Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
I woke up this morning with him inside me. I have no clue how he managed to get me stimulated or got a condom on, but I was wet and pulsing when I opened my eyes, Declan behind me. He thrust in and out slowly, building me up higher until, once again, we peaked together.
Some things have definitely changed.
And some things are the same.
Today at the board meeting, Declan was in full business mode. Not once did he give me a glance, other than at lunch break—which was served in the conference room—to ask if I would check his voice mail.
And, honestly, he was brilliant. His father might be in charge of the Blackwood Empire, but Declan is respected and commands attention. He’s going to make an excellent leader one day, assuming that’s what he wants. I often wonder what his actual goals are, given he wants to branch out and build his own boutique resort with a sex-club theme.
At the end of the meeting, I’d been grateful for this experience. I was also exhausted, hoping to relax by myself with a glass of wine back in the suite. After all, Declan was eating dinner at his parents’ by his father’s command.
What threw me for a loop was when we left the Blackwood headquarters and Declan informed me I’d be joining him for dinner. He didn’t make a big deal, merely stated it would be a formal business affair so we were appropriately dressed. Because Declan doesn’t seem overly close to his family, I decided not to think twice about the invitation, choosing to consider it more of a polite offer by my boss.
Regardless, I’m a bit nervous and twitchy feeling as I sit down with one of the wealthiest families in America. I have no clue of the difference between the dinner fork and salad fork, and I hope it doesn’t reflect poorly on Declan.
“Relax,” he murmurs as he guides me up the walkway to the double front doors. In an attempt to ease my mind, he points to the beautifully manicured hedges to the left and right of the walkway, some trimmed into intricately shaped topiaries. “The grounds are this home’s best feature. There are several reflecting pools and fountains throughout, as well as a gorgeous iron pavilion in the back I’ll show you if we have time after dinner.”
“It’s so beautiful,” I gush as we reach the porch. Declan rings the doorbell, and I’m stunned he doesn’t just walk in. This is, after all, his parents’ home.
As if knowing what I might be thinking, he winks.
The door swings open, and I’m not surprised to see what I assume to be a butler. He’s not the stereotypical older white male, but probably in about his mid-thirties and impeccably dressed in a black waistcoat, light gray silk cravat, and matching pants with a darker gray stripe down the sides.
“Mr. Blackwood,” the man says. “It’s good to see you. May I take your things?”
“Thank you,” Declan says, shrugging out of his coat. I do the same, handing it as well as my purse over. It’s glaring he doesn’t address the man by name, which leads me to believe he doesn’t know who this is. Despite his station in life, I’ve always known Declan to call every employee by their name.
“I see you’ve brought a guest,” the man says with a smile toward me. “I’ll have another place set at the table.”
My eyes snap to Declan, my eyebrows rising in question. He didn’t tell his parents I was coming?
Declan makes a sound of displeasure low in his throat. His words are short and clipped. “I sent my mother a text this morning advising her of my guest.”
“Perhaps she didn’t see it,” the butler suggests. I suppose it’s his duty to his employer.
“She saw it,” Declan growls, and the butler knows when to accept defeat. He graciously inclines his head.
He goes on to say, “Your parents and sister are in the library having a pre-dinner drink. Can I bring you and your guest something?”
“I’ll take a Scotch,” Declan replies, eyeing me. I have no clue if there’s an etiquette to what I should or shouldn’t drink, so I lamely ask for white wine.
Declan grabs my elbow again, then leads me through an expensive foyer with a massive floating curved staircase. The tiled floor has an intricate inlaid pattern of mosaic tiles. I try to study it, but he whisks me past to a set of French double doors on the left.
A brief glimpse inside shows an enormous, beautiful library. It’s not done in heavy woods and paneling usually associated with a wealthy home library, but rather in all white. It has an expansive glass-domed ceiling that’s darkened by the night sky but must shine gloriously during the day. The library rises two stories with shelves from the floor to the base of the ceiling. Along each wall, there’s a rolling ladder, also in white.