delilah at the National Portrait Gallery in London.”
I’m not sure he's listening or impressed as his fingers reach for a lock of my hair. I watch as though hypnotised as he winds it around his forefinger, bringing it to his lips.
“A tale of love and betrayal,” he murmurs. His gaze lifts, and I see the intensity there. “I swear I would never hurt you.”
The moment is broken by the voices in the hallway.
“Now, there’s a looker,” old nasally Joe says. “And as my old dad used to say, it’s not what you look at but what you see.”
“It sounds like his father was a fan of Thoreau.”
“I’m surprised he can see anything the way the light glinted from the diamonds in his watch. He’s not living life simply.”
This time, I hear his smile. Feel it as he presses his lips to the space below my ear.
“How long do you suppose he’s been dead?” Alexander whispers.
“Who, Thoreau? A hundred and fifty years, give or take.
“So the same length of time they’ve been staring at that bloody painting.”
I stifle a giggle and whisper, “Patience.”
“Is shot.” The hard t makes me shiver. “I want to touch you so much it physically hurts.” His declaration is intimate, fierce. They create a deep and captivating ache deep inside of me. His fingers trail languidly across my bare collarbone before he lowers his head to press a kiss against my throat. “This isn’t a recent malady, Holland. It’s not something that began tonight.”
Thought disappears, and reason drops away as his kiss becomes a sucking pull, everything happening without real thought or cognisance. Just instinct. My soft moan. The way he lifts his head and the way my lips catching the sharpness of his jaw. Just a soft brush. His throat ripples with a hard swallow, his gaze sharpening in the dim light. As if he needed further hints, I wrap my hand around the back of his neck, pulling his lips down to mine. I taste the wine on his breath, warm and earthy, the world further shrinking at the sound of his low groan.
Kisses in the dark seem worth ten in the daylight, every sense heightened, every brush of his tongue nothing short of intoxicating. His fingers grip my hips, pulling me tighter against him like he’d climb inside my skin if it were possible.
“The other door—”
His response is to glide his thumb over my nipple, his mouth swallowing my quiet moan.
“I’ve been imagining burying myself deep inside you all evening,” he whispers, his thumb and forefinger pinching it over my dress.
I bite my lips to keep in the sound, my body convulsing against him, demanding more as I press my breast fully into his hand.
“I want—” his clever hands. His tongue. The feel of him pressed against me.
“Tell me.” Before I’ve even registered his answer, hands pass over my hips almost as closely as the fabric of dress. My ankles feel the brush of cool air. My knees. My thighs as the fabric whispers up my body.
The conversation continues outside of the room, words indistinct, their whereabouts unimportant, my reckless need reigning supreme.
Alexander’s teasing fingers draw the soft fabric up my legs. I inhale a soft gasp as his hand cups over my panties at the apex.
“You’re so hot.” I close my eyes as he presses the meat of his palm against me, my insides tightening as one long finger presses against my cleft. “I want to see.”
I close my eyes against the sight of him, the intensity in his gaze, and the way he watches me. I want to be devoured. Devoured by him.
Fingers pluck the zipper at my side opening, its teeth, and my laboured breath the only sounds in the room. Fabric skims up my torso before Alexander pulls it up and over my head.
And I let him. Crazed. Dazed. And desperate for this.
Until a burst of laughter sounds out in the hall.
“Relax, they won’t come in,” he whispers. “They’re too busy admiring the art in the hall.” His eyes glitter as they fall over me. “My God, they have no idea what they’re missing.”