Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
‘Right,’ he says quietly, stretching the word out for ever. He doesn’t move, so I shift to the side, seeing his brogues move with me.
‘Is there anything else?’ I ask, forcing my vocal cords to remain steady.
‘Yes, there is.’ He moves in, taking my chin in his fingers and lifting my face, surprising me. I know what’s coming, but I don’t put up a fight. He dips and claims my lips, but his brutal tactics are long gone. He’s gentle and slow, tender. It sends my confused mind into a further tailspin.
‘Mr Hunt, please.’ My hands meet his chest and push lightly. Unconvincingly.
‘Quit with the Mr Hunt bollocks, princess,’ he mumbles into my mouth, coiling a well-formed arm around my waist. ‘Your attempt at formal isn’t gonna wash.’ I’m compressed against him, my palms on his chest now trapped. It’s a bad place for them to be. He’s almost reverent, his tongue lazily roaming my mouth.
‘Please.’ This kiss is making me dizzy. Dizzy with delight, dizzy with doubt. He’s swallowing me up, immobilising me with the sensation of his soft lips and delicate tongue. It’s so, so good. ‘Please,’ I whisper again, begging feebly. ‘Please stop.’
Our kiss slows. A tiny nibble of my lip followed by a delicate peck nearly floors me, nearly has me fighting my trapped hands free and throwing my arms around his neck. But I don’t. I allow him to break away and desert my unstable body.
‘Okay.’ He reaches under his glasses and rubs his eyes wearily. ‘It’s done. We’re done.’
Again, I think to myself. It’s done again, but this time there will be no next time. Perspective is a glorious thing. It also hurts like fucking hell. My hand goes to my blouse and I cough, clearing my throat. ‘Thank you.’
He nods, his lips forcing into a straight line as he watches me. He’s trying to figure me out, and knowing I’m displaying all kinds of uncertainty, my eyes flick away from his for a split second. He sighs and gestures to the clock. ‘It’s noon. I’d still like you to come to Countryscape with me, given that you seem to be taking this job quite seriously.’
He’s trying to be funny, trying to lighten the mood. I’m grateful, but I’m not sure spending any more time with him would be a good idea right now, no matter how much I’d love to experience Countryscape. ‘I don’t think that’ll go down well with Mrs Potts,’ I say, indicating towards the door. ‘Your private viewing at Bonhams has been arranged for Friday next week. Nine o’clock. The Rembrandt has been returned and the hairline crack on the frame repaired.’ Keep it business, I tell myself. Keep it safe. ‘I should get on before Mrs Potts hunts me down.’
He laughs, but there’s annoyance lacing it. ‘I’ll deal with Dorothy. I want you to come.’
I recoil, unsure. ‘It won’t look good. You and me going off—’
‘Would you like to come with me, Eleanor?’ Becker asks quietly, something lingering in his eyes that I’ve seen before. Desperation? He wants me to go?
I nod and swallow hard, thinking I might be my own worst enemy. ‘Yes, I’d love to.’
‘Good, we leave in an hour.’ He makes for the door, his long strides eating up the distance in the blink of an eye, limiting my viewing time of his arse. I try not to be disappointed. I’m waiting for his usual quip when he knows I’m staring at it. Except it doesn’t come.
Taking the handle, he pulls the door open, but then pauses. He doesn’t turn around. ‘Wear something pretty,’ he orders softly. ‘It’s the countryside. All manor-ish and posh.’ The door closes, and he’s gone, leaving me in a sudden state of panic.
Something pretty? I look down at my jeans and shirt combo, then to the clock. I have an hour to pull something together.
Shit, I’m supposed to be meeting Lucy for lunch. I mentally track my phone down . . . to the pavement outside the club. I dive towards the phone on the coffee table and call directory enquiries to get Lucy’s work number. Then I make a quick call to cancel lunch, feeding her small scraps of information that drive her wild. She only lets me hang up once I promise to fill her in later.
Chapter 19
I can’t believe I did it. Like a madwoman, I ran down Regent Street, searching for a store, any store, to find something suitable to wear. I would never have got home, changed, and made it back to The Haven in time, so I’m not going to beat myself up for being a little frivolous in my hour of need. My credit card is for emergencies, and this is an emergency. That’s my excuse, and I’m sticking to it. I’m even okay with the fact that I not only bought a new dress – a lovely blush-coloured button-through swishy piece that hugs my breasts and hips before tons of material tumbles to my knees – I also grabbed a lovely nude traditional mac that complements it. The assistant said it was ‘wow’ and my leather jacket just wasn’t doing it. Neither were my ankle boots, and that’s why my feet are now graced in some gorgeous nude heels. And my neck was cold, so I finished the look off with a massive cream silk scarf. And the cream leather gloves to match.