Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
I enter the bedroom and stop on the threshold, and for a split second, all of my woes melt away when I see her sprawled in my bed, beautifully unconscious and unaware. I sigh, leaning a shoulder on the doorframe and admiring the vision, not daring to get any closer. I’ll be blindsided by the potential of morning loving. Of giving her a quick reminder of our perfection before I lose her for the day to the outside world. “Fuckers,” I whisper, forcing my eyes away, my focus on the bathroom.
Leaving Ava sleeping and not ravaging her takes untold strength, but I need to be gone before she’s ready and discovers John in the car park waiting for her. And I need to appear one hundred percent together when she finds me ready for my day at work, which will be spent kicking my heels around The Manor, begging for the time to pass by quickly.
I shower, shave, scrub my teeth, rinse with extra mouthwash and once again avoid her in our bed as I hurry to the dressing room. I pull out one of my best suits, a new white shirt, and finger through my selection of ties. Pink. I put myself together, fix my hair, slip on my Rolex, and get my feet into some tan Grensons.
Done.
As I’m fixing my tie in the full-length mirror, I smile at the man before me.
Hot. As. Fuck.
I grimace, flexing my fist, the mass of bruises and swelling clashing with my fine charcoal suit. “Motherfucker,” I breathe, looking over my shoulder when I hear stirrings from the bedroom. And groan. “Agony,” I grumble, and not about my hand. I exit the dressing room, keeping my eyes safely from the bed, and head downstairs to the kitchen. I see Ava’s bag by the door and, naturally, my conniving mind starts whirling.
Snatching it up, I rummage through, as ever, astounded by the amount of crap one woman can keep in a handbag. I find her phone, go to the settings and change the ringtone for my number, smiling as I do. Then, without much thought, I rummage some more, scratching to the very bottom in search of . . . something.
I still when I hear the familiar crumple of a packet of pills, looking left and right and all around me, like I’m checking I’m not being caught in the act of complete psycho behavior.
Don’t do it.
I look up to the ceiling for some guidance. For some reason. For anything that’ll stop me. Her period came a week ago. Not pregnant. After my despicable stunt, that’s a blessing. So why the fuck am I not seeing it as that?
A noise behind startles me and kicks my arse into action, and I drop her bag, shove her pills in my pocket, and scoot into the kitchen, quickly pouring myself a coffee and sitting down. Fuck-up, Ward. Total fuck-up.
Two seconds later, Ava falls into the kitchen, and my heart clatters before plummeting into my stomach. My eyes take a leisurely jaunt across her naked form, my dick punching against the fly of my trousers, wanting out. I have time. I’ll make time if I have to.
“Morning,” I say quietly, ridding my shaking hand of my coffee and standing. My voice is low. My body ready. She looks a little bewildered. And really fucking enchanted.
“Urh . . . morning.” Her dark, delighted eyes take in my suit-clad form as I swoop in and lift her, crushing her naked front to me. Her cheeks are pink. Her eyes alive, despite being sleepy.
“Sleep well?”
She hums, happy, as I drag my mouth across hers.
“You see,” I whisper, my voice getting deeper with every word I speak. “This is exactly why I want you here morning, noon, and night.” I loosen my hold, and she slips down my front, already breathless, if still somewhat perplexed. I know what she’s thinking. She’s thinking this is a stark contrast to the man she found in the shower yesterday. On the outside, yes. On the inside, I’m hoping and praying I can eradicate all potential issues before John quits as Ava’s chaperone. Or, more likely, Ava fires him.
And kills me.
I peek down her front, my lip lifting at the corner. She frowns. Takes a quick peek herself. Realizes she’s butt naked in the kitchen.
“Shit,” she blurts, and I flinch, slamming my eyes closed. I shouldn’t have. When I open them, she’s gone.
“Oh no,” I mutter, going after her, taking the stairs three at a time, the sight of her smooth, pert arse within biting distance sending me cross-eyed. Christ alive. I seize her and turn us around, taking her back to the kitchen. “Watch your mouth.” I plop her on the island, chuckling when she squeals at the coldness against her bare skin, and spread her naked legs wide open. “I want you to come down for breakfast every morning just like this.”