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)
“Don’t humor me, Oliver.” The early evening is cool, yet my skin burns. “I’m not some damaged damsel in need of protection.”
“Good, because I’m not the hero type.”
“So, if you want me and I want you—”
“It’s the nature of regret,” he says, cutting me off. “It happens after the fact. Haven’t you been through enough today?”
The burst of laughter that spills from my lips sounds like it belongs to someone else. “You don’t have to make excuses.” I pull away until his strong fingers curl around my forearm, his grip firm.
“This isn’t just about you. I want you—I want to fuck you so well, you’ll cry out my name. But I won’t be the instrument of your revenge. If you’re in my bed, you’re there for me alone.”
He might have had the last word, but we’re not done here.
We turn into a street of Georgian town houses, their stuccoed frontages tall, formal, and as white as wedding cake, their window boxes brimming with colorful begonias.
“This is it.” Oliver, my amiable companion, lifts our clasped hands as his pointed finger indicates our destination. A boutique hotel.
Holding hands is okay. Kissing too. But sex is out of the question.
We’ll see.
I’m impulsive, but I’ve never been the type for one-night stands. I’m determined. Obstinate, I guess. I also know I’m not for everyone, but Oliver is into me, and I’m not trying to put a Band-Aid over my horror of a day.
We’re still holding hands, and I’m still pondering how as we approach the entrance, and my pace slows when the thoughts I’ve been trying to arrange manifest themselves into words.
“Hey.”
He turns as I tug on his hand, his expression guarded.
“I just want to say thank you for today. I will pay you back for all this.” I give a vague wave to the hotel. “I also wanted to say what you said earlier about regrets, it cuts both ways. When you walk away this evening, you’ll regret this. You’ll regret me.”
He frowns, reaching to rub his right eyebrow. His answer, when it comes, seems almost reluctant. “Yes, that’s very likely.”
“And when I close the door to my hotel room tonight, I can choose both how I feel and how I want to spend my night. I can ride the roller coaster of the betrayed, tap into all that embarrassment and foolishness and make myself feel sick to my stomach. I might hit the minibar, then cry myself to sleep—choices that are guaranteed to come with regrets.
“But what I’ll never regret is good company. That’s not to say I don’t understand. Today has been tainted by Mitchell for us both. And I’m sorry for that. I’d liked to have met you under different circumstances is what I’m trying to say.”
I don’t wait for his response as I turn away. I’m not done, but I’m not about to announce my intentions in the middle of this leafy London street. Instead, I smile at the doorman as he bids me good evening, and I step inside.
The hotel is much larger than the outside suggests, the interior stylish, moody, and masculine. Vintage chandeliers, parlor palms, and vermilion velvet walls; it’s all very bohemian, Roaring Twenties style.
At the desk, Oliver is greeted by name by a stunning brunette, her winged eyeliner both subtle and perfect.
“Good evening, Mr. Deubel.”
“Natalia, good evening.”
“Your usual suite?” Her gaze darts my way, the split-second glance taking in my dress and my hair. I can’t make out if she’s more perceptive than the multiple Georges or she knows Oliver better than I’d appreciate. I begin to wonder, Have these two . . . and if so, What has she got that I haven’t? Apart from perfectly winged liner, I guess.
Maybe the question should be, What have I got that she doesn’t? A white dress, obviously. And a connection to someone he clearly hates.
“That would be wonderful, Natalia.”
“Just for the night,” I interject. As Natalia’s gaze drops to her keyboard, I regret her assumption. And her red cheeks.
“That’s not what I meant,” I mutter, ignoring Oliver’s low chuckle of amusement. I was thinking about how expensive a night here might be. I have a good job and a decent income, but I’m also newly homeless, and God only knows what I’m going to do about my visa. How do you stay in the country on a spousal visa without a spouse? Maybe I can get the clinic to sponsor me, though I’m pretty sure that means I’ll have to go home in the meantime. There must be a way. Nothing is insurmountable if you set your mind to it. Like my man here. He’s totally mountable, given a little time and persuasion.
As Natalia continues to type away, I file all those worries away for Future Evie as I find myself wondering why a man who said he lives in London has a regular hotel suite. For regular assignations? He probably gets more ass than a toilet seat.