Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“It’s not that overgrown,” I say with a low chuckle. In fact, it’s in a better state than it was when Dad or me or even El and Brin were responsible for the garden chores, thanks to the gardener I employ.
“Like the book,” she says, angling her head to look up at me. “Kind of idyllic.”
It’s just a suburban London terraced house, but I suppose I know where she’s coming from. The house was built in the early eighteen hundreds and has all the charm of the Victorian period. Slightly gothic yet at the same time quite frivolous; ceiling roses and chandeliers, scalloped coving like a heavily iced wedding cake. The garden isn’t big, but it’s charming, I suppose. The vined arbor just coming into flower. The loveseat and the little wooden summer house where Polly can often be found sitting in the summer.
Her sigh sounds happy, and for a fleeting moment, I get a flash of a future that isn’t ours. Snow in the garden, ice laced on the windows, Mimi leaning against me just as she is now, her hair shot with silver, her face softened with age, but still so fucking beautiful.
“I can imagine you all running about the place, the girls in smocked dresses with pigtails and the boys in boater hats and sailor suits.” Her body moves with mine as I find myself stepping back in shock, I suppose.
“You’ve a very vivid imagination,” I say gruffly. I throw back the remaining inch of wine, putting the glass on the table behind me.
She rocks forward before turning on her heel to face me, her lips tipping mischievously. “Oh, but not as vivid as yours.”
“This might be true.” Despite my previous movement, I lean in, pressing my lips to hers. She tastes like wine and her skin is warmed like sunshine as I slide my hand under her sweater, gripping her waist as I deepen the kiss.
“Not here,” she protests in the spaces between our kisses. I trade a circle on her skin with my thumb, pulling her hips against mine as I grab a handful of her bum. “Whit, I don’t want…” Her soft sigh and her body’s response denies her words, my mind spinning through the possibilities of where I could take her. To take her? To fuck her. To scratch this near-constant itch.
This isn’t right. She deserves better than a quick fumble in the downstairs loo. Plus, there’d be no hiding it from the truffle hounds I have for brothers. I slow my kiss, then press my head to her shoulder. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I really like how you are with me.”
“How am I with you?” I pull back and note how her eyes look like hazy, smoked glass.
“Demanding. Spontaneous. You make my head dizzy and my insides kind of fizzy when you’re near.”
“And that’s why I’m not really sorry at all.” Even if I should be. “In fact, if I still had a bedroom in this place, I’d be dragging you up there and putting on some really loud music.”
“Like a teenage fantasy.”
“If I’d know you when I was a teenager—”
“Oh, honey,” she splutters, pressing her hands to my cheeks. “When you were a teenager, I was a little girl with skinned knees and pigtails.”
With a groan, I wipe my hand down my face. Connor, mate. I didn’t mean for it to feel this way.
“But if it helps, I can relate. Because when I was a little older, you were my ultimate teenage fantasy.”
If I’m going to hell, I might as well make it worth it as I slide my hand to the nape of her neck, registering her wide eyes the second before I press my lips to her ear. “I really want to see you touch yourself.” I want to taste that little gasp and swallow her soft moan. “I want a replay of those moment where you bought you lingerie in my name.”
“I don’t know—”
“Yes, you can, darling. You’ll do it for Daddy.”
“You are a wicked, wicked man.”
“And you are slut for the d-word.”
“I just don’t get it. It’s not like anyone would look at us and think is he her dad or her daddy? It’s not like you’re that much older than me.”
“Daddy is a mindset, darling. It doesn’t come with age restrictions.”
“Daddy is…” Her eyes slide over me avariciously. “So hot on you.”
Is it any wonder I want to bend her over every surface I see? But I don’t have time to dwell, not as the front door bangs open and the scratch of nails on floorboards heralds the arrival of Heather. And Heather already knows too much.
“That’ll be Ambrosius and Heather.”
“Your sister is married to someone named Ambrosius?”
“No, that’s the dog. Or one of them, at least. Archer is her husband, and—” I pull open the dining room door and nearly bump into a life-sized, scowling Tinker Bell. “Jesus Christ!”