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)
“There’s a yew tree in Wales that’s said to be five thousand years old,” interrupts Griffin.”
“Wow!” The little boy’s eyes widen like saucers. “Did you know trees are good for us, Holly? And not just because they made us happy and give us wood.”
“I do love things that give us wood.” Tilting his dark sunglasses, Griffin stares suggestively over the top at me. “Wood makes me very happy.”
“Then you must love trees, too,” Archie says.
“He wasn’t talking about that kind of wood,” Hugh mutters disapprovingly, coming to sit next to his brother. His fair hair is damp with perspiration and sticking to his head in some places and standing up in tufts in others.
“Hugh, what kind of bird do you think that is?” I ask, pointing at one swooping overhead. If in doubt, distract.
“You’re not supposed to know about stuff like that,” Griffin mumbles.
“I am almost nine,” the boy retorts.
“And he goes to an all-boys school. And as we know, boys are, by and large, gross.”
“I’m not gross.” Archie’s little face is a picture of indignation.
“Of course you’re not. I meant other boys, obviously. And Griffin.”
“Take that back,” the man growls, launching himself at me, flattening me half against the blanket and half against the grass. I squeal and kick out as he grabs my hands in one of his and begins to tickle me viciously. Let’s face it, tickling is always vicious. All those poking and pinching fingertips and being made to laugh against your will. Or better judgement.
“This is what you get for laughing at me earlier,” he growls, clearly entertained at his form of payback.
“I. Didn’t.” My head flails from side to side, my words breathless.
“I think I’ve changed my mind about you lying back and gritting your teeth,” he murmurs darkly. I gasp as his attentions move under the hem of my T-shirt. “I quite like the view from here.”
I can hear the boys complaining, and I think Hugh might even go as far as to pull in Griffin’s belt loops in an attempt to pull him off. But I can’t help—I can’t do anything but gasp and wheeze and flail.
“Get. Off!”
His eyes suddenly gleam, intent on mine as he pauses for the first time in his torture. “You’ve changed your mind.”
“What?” My chest heaves between us. It doesn’t go unnoticed by him.
“You want me to get off? Right here? Over you?”
“Eww! You know that’s not what I mean.” I pull on my arms and buck up from underneath.
His groan is a little less than PG despite our audience. “You know that’s what I do for a living, right? Get people off. I’m really good at it.”
“You’re really—”
“Aaaarrgh!”
“Oof!” Suddenly, I’m Griffin-less, and the sun is beating down on me once more. My gaze cuts right at the sound of a terrible groan.
Griffin’s face is the colour of pickled beetroot. Well, from what I can see from where he’s curled in a foetal position. His hand cupped between his legs, he groans again.
“Because I’m a ninja!” yells Archie, waving the cricket bat above his head.
“No,” Hugh hurriedly adds, his gaze darting from Griffin to me. “He means he saw a wasp.”
39
Alexander
“If you want my advice—”
“Which I don’t recall asking for,” I retort. Switching my phone to the loudspeaker, I’m decidedly uninterested in what Van has to say on the matter.
“But you’re getting anyway. Free of charge.”
I lean back in my chair and stare at the office ceiling as I begin drumming my fingers against the surface of my desk.
“Are you trying to deafen me?” Van drawls.
“Would it shut you up?” I sit forward again and glare at my study door. “Because where women are concerned, your advice is like verbal junk mail.”
“And you’re such an expert. Do I need to remind you who called whom?”
“I asked you to get me a woman,” I growl, my attention flicking to the partially open door as I wonder if those were footsteps. Unfortunately, no. “I didn’t invite you to comment on my life.” Where the fuck is he getting his information, anyway?
“You want me to get you a woman.”
“That sounded worse than it is.” Even if he does keep high-end call girls on staff.
“But in essence, that’s what you asked for.”
“I don’t need a woman to fuck, Van. I need a pretty ornament for my arm.” Because I’ll be damned if I have to watch Holland and Griffin’s great romance pretence without having a shield of my own this coming Saturday. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, or should that be the other way around?
“According to Isla, you haven’t sat the girl down to have a proper conversation with her. She says you’ve just been chasing her around like a randy dog. Trying to hump her leg and feeling her up in dark corners.”
“Since when have you and Isla been bosom buddies?” I find myself frowning down at my phone. While it answers where he’s getting his information, it opens up another can of worms. A can of worms I don’t have the bandwidth for.