Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
“I agree,” he said quietly. “It was far too much.”
He was up on his feet before I could process how he meant it. He strode to my coat that had been cast aside, picked it up, and held it open for me.
It was clear he wanted to help me put it on and hurry me along, but when I didn’t move, he added, “It’s time for you to go.”
I clenched my fists as I shot to my feet. What the fuck was this? He just kissed the hell out of me, and now he was throwing me out? I sneered. “Well, there’s that awesome Hale charm you’re famous for.”
That infuriatingly sexy muscle along his jaw flexed.
I ripped my coat out of his hands and pushed one arm through a sleeve as I marched toward the front door. I heard his footsteps and knew he was following, but I wasn’t naïve. It was gentlemanly habit, not to chase after me and apologize for being an asshole—
“Sophia.”
I hesitated on the landing at the top of the front steps, the chilly spring wind pricking at my heated face. He gazed at me with an unreadable expression.
“You were correct, it had been awhile for me.” A slow, arrogant smile spread across the lips he’d used to turn my world upside down just a minute ago. “Thank you for the practice.”
SIX
MACALISTER
RELIEF AND DREAD WERE FELT IN EQUAL MEASURE over what had transpired on the antique couch in my front parlor. Marist had made me doubt my skills, and now my reputation was tarnished, but my evening with Sophia proved I was still capable of seducing a woman. I was confident if I hadn’t stopped us, soon after she’d have begged me to take her to bed.
My trepidation came from the strong desire I’d had to continue the foolishness, and the worry it may not have been much longer before I’d been the one begging, demanding she join me upstairs and stay the night.
It was where I was now, lying in the dark, staring at the shadows the chandelier cast across my bedroom’s ceiling. The cat had grown bold over the last few nights. Tonight, it attempted to curl up beside my feet, but I moved them beneath the covers, forcing the animal to the far side of my bed. If it were that desperate for companionship, I’d begrudgingly allow it to be near, but up against me was too much.
The kiss I’d given Sophia had only been to satisfy a curiosity. The signals she’d sent me over the last few days were confusing, and I was out of practice with reading women. I was an observant man, though. I’d catalogued all the times she’d glanced my direction at the office when she thought I wasn’t looking. And, of course, there was the way she reacted whenever I touched her.
Like I burned her, and she wanted to burn.
She is too young for you.
I wasn’t convinced I even enjoyed her company. She didn’t know her place, talked to me as if I were a friend, and at times it seemed she’d go to great lengths just to annoy me. I wanted to reprimand. To correct her behavior. Instead, I clenched my jaw and held my tongue.
It’d given me a headache every night this week.
Now, it had become a pattern. I took a pain reliever, lay in my bed, and struggled not to think about her while I waited for the sleep I knew was unlikely to come. Two years of meditation had sustained me through the most challenging time of my life, but it did not induce so much as drowsiness.
Nothing could quiet my mind.
Since I despised wasted time, I threw off the covers, pulled on a pair of athletic shorts, and stepped into my running shoes. I needed to get at least four hours of sleep to be able to function tomorrow, and the treadmill was the only surefire way to make that happen.
While I ran, I used the time to comb through social media feeds on my phone. I’d been out of the loop but was determined to make it seem like I’d never left, that I’d been at every party and fundraiser. I filled myself in with the backstories of the important players in Cape Hill, studying captions and snapshots of the events others had deemed noteworthy over the last two years.
It was distressing how often I drifted back to Sophia’s Instagram page.
She had a feed that would have impressed Alice and pleased the brand managers at HBHC. All the images had the same tonal quality and consistency, making an eye-catching grid. Sophia’s brand was clear and executed with precision. She was the refined socialite, invited to everything and friends with everyone.
She glowed in each picture, even the ones that were candid and she wasn’t smiling. She’d posted one this afternoon of her sitting in a restaurant booth, a thoughtful look on her face and a half-eaten bowl of pasta on the table in front of her. Had she asked Evangeline to take this for her, or the waiter afterward?