Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
This makes him chuckle. “Be sure to tell my mother that tonight. I can use the points.”
I grin as he shuts my door and grabs both our bags. Then I picture him interacting with his overbearing mother tonight.
I’m not sure what I’m in for, but one thing is for sure.
It’s going to be interesting.
We walk to the boat, which is not the small ferry I came over on when I arrived, but a larger one. But not like a public ferry. It’s more like a ferry for rich people. There are glass-walled cabins on the outer perimeter, like a floating restaurant.
Or a hotel.
He waves me forward ahead of him and then follows me up the ramp. At the top, I step aside so he can hand our bags to a waiting somebody.
They exchange some pleasantries, but Mercer doesn’t introduce me. He just takes my hand and leads me around the deck to a little glass-walled room. It’s bright outside, and dark inside, so it takes a moment for my vision to adjust. But once it does, I take it all in.
Not a hotel room. There is a table set for two. Fine china. Cloth napkins. Flowers. “Well, this is nice.”
He pulls one of the chairs out for me and I sit. Then he takes the chair across from me. “I figured you’d be hungry. It’s lunchtime, after all, and we’ve settled in to our noon-time lunch date, haven’t we?”
Huh. I’ve never actually thought about it in this manner. But he’s right. We do have a regular lunch at noon. “We have,” I say. Because he looks like he’s waiting for me to say something.
Another somebody enters the room and sets down a bottle of champagne inside a silver ice bucket. This reminds me of the teacups with Locke and I involuntarily let out a small huff.
“You don’t like champagne?”
“No. I do. Sorry. I was thinking of—”
“You were thinking of Locke, weren’t you?”
I don’t know if I should admit this or not. So I don’t say anything.
Mercer turns his attention to the waiter. “We’re hungry. You can bring the food.”
The waiter bows and leaves, sliding the glass doors closed behind him.
Mercer turns his attention to me. “Locke sent me the footage of your date in the woods.”
I knew this. Kind of. But hearing him just admit it like this is jarring. So my mouth drops open.
“Sorry.” He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “He likes to overshare. I’m not telling you this to embarrass you, Nova. I just don’t want you to find out from him, then resent me for it. I can’t stop him from doing things like that. Though I should know better by now. If he sends me a vid, I should not look at it. But…” He looks away from me. “I always do.”
I don’t know what to say. I can’t say anything. I’m caught up in a slew of emotions. Embarrassment, for sure. He watched us. Me, and Locke, and Olsen. He saw me naked.
But there are other feelings too.
And that oh-so-familiar wetness begins to pool between my legs, my stomach clenching a little as I see him in my mind’s eye—looking at his computer when I passed his office yesterday.
“Like I said. I just wanted to be upfront. It’s just the type of man he is, Nova. So if you’re going to play these games with him, you should expect more of this.”
“I see.”
He lets go of my hand and leans back in his chair. “We won’t speak another word of it. Let’s change the subject. Why did you agree to come with me?”
I laugh. “Well, that’s a much better topic, thanks.”
“I’m just curious.”
I look up at him. His eyes are dancing again. He didn’t shave this morning. He’s got stubble and I absently wonder if his mother will approve.
I approve. He’s got that dangerous look again.
“Well, to be honest, I wanted to meet your mother.”
He laughs out his words. “Why on earth would you say yes to that?”
“Because you’re… intense, Mercer. Intriguing. Dangerous, I think. Definitely dark.”
“Mmm?”
“And I’d like to meet the woman who raised such a man.”
“That’s a very interesting answer.”
Thankfully, the glass doors slide open again and the waiter appears. Lunch is just a fruit bowl, I guess. Because that’s what is set down in front of me.
We both say thank you, then wait for the glass doors to close.
Before I can say anything, Mercer picks up a large strawberry, leans forward, and puts it in front of my mouth.
I don’t know what to do.
“You know what to do, Nova.” Mercer’s voice is low and husky. “So go ahead. Take a bite.”
Before I can even think this through, I lean forward in my chair, wrap my lips around the strawberry, and take a bite.
He smiles at me.
And for some unknown, completely unexpected reason, Mercer has a look of… what is that? Is he proud of me? No. Surely not that. It’s… satisfaction. Or something.