Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
No, those were not my adjectives. And as you probably guessed, I had no idea what the fuck ebullient meant till I googled it. Enthusiastic…in case you were curious.
The whole room went dead quiet—pun intended—while Alistair decoded a section of text from a sarcophagus in French and English. It was a hymn or a prayer and instructions on how to navigate the afterlife with funerary amulets for someone with a five-syllable name. It was interesting, but my attention wavered to Gerard, who gave a friendly wave from his seat two rows in front of me.
His husband wasn’t with him. I didn’t know if that was weird or not, but I went with weird anyway.
Where was Colin? Was he avoiding Alistair on purpose? Was there bad blood or just more to the story than I knew? Was he angry that Alistair hadn’t translated the sexy rock his husband had asked him to a few weeks ago? Why hadn’t he done it himself? He was a linguist. Shouldn’t he know how to decipher hieroglyphics too?
Okay, I’d officially gone bananas. Creating some wacky espionage-like scenario with a grand setup Matrix-style was over-the-top…even for me.
I supposed I could have asked Alistair about Colin, but I hadn’t wanted to waste what little time I had left by potentially bringing up bad memories.
So I played the part of valet and cheerleader during the day and sex god at night, setting the ambience, dimming the lights and keeping the curtain open just enough to see the Eiffel Tower from the bed.
I wore my lace thong and brought my A game, sucking him to the point of madness and offering myself like a gift. I wanted Alistair to remember me fondly…and not as a jealous weirdo who’d done the unthinkable by falling for a man who was out of his league.
Yes…I’d fallen for Alistair. Hook, line, and sinker. Head over heels, bewitched, infatuated to the point of madness.
As a result, I was off-kilter that whole week.
I found myself staring at him with a mixture of pride, awe, and intense affection—over breakfast, at his lecture, in bed. I was transfixed by the sound of his voice in a crowded conference room, the rise and fall of his chest as he entered me. I wanted to be wherever he was. London, Paris, a random town on the Nile River…hopefully with high-Internet access.
The accompanying niggle of self-doubt was a new one for me. Did he want me? I wasn’t like Colin. I wasn’t the kind of boyfriend he could hide. He’d have to want me just the way I was. And let’s not forget that I lived on the other side of the freaking globe.
Ugh! Yeah, I faked it well enough, but I was kind of a mess.
14
WINNIE
On the last day of the conference, I paired my favorite deep-purple button-down with my houndstooth trousers, rolled up the cuffs to show off the adorable boots I’d crammed into my suitcase, and topped off the look with the hat I’d insisted was a Parisian must. Clothes didn’t make a man, but I felt more like myself and that was a positive.
The professor took the stage in the afternoon to discuss the religious artifacts he’d been researching for months. He had the audience in the palm of his hand. They didn’t seem to care that his blue sweater had made its third appearance or that he was wearing a white sock on one foot and a beige one on the other because I’d forgotten to do a double check. They were entranced by him. And damn it, so was I.
I stood off to the side, my back against the conference wall, cheering him on, my heart full to capacity yet hollow somehow—as if I had everything and nothing all at once.
A burst of applause broke my reverie. I shoved my cell into my pocket as Alistair bowed graciously, waving to the conference goers and stepping aside. The moderator motioned for him to stay onstage, then introduced Gerard Poitier.
You’d have thought she’d announced Beyoncé as the surprise guest. Everyone was on their feet again, clapping loudly.
I fumbled through the program in confusion, mumbling to myself. “Gerard’s not on the schedule.”
“Dr. Poitier headed the team responsible for finding the tomb.”
I glanced over at the golden-haired man standing closer than expected on my left. “Oh. Right. I—”
“Hello, I’m Colin Farrington. I believe you’ve met my husband, but I haven’t had the honor,” he said in a smooth British accent that was sexier than it should have been.
“Winnie Rodriguez. I’m Professor Creighton’s…assistant. Enchanté.”
Colin inclined his chin, cool and detached. Of course, he was even more appealing up close in his designer suit, tastefully tousled curls, and the lightest sheen of gloss on his lips.
The epitome of casual elegance with a side order of snooty.
He wasn’t rude—more like friendly but unfriendly, if you know what I mean. Pretty much what I’d expect from a prominent professor of antiquities, a scholar, and a scientist. Geez, he probably played electric guitar in a band on the side too.