Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Finding her exasperated form in the reflection of the mirror, I lower to my arse behind her, her eyes following me down, and bundle her up in my arms, giving her what I hope is an irresistible pout, my face pushed close to hers.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, flexing forward, indicating my condition.
She arches her back, trying to escape the inevitable. “You are too.” Her eyes are swimming. Her body calling.
“Don’t go to work.”
“Please, don’t,” she begs.
“Don’t you want to fall into bed and let me pay special attention to you all day?” I ask, giving her puppy dog eyes.
“I have to work.”
I nibble at her lobe, breathing into her ear, getting closer and closer to breaking her down. “I have to have you.”
“Jesse, please.” She squirms, and I sag.
It’s depressing as fuck that she wants to work—more than she wants to be with me. “Are you denying me?”
“No,” she sighs. “I’m delaying you.” And she writhes again, fighting to escape my clutches, somehow managing to turn herself around. Before I know it, I’m on my back, and Ava is spread all over me. Yes! She goes straight for my mouth, and I give in to it, arms sprawled, my body relaxed, as I’m kissed like a woman kisses a man she loves. Complete heaven.
“I need to work, god.”
Well, that ruins the moment. “Work me,” I insist, rolling my naked hips upward. “I’ll be a very grateful client.” The most grateful.
She arches a lovely eyebrow. Her eye makeup is stunning, her dark eyes smokey, her lashes long and thick. Fucking beautiful. “You mean to say that instead of busting a gut keeping clients happy with drawings, plans, and schedules . . .” There’s an edge of teasing in her voice. “I should just jump into bed with them?”
What the fuck? How the hell did she manage to conclude that? “Don’t say things like that, Ava.” Van Der Haus would love nothing more.
“It was a joke.” She chuckles. Least funny joke ever. She shouldn’t even speak about such things, no matter how figurative. I’ll burst a fucking blood vessel.
I growl and spin her, blanketing her with my body. “Do you see me laughing?” I ask, and her lips straighten when she grasps that I’m deadly serious. Good. I can tolerate many things, but any talk of other men isn’t, and never will be, one of those things. “Don’t say things that’ll make me crazy mad.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, looking guilty.
Yeah, me too. I’m sorry for being unable to control my possessiveness. Or my thoughts. Or, apparently, my fucking woman. I get up and walk to the dressing room, hoping to walk off some of the tension, my mind back to Ava, her working day, and who she might be meeting. Good God, this is horrific. Has she spoken to him? And again, does Van Der Haus know she’s with me? Not seeing me. Not dating me. But with me. How the fuck can I find out without asking Freja? Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so hasty and withdrawn her invite. Perhaps I should have made sure I kept her onside. Plied her for information. I pull on my navy suit trousers, laughing at my stupid self. And what would she have wanted in return? Stupid fucking question. I’m backed into a corner here. “Fuck it,” I snap quietly, shrugging on a shirt, buttoning it up roughly, getting some socks and shoes on, and plucking a gray tie from the drawer. In the grand scheme of things, only having one woman on my back is quite an achievement given how many there could be. I flip my collar up and slip my tie around my neck, thoughtful as I knot it. Clive said mature, blond. That’s half the women at The Manor, so what if it wasn’t Freja who was sniffing around? But . . . who else?
I grab my jacket, slip it on, and head to the bedroom, growing increasingly worried about the day ahead. My cause isn’t helped when I discover Ava, hair pinned up loosely, makeup perfect, her body encased in a beautiful red dress. She’s a man magnet.
“I like your dress,” I say quietly, reaching for my tie to straighten the knot as she turns, clearly delighted by what she finds.
“I like your suit.”
I smile, appreciative of her appreciation, while she gathers what she needs and puts her bag on the bed. But not appreciative enough to stay home and binge on me. I tug my collar down, grumpy, as she ploughs through her handbag, her forehead heavy. I leave her to it and go to the bathroom, pulling my aftershave out of the cupboard and tipping some in my palm. I rub my hands together as I return to Ava. She’s still digging through her bag.
“Lost something?” I ask, patting at my face.