Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“Hey,” he says, coming into the kitchen. “The scene of the crime must have been worse than usual tonight. It’s nearly ten o’clock and you’re still cleaning.”
“Stir-fry. Lots of chopping.”
“Did you eat any of it?” He glances down at two generous Tupperware containers I have yet to lid and put in the fridge.
“It made more than I expected.” And no, I didn’t eat any of it. Your fiancée and her big ass ring stole my appetite. “Help yourself.”
“Already ate, but I’ll take some for lunch tomorrow if it’s up for grabs.”
I make an all yours gesture at the Tupperware and swipe the rest of the crumbs into the sink.
I feel him watching me. “You all right?”
“Yeah. A little tired, and a headache that came out of nowhere.”
“Stressed about the interview tomorrow?”
“Oh, you mean where one wrong word can get you banished to Ireland and me put in jail? Nah. Cakewalk.”
I’m actually not that stressed about the final interview with Gordon Price tomorrow. I mean, I am. Of course I am. But not as much as you’d think. I’ve been a people person my entire life. I know how to read them, and I’m nearly always right. It’s why I’m so sure that Gordon Price doesn’t particularly care about Colin and me, beyond thinking Colin’s a bit of a sleaze for cheating on his new wife, and I’m a bit of an idiot for sticking around so long.
He thinks we’re guilty. Of being pathetic. Not of breaking the law.
But my excellent people-reading skills are also what have me feeling slightly queasy right now. Because just as I know Gordon Price is more or less harmless to Colin and me, I know that Rebecca is not so harmless.
And I know that no amount of me loving Colin gives me any right to stand in the way of him and Rebecca.
“All done!” I say brightly, putting the counter spray away and placing the Tupperware into the refrigerator. “Have a good night!”
I’m heading back toward my bedroom, but Colin steps in front of me, blocking my way.
I stop and look up at him. “What’s up?”
His gaze takes its time, seeming to study my every feature before he frowns. “I’m missing something.”
You’re missing a lot of somethings.
“I told you. A little tired, a little headache, a little stress. I just need a bubble bath and a good night’s sleep.”
“All right,” he murmurs. “All right.” And then he steps forward, his hands slipping around my waist and pulling me a little roughly against him.
A hug, I realize, after the jolt of awareness passes. Just kidding, it doesn’t pass. But other things mingle with awareness as he pulls me into an embrace that’s not quite sexual, but not quite platonic either. Want. Longing. Love.
Colin’s arms wrap all the way around my waist, and my arms lift of their own accord to fold behind his head. He lowers his head slowly until his face is tucked into my neck, his breath warm against my skin.
I don’t know what this is. It’s less than a kiss, but it’s also more than a hug, and for a moment something like anger splinters through me that he could be putting a ring on her finger one day, and holding me like this the next.
And though I know I should step back, the selfish part of me who knows my time with him is coming to a rapid end closes my eyes and pulls him closer.
I don’t know how long we stay locked together. Minutes. Hours. Days.
He pulls back slightly and I force my arms to release him, to let him go. But instead of backing away from me, Colin pauses with his mouth just inches from mine, his gaze reflecting my own longing back to me as his gaze drops to my lips.
“Charlotte.” It’s a whisper, a plea.
I can feel his breath on my lips, feel frustrated tension in his body. Our gazes collide and the unspoken yearning in his eyes echoes everything I’m feeling so intensely that I ache from the inside out.
And then I remember Rebecca. And her ring.
I step back, watching the yearning in his eyes flicker and fade away, replaced by his usual impassive expression. And I wonder if I’ve imagined the entire moment out of a pathetic need to pretend, just for a second, that this thing is mutual.
But regardless, it doesn’t matter. He’s made his choice.
“Night,” I whisper, sliding around him, careful not to make physical contact.
I stop before exiting the kitchen, realizing there’s something that I need to say. I know it’s selfish, but I say it anyway. “Colin.”
“Yes.” His voice is gravelly.
I don’t turn around as I talk—I’m not that brave. “I’d have gone with you. To Ireland. If things tomorrow went badly.”
I’d go anywhere with you.
He says nothing, and I flash him a quick smile over my shoulder to try and lighten the mood. “You know. Hypothetically.”