Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Or he was memorizing it should I do something idiotic again and break my neck.
“Was she right about you using anger to cover you being frightened?” I asked snottily.
“When Mum and Portia told us you took off after a noise in the wall, I was terrified out of my brain.”
I sat motionless, staring at him.
“Whoever is doing this isn’t right in the head, and you were chasing after them.”
“Ian—”
“When Dad told me you’d taken a tumble down the stairs, it felt like my heart stopped.”
I pressed my lips together.
“In other words, yes. Mum was right about me too.”
Okay.
Damn.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Another squeeze and, “You’re not going to do it again. It’s over. You’re fine. We’re fine.”
“I’m also set to leave on Sunday,” I pointed out.
“Me as well. And you’re correct, we should move on from this and talk about that. Are we landing at your place or mine when we get to London?”
I blinked.
He made a decision. “I have to drop off papers at my office. I’ll go to my place and pack a bag. Next weekend, though, you’re all mine at mine.”
“So we’re going to continue with this kind of intensity?” I hazarded.
His brows ascended. “I see no reason not to. I enjoy being with you. I very much enjoy fucking you. I enjoy more getting to know you. And now, I’d rather not change the habit of sleeping with you at my side. Do you have reservations?”
I smiled. “Not a one.”
His eyes fell to my mouth. “Then it’s sorted.”
It totally was.
“In retrospect, you’re hot when you’re pissed off,” I told him.
“When it comes to you, I’m hot all the time.”
I rolled my eyes.
Taking my chin in his fingers, he pulled me to him and kissed me.
Then he proved how hot he was for me as we made out on the couch in the Pearl Room.
Thirty-Eight
3:03
Our Saturday had been blissfully peaceful.
And Duncroft, when I wasn’t chasing anyone through the walls or being drugged, was heaven.
Ian and I had started it with a lazy morning in bed (and that was also heaven…in a bed). We’d gotten up to take a long walk on the moors with Danny and Portia. Ian and I then spent the afternoon in the kitchen. Bonnie and I made a fraisier to be served with dinner while Ian chatted with us and made me fall a little bit further for him as he watched me work like I was sculpting David.
He also demanded to lick all the bowls.
The first was sweet, watching him taste my work was hot.
Now, it was our final night, and I’d packed as Portia instructed me.
In other words, I’d saved the best for last.
Walking into the sitting room at six forty-seven that night, I came out wearing a black evening gown with mesh panels at the sides and all of the racer back, except along the zipper. It had a cut at the neckline, a slit up the side, fit my upper body like a dream, and fell in graceful folds to the floor with a small train at the back.
Ian, wearing an impeccably cut three-piece black suit and white shirt opened at the collar, took one look at me and whispered in a silken voice I heard across two rooms, “I’ll never tire of you.”
I stopped and swished my hips, replying, “Well, thank you, milord.”
“The paparazzi won’t be a problem. But they will feed on you. You’re dazzling.”
I stopped swishing and stood stock-still.
He held a hand out to me. “I’ll fuck you in that dress later and enjoy thinking about it all night. Now come here, we’re already late.”
Mutely, still overwhelmed by what he said, I went there and took his hand.
When he had purchase of it, he reached for the other and twisted it gently so he could see my outer forearm.
The bruise (one of many, but the only one visible in that dress) where I’d slammed my arm on the doorjamb had risen in brownish-purple relief.
I then watched with absolute fascination as he raised that bruise to his lips and touched them there tenderly.
And yes. After that, I fell for him even further.
Finally, arm in arm, of course, like we were strolling the Serpentine, he led me down to the Wine Room.
Ian stood by the bed, his suit still on, only his trousers open, and he fucked me while I lay on my back, fully clothed.
Yes, he’d tossed my skirt up.
I watched the savagery of his expression, felt it driving into my body, and I came for him with just that.
While I did, I heard my dress tear as he wrenched it at the bodice before he tugged my nipple.
I cried out and came harder.
When I came down, I watched with captivation and awe as he worked for, then found his.
He bent over me when it left him.
He kissed me tenderly and then promised, “I’ll have your dress mended.”