Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
‘No, it’s fine!’ I blurt out, yanking my hand away fast, my panic rising. ‘Honestly, it’s just a silly nick. I need to mop this up.’
‘I’ll wipe up,’ Colin offers. ‘You get a bandage.’
‘Come.’ Jack’s voice hits me from the side, and then his hand claims my wrist.
I jolt like a frightened animal, jumping back a few steps. Then I do something so utterly stupid. I look at him, finding grey eyes full of concern.
He tilts his head, saying so much before he breathes a word. ‘Where’s the bathroom?’ he asks.
I point down the corridor, losing the ability to talk. Before I can even think to protest, Jack has his hand against the small of my back, pushing me towards my bedroom. His touch is like fire against my back, burning through the material of my dress.
We’re going to be alone. What will he say? What will I say? He’s married? He’s here, in my house with his fucking wife! And he’s Colin’s contractor! My stomach churns.
He doesn’t close my bedroom door behind us, choosing to only push it shut a little. Then he’s leading the way across my room, pulling me along behind him urgently. After a quick check over his shoulder, he pulls the bathroom door closed behind us, and though I’m a wreck on the inside, I manage to appreciate how suspicious the closed doors might look if his wife comes to find us. I step forward to push it open again, but Jack intercepts me, blocking my way with his tall, well-built body. More flashbacks, except his body is naked.
I refuse to look up at him. I’m a big fat mess on the inside – confused, hurt and angry – but a lust and desire that I’m all too familiar with is dominating me. And I’m terrified by it. It wasn’t the alcohol that night. It wasn’t my imagination. It was real, and I’m feeling it all again now. When I really shouldn’t be.
He doesn’t speak, leaving the silence drenched with unspoken words and penetrated with potent craving. I knew I should have stayed away! I sensed there was a reason I should have stayed away. Oh my God, he’s married! I checked for a ring that night. He wasn’t wearing a ring!
‘I need to go.’ I push past him, but he seizes me and holds me in place, his breathing wild and laboured.
‘You’re Colin’s architect?’ he asks, his voice rich and smooth even though it carries reasonable worry.
‘Yes,’ I answer, short and sharp, not following it up with any of the questions that I should be firing at him.
Pretend I don’t know him. Pretend I’ve never clapped eyes on him before in my life. It’s the only way. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’re married?’ The question just falls right out.
His hands squeeze my shoulders. ‘I couldn’t,’ he says simply. ‘I physically couldn’t utter the fucking words to you, because at that moment in time, Annie, I was wishing I wasn’t, more than I’ve ever wished it before.’
Wished it before? I shake my head before I can let that question hold me here any longer. ‘I really must go.’
‘No,’ he grates, shaking me a little.
My anxiety rockets. I can only pretend nothing happened between us if he lets me, and his attitude right now is telling me he’s not prepared to. Or maybe he’s worried I’ll say something to his wife. His wife! His wife who’s currently sweeping up broken glass in my hallway.
Anger bubbles up from my toes, and I brave looking at him. His handsome face is like a sucker punch to my turning stomach. I feel sick. ‘I won’t say anything if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘You were gone,’ he whispers, taking my arm and pulling me towards the sink.
He flips the tap on and forces my hand under the running water. There’s no pain. I can’t feel a damn thing through my shock.
‘I woke up and you were just gone,’ he says. ‘Why?’
His audacity astounds me. Like I have to justify my actions to him? ‘It’s fucking irrelevant now, don’t you think?’ I seethe, wrenching my hand from the sink and grabbing a hand towel to wrap it in.
I’m so stupid! I bet he’s out most weekends enticing women back to hotels with those sinfully good looks, the right words, his twinkling eyes and a bit of charming banter. He’s clearly got away with it too, because his wife obviously trusts him. She didn’t think twice about sending him into a room alone with me. What an arsehole! I’m suddenly so mad with myself for wasting a whole week going over every tiny detail of our encounter, picking it to pieces and trying to make sense of it. How many women has he blindsided?
He moves in closer and bends a little, his scent invading my nose. I hold my breath to avoid it. To stop myself from relishing it.