Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“No.” I’m just staring, because yum! “You’re wearing braces—suspenders, I think you call them.”
“That’s it?”
“I’ve just never seen you in them before.” I hug the wine bottle to my chest. For reasons.
“And you like them, I take it?” His voice drops lower.
“They’re okay, I suppose.” I flick my shoulder, then remember I was supposed to be filling his glass. “You don’t often wear a tie either.” A dark tie and suspenders, a silver tie clip, and a brilliant-white shirt. He looks so very sexy, but I can’t stand here gawking. “Have you had a haircut?” Twisting off the bottle top, I splash a little into his glass. I set it down beside him as I round the island.
“Just the back and sides.” He gives a soft chuckle as he rubs his palm up the back of his head. “I was starting to look a little like a fuzzy tennis ball.”
My skin shimmers with that sensory memory of it as I lean against the marble. It’s not like I need to cast my mind back very far to remember the circumstances. To last night, that’s all.
“So we’re celebrating?” he asks, taking his glass.
“Absolutely. The wedding isn’t until May next year, but it’s a start.”
“Well done,” he says, tipping the rim of his glass to mine. “Here’s to many more.”
“Yes, more of those, please, powers that be.” I bring the glass to my lips and sip without really tasting, because the way he’s looking at me means all I can taste is him.
Fin leans closer, feeding his hand under the weight of my hair. He cups the back of my neck, his fingers warm and comforting. “You’re the power, and it will be. Because you deserve great things.”
I’ve never considered myself the addictive type, but the risk feels real with him. The thought ripples, like a stone dropped into the mellow warmth of my chest.
It’s just sex, that’s all.
We’re the king and queen of commitment-phobes.
It’s just, his shirt and that tie, the one I feel my hand gravitating to, is so attractive. Settling my palm against the center of his hard chest, I decide they’d look even more attractive someplace other than on him.
Fin’s glass makes a tiny chink against the marble as he sets it down, before taking mine. I giggle, ticklish, as his hands link around my waist, and he lifts me to the countertop.
“Did you go to see Roza today?” His cologne is heavenly and his features hazy as he rubs his nose against mine.
“It was one of her good days.” The new nursing home is trialing her on new meds, which make her a little sleepy, but sleepy is better than agitated, for her state of mind.
“Did she ask after me?”
“She asked after Alexander,” I say, pinching in my smile.
“So she did.”
“Get a toga and a breastplate, and then maybe we’ll talk.”
“You’ll get it.” Pulling back, he slides me a sultry smile. “Sometime.”
“Sounds promising,” I say, wrapping his tie in my hand and pulling him closer, until his lips are pressed to one corner of my mouth. Then the other. I sigh at the gentle press of his teeth against my bottom lip. “What if I don’t want to wait?”
“I have something I want to talk to you about.”
I make a sound of pleasured inquiry as his lips brush mine once more.
“I want you to let me hire in a clearing service.” I still, but he doesn’t seem to realize as his touch feathers down my neck. “Sorting out the flat is taking so much of your time. It makes you sad, so I thought—”
“No,” I answer softly. “Thank you, but no.”
He pulls back to look at me. “It could free you up to concentrate on Trousseau, the business that makes you happy.”
“Clearing Baba’s house is my responsibility.”
“Yeah, I know, but—”
“No,” I reply firmly, sliding from the countertop.
“Mila.” He presses a hand to his hip, his expression one of consternation. “It makes no sense, you spending all your time doing that.”
“It doesn’t take up all my time.” Though it probably should, because the housing association is breathing down my neck. It wants to place a new tenant, and I’m not working fast enough for them.
“But it pulls you down. Why make yourself sad like that?”
“It doesn’t have to make sense to you. I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you? I called the housing association today.”
“You did what?” I make it to the other side of the island, instantly annoyed.
“I wanted to see if there was something I could do to help.”
“Unbelievable,” I mutter. “Why would you think that’s even appropriate?”
“It’s just as well I did,” he retorts, “given what they had to say.”
I stalk out of the kitchen before I say something mean. Because Lord knows my head is full of mean right now. And my chest feels tight. He’s stepped way over the line.