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)
Jesus Christ, I must be having a midlife crisis. My friends have been trying to convince me life begins at forty. They never once mentioned that dementia might set in.
“Have I got something . . .?” Holland swipes a finger to the corner of her mouth, her brow puckered in a tiny frown.
My gaze lingers on her mouth a beat longer before I reach out and trace my finger across the deep bow of her lip. “Paprika,” I lie. There’s a tiny dish of chickpeas and pumpkin seeds sitting between us. She’d helped herself to it earlier.
“Am I salty?” Her eyes lift, her voice huskier now.
I find myself staring down at the offending finger before bringing it to my lips, regardless of whether it was or wasn’t an invitation and irrespective of how the way she’s looking at me, the pit of my balls tighten, and my cock twitches. “Like a Manzanilla olive.” I manage to make my voice sound at odds with how I feel.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had one.”
They’re a little sweeter, round, and ripe. The perfect accompaniment to a martini and almost the exact colour of her eyes earlier in the sunlight. But I don’t say any of that, opting for instead, “You look like a girl from Andalucía.”
“Like someone you know?” Her mouth twists, unimpressed.
I shake my head. “Manzanilla olives are grown in Andalucía.” I only referred to her colouring. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Since when have I been so awkward? Since when have I forgotten to just go for what I want? Could it be because you have a hard-on for a woman at least fifteen years your junior? my mind unhelpfully supplies.
“That’s just great, Lyle. I remind you of some girl you met in Spain. Is that why you agreed to keep me company?” Her tone is bantering but sharp.
“Agreed to? I wasn’t aware I had a choice.”
“I’m not holding you hostage.”
“Oh, but you are, Holland. Your sparring wit and lovely face have me absolutely captive.”
“Even if you haven’t offered me your name.” She sends me a look from beneath her lashes, part tease, part seriousness. And totally beguiling.
“It’s Alexander,” I offer reluctantly because she intuited my thoughts perfectly. I would prefer not to give her my name. Alexander is one of my names, though not one I’m called in my family circle.
“Alexander,” she repeats with a slow nod of her head. “I like it. Do you go by Alex?”
I shake my head.
“Can I call you Alex?”
“Not if you want me to answer.”
“How about Al?” she continues to bait, causing my mouth to twist with a show of annoyance even though I’m more entertained.
“Zander?”
“I think I’d prefer Cousin Lyle.”
“You two are so cute together!” This is suddenly offered by a woman from the other side of the table as she slides into the seat recently vacated by Holland. “Have you been together long?”
“Oh, we’re not dating,” Holland replies. “We’re family, right, Lyle?” Her gaze slides to me, full of mischief. “Cousins,” she further clarifies.
Perhaps the kissing kind.
“Oh, really?” I drag my gaze from Holland’s when the woman’s eyes meet mine, her attention unsubtly raking over me. “I’m Nikki, and this is Lewis.” A languid finger flicks to her right. “Mind if we join you?”
4
Alexander
“You’re sure you’re just cousins?”
As the idiot arse sitting next to me speaks, I refuse to offer him even a glance as I continue to turn the glass of amber liquid in my hand.
“Only, the way you’re watching her, it’s not like she’s family. Unless you’re a close family. Like a really close family.”
My fingers tap against the tabletop as I try not to bite out my response. “I’m sure if you cast your mind back thirty minutes or so, you’ll recall what Holland said.”
“I know what she said, and I know what I see,” he mutters under his breath. Before I can decide whether I want to answer, punch, or ignore him, he begins to move. “I’m gonna take a leak.”
A part of me wonders what I’m still doing here. In telling the other woman we were cousins, did Holland think she was protecting herself? Perhaps she doesn’t like me in that way, as childish as that sounds.
That way, I silently scoff. We’re not talking a schoolyard romance here. The kind of sweet nothings I want to whisper include coaxing her to slip out of her underwear to bring her sweet pussy over my face.
I stifle a frustrated sigh. I’ve been turned down before, of course. But it doesn’t happen often, mostly because I stick to the same kind of woman. Those aware of my name and my status. Those who are aware of my need for absolute discretion. Those who, for whatever reason, are happy to make do with the part of me I’m willing to give. Usually my cock.