Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
“Sofie, talk to me.” Trevor raises the privacy partition, leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, eyes on my face. “Did someone say something to you? Was it Fleur?”
“No, I…” I look into his dark eyes, so confused by my feelings. Vacillating between what I know is probably best for him and what I selfishly want. “I was just thinking I’ll be fine tomorrow on my own. For the meeting with Shaunti’s rep, I mean.”
He frowns heavily, his eyes searching my face.
“I’m going with you.”
“No, you don’t have to. I think I’ll be fine.” I look out the window, relieved to see we’re in front of my building. “I can make my own way up. Have a great trip to South Africa. Be safe.”
Before he can stop me, I jerk open the door and take long, swift strides into my lobby. I rush past Clive, giving him a nod, but not stopping.
“Sofie, wait,” Trevor says from behind me.
I keep walking, even though it feels like I’m fleeing the thing I want more than everything else. His hand on my elbow pulls me up just short of the elevator door.
“I said wait.” His voice is low and even, but emotion puckers below the surface.
We board the elevator together and I input the code for the penthouse level, neither of us speaking. He walks me to my door, and I turn to face him.
“Thanks for walking me up.”
“I’m coming in.” His tone warns me that I’m in for a fight if I refuse, so I open the door, walking in ahead of him.
“What’s up, Bishop?” I school my features into an even mask, keeping some space between us because I lose my head every time he touches me.
“You tell me.” He loosens his bow tie, allowing it to hang on either side of his neck. “I go up to accept the award, come back, and you’re like a different person. What the hell, Sof?”
“I just…” I search my mind for an excuse that will get him out of here, but I have a hard time being anything but honest with him. “I just felt a little out of place tonight, I guess. Like I didn’t belong.”
“Didn’t belong?” A laugh huffs over his lips. “How do you think I felt the first few times I was in the room with prime ministers and presidents? Me, the son of a postal worker and a school teacher? I’d think you’d be used to it by now, though.”
“Yeah, not that kind of belong.” I pull my hair over my shoulder, run my hands down my legs, shift my weight. “I meant like I didn’t belong with you.”
“Not belong with me?” His expression goes stony. “Did Henri say something to you? Or Fleur?”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t need them to tell me you can do better.”
“I can do what?” He takes a step toward me, frowning when I take a step back. “What the hell do you mean I can do better? Than what?”
“Than me.” I press my hand to my forehead, not because my head hurts, but because it’s flooded with thoughts of how we could be together, of how he could be different from all the others, of how I could be different with him than I’ve ever been. And I’m not sure any of it’s actually possible. And to know someone like him is out there and I might not be good enough, it makes me ache with unreasonable loss.
“Sofie, look at me.” He pulls my hand away from my head, linking our fingers and resting our clasped hands against his chest. “It’s not a matter of good enough. I’m good for you, and you’re good for me. That’s enough, and I really don’t care what anyone else thinks or says about it.”
He pulls me into him, resting his hands at my sides.
“And we’re good together.” He leans down to trail kisses over my jaw and down my neck, his cool breath somehow firing up my skin with his next words. “You believe that?”
“Yes.” I can barely breathe with him this close. A pressure is building from the neediest part of me and spreading over every inch of my skin. It’s a desperate desire I’m not sure how much longer I can suppress. “I…yeah…I, um, I do.”
I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore. When he shifts his hands so his thumbs rub over my nipples through the silk of my dress, thought is impossible. I’m a sea of sensation, and wave after wave of pleasure makes me wet. Makes me hot.
“Bishop.” I lift my lashes, and his eyes are heavy-lidded and almost black, the pupils swallowing up everything. “I, um…”
“Can I stay?” he cuts in, dipping his head to lick into the shallow well at the base of my throat. “Let me stay.”