Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Not to be confused with naturism.
My mind bends to that night at Kensington Palace. The night we gave in to our attraction and ultimately agreed to be together without fear of expectations. Oliver, my inadvertent hero, was so sweet, even if the sequence of events wasn’t exactly perfect.
Oliver’s sweet kisses and words. His tender touches with his handkerchief.
Then one of London’s finest tactfully clearing his throat.
My panic as Oliver unhurriedly righted my dress.
My hand in his as he shielded me from the officer’s torchlight . . . nimbly stuffing my ruined panties into his pocket.
The frightening size of the police officer’s tactical weapon. (Not a dirty joke.)
And the imagined headline in my head: VET CHARGED WITH PUBLIC INDECENCY FOR HAVING SEX IN THE KING’S GARDEN—SHE’S TO BE DEPORTED!
That would be so much worse than a lousy Pulse Tok video.
But then to my absolute relief (thanks to Oliver’s charm), the police officer directing us “lost souls” to our car.
I like Oliver. I like him a lot. I tried not to, and I didn’t trust him. But we’re working through that now. On those long walks, we’ve had a lot of time to talk, because I won’t make the same mistake as before. I refuse to get ahead of myself, no matter how my heart skips when he’s near.
No more power games.
No more telling me after the fact.
No more making decisions for me, even if he thinks it’s the right one!
I will be present this time. I won’t be the slow-boiling frog, losing herself in the watery soup.
Beyond that, things are good. Uncomplicated. We’re just enjoying each other, without plans for the future. Or maybe I’m fooling myself because I do think about Lucy more than I ought to. I can’t seem to bring myself to ask what happened. Maybe I’m not as cool as I think. But then, I did almost marry a man who’d been screwing half of London. “One bitten, twice shy” is an understandable position, I think.
But sometimes I catch Oliver looking at me like he’s tracing the shape of my face, committing it to memory as though I might disappear. And when we make love, he trembles with such intensity, it seems almost like fear.
I could be imagining things. Maybe it’s my own feelings I should be examining.
“There you are.” Over the back of the couch, Oliver’s face appears in my line of vision. I don’t hear what he says; rather, I read the shape of the words on his lips as I pull my Beats from my ears.
I make to sit up when he presses me back with a kiss. “Stay where you are. I’ll come and join you.” Rounding the couch, he slides off his jacket and drops it to the chair, then his fingers move to his tie.
“Slowly,” I purr, dropping the headphones and my phone to the floor. “Give a girl a moment to watch the devil strip from his workday skin.”
His tie slides from his collar with a slick, and Oliver continues his saucy striptease. He halts when he gets to his belt. “Want to help?”
“Oh. I see we’re having dinner in.”
He laughs, low and dirty. “We’re meeting Mandy at eight o’clock, but a snack between meals never harmed anyone.”
“I could go for a little something,” I purr.
His lips twist at my words.
“Okay, not so little, then.”
“Wait. Where’s the fluffy terrorist?” he asks, as his fingers move to his belt.
“In my bed, I expect.” It’s where he sleeps. Mostly. Somehow each night, he winds up in bed with me and Oliver. Which Oliver loves . . . not a whole lot. But he tolerates.
“Don’t move,” he mutters, heading for my room. A moment later, the door closes, and then he’s back, climbing over me, his knees bracketing my thighs, such wickedness sparkling in his eyes.
“Now, where were we?” His tie is suddenly dangling from his fingers as he lifts my wrists over my head.
“Where? I think the devil was about to take me to heaven.”
“That is not how you get your dick sucked.”
I almost choke on my latte, and I’m pretty sure some of it comes out of my nose. “Yara!”
“Oops. Sorry. Did I say that out loud?” Her gaze slices left, then right, then she gives a shrug, satisfied she hasn’t offended anyone’s sensibilities. Mine apparently don’t count. “Take a look at it,” she adds, flipping her phone around to face me.
“At what—ew, Yara! Put that thing away.”
We’re catching up over coffee in a fashionable Italian coffee shop after work, though it’s arguably almost Negroni time. Unless you’re a fluffy labradoodle, when all day is puppuccino time.
“I bet he’s heard that before.” Yara gives a dirty laugh. “He says I can have it all night long.”
“Oh my God.” I press my hand over her phone until the screen is facing the table. “Do you want the poor woman behind me to have a heart attack?”