Total pages in book: 211
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
“Probably not,” I say. “I take it Mia has trial prep tonight?”
“She does,” he says. “She’s passionate about this woman she’s defending. She’s all in.”
I shove my MacBook and a stack of papers in my briefcase and join him on the other side of the desk. “We’re about to hit the holidays. When’s the trial?”
“January.”
“And the wedding is in March? Are you sure you don’t need to push it back?”
“Hell no, we aren’t pushing the wedding back. Mia’s trying to shut down the prosecution before this even goes to trial. I hired help and we already planned this once. We’re just duplicating those plans.”
We head for my door and talk through a few pieces of the contract. We’ve just stepped into the lobby when the door opens and I’m suddenly standing face to face with a familiar brunette who’s the last person I expect to see right now. “What are you doing here, princess?” I ask softly, reminding her of that night we spent together, reminding her that I know who and what she is, then and now.
“Obviously,” she says, “I’m looking for you.” Her eyes meet mine, blue eyes the color of a perfect sky, and I have no idea why I don’t remember this about her. Because I remember far too much about this woman, both randomly and too often, just as I’m thinking about all the perfect curves beneath another black dress she’s wearing today. This one is more demure than the sexy number she’d worn the night we’d met, but it doesn’t matter. I know what’s beneath. I know where my hands and mouth have been and so does she.
As if she’s read my thoughts, she cuts her gaze abruptly and focuses on Grayson. “I’m Harper Evans,” she says, offering him her hand. “I’m the—”
“I know who you are,” Grayson says, shaking her hand, which I note is free of a wedding band. “And he told me quite a lot about you,” he adds. “I must say that you’re as beautiful as he claimed.” Grayson does nothing without purpose. He wants her to know I spoke about her to take her off guard, to make her wonder what else I said about her. That’s how he works. He discreetly takes control, and in this case, he’s discreetly handed it to me.
“Thank you,” she says, her attention returning to me, the awareness between us downright sizzling, as hot as it had been six years ago. “Can I please speak to you in private?”
Grayson’s hand comes down on my shoulder. “Meet me at our usual spot.”
I give him a small incline of my head and he departs. “Let’s go to my office.”
She swallows, her long, graceful neck bobbing with the action, drawing my gaze, and I wonder why I didn’t kiss her there when I had the chance. I wonder what the hell it is about this woman, out of all of the women out there that refused to let go, that’s still working a number on me, and it’s a hell of a number at that. “This way,” I say, motioning her forward, and at this late hour, there’s no one in our path, my secretary included.
We walk side by side down the hallway, and I’m acutely aware of her, memories of pulling her into the cottage and pressing her against the wall in my mind. We reach my office and I open the door, motioning her forward. She glances at me and I sense that she wants to say something, but she seems to change her mind. She moves forward and I know what she’ll see: an executive desk, a window with a view to kill for, and a seating area to the right, which I plan to avoid. I still want her beyond reason and the six years since we last saw each other, and that isn’t to my advantage when she clearly wants something from me.
I don’t even think about sitting, claiming a spot behind my desk, and leaning forward, my palms flat on my desk, as I say to her what she once said to me. “You want something from me.” There’s no accusation in my tone. It’s just a fact, and we both know it.
She steps to the front of my desk and meets my stare and I find this confidence as alluring as I did six years ago. I see those years both in her blossomed beauty but also in the experience in her eyes, in the jaded history I don’t pretend to know firsthand, but I understand in ways few others could. “I do,” she says, “though I wish I could reply to that statement the way you did once and say I don’t and mean it as you did.” She hesitates and then adds, “You left.”
That statement screams with personal accusation which is as surprising as her visit. “I told you I was leaving.”