Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“Oh, contraire,” I answer, equally as soft. “If I stop frowning and start smiling, they’ll know something is up. It might be hard for you to comprehend, but this,” I say, cocking a brow, “is my least pissed-off face.”
“Also not true. I’ve seen your expression in much happier states. I’ve seen your eyes sparkle with pleasure until they resemble sapphires and watched you smile a smile so wide that it took up half of your face.”
“Are you saying I have a big mouth?” A big mouth with thin lips.
“Your mouth is perfect.”
“Shows what—” I inhale a tiny breath when his lips brush mine, petal soft.
“Perfect and far too tempting.” He traces the shape of my mouth with his, brushing, coaxing. My resolve loosens. Like an unstuck jam jar lid. “I know you’re capable of so much more,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Because I’ve witnessed the divine in your expression.” Then the other. “Heard the angels whisper in your sighs.”
“I’m not even a little angelic.” I close my eyes. Maybe this mouth isn’t completely wasted on him. I allow the sensations he pulls from me to ripple across my skin and through me. We’re barely touching—we’re not even facing each other. Somehow, that doesn’t seem to matter.
It just makes the moment seem more erotic.
“I don’t need you to be an angel. But I do need you to look happy.”
God, he’s good at this.
“Like you’ve found the love of your life.”
“Yeah?”
“An unreasonably sexy, absurdly wealthy man who you can’t get enough of.”
“Yes.” Or maybe no. “Where is this hot hunk of rich loving?”
His soft chuckle is a brush against my lips. I begin to smile, then inhale a sharp breath as I find my back thrust against the glass. His fingers link mine, and he lifts my hands, pressing them above my head. The glass is cool, but heat pools in my center when he pins me there with his hips.
“Don’t you know you’re married to one of London’s hottest bachelors?”
God, neck kisses. I twist my head, offering more of my skin. “So says you?” My answer is a little more warbly than I’d like.
His dark eyes shine as he lifts his head slightly, the expression he wears bearing a touch of sheepishness. “According to some article in the London Gazette.”
“Was that the edition just before or after the Berlin Wall fell?”
He chuckles as he lowers his head. “Of course you’re not impressed.”
I swallow back a moan at the threat of his teeth. Bugger it. I’ll wear a scarf to work.
“I expect that was your heyday back then. When pedal pushers and rah-rah skirts were in fashion.”
“Hilarious.” His answer hisses across my skin.
“I watch the HISTORY Channel. It’s very educational.”
“This is a very fine line you’re prancing along, princess. Ruin this, and I ruin you.”
“Try not to make it sound as though you’re looking forward to that.” I slide my fingers from his hold and rake them through his dark hair. His hands move to my waist. Probably for self-preservation. But then his eyes darken, and I swear his lids look a little heavier.
I’ve tamed the tiger and found his tickle spot—the one that makes all his instincts turn off—as he rests his head against mine, and his shoulders relax.
I close my eyes, torn. This feels dangerous. Riskier than the way he dangles his multi-million-pound carrots and more perilous even than the way he seems to know my body.
“So this line I’m dancing along.” One hand still in his hair, I swipe my thumb between his brows. “Is it as fine as the ones on your forehead?”
His brows pinch, and I’m sorry for it. But at least he doesn’t open his eyes.
“I promise, your secret is safe with me. It’s a little unmanly to admit you get them poisoned into submission on a regular basis.”
His hands tighten on my hips. “I expect I’ll need Botox by the time—”
“Well, look at you two lovebirds!”
At the sound of Polly’s voice, I jump. Though I don’t get very far as Raif’s hands tighten on my hips.
“No, we weren’t!” Internally, I’m squirming. I feel like a teenager who just got caught making out.
“Weren’t what?” The expression she’s wearing makes my cheeks heat.
“Nothing.” Then I physically squirm. “Quit manhandling the merchandise. Raif bear,” I tag on belatedly.
A frown flickers before he adopts an air of comic innocence, turning to face Polly. “I was just admiring your tree house,” he says without even a wriggle of discomfort.
“Were you now?” Like a dog with a bone, Polly’s not giving up on her I-know-exactly-what-you-were-up-to expression as she steps farther into the room. “I’m surprised you didn’t go outside to”—she clears her throat a little—“examine it closer. I can’t imagine being rumbled by your mother-in-law is much fun.”
“We weren’t doing anything,” I grumble.
At the same time, Raif offers up, “You know how it is.”