Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 132951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
I wonder what he’s like in the dark, when no one else can see.
“What?” He rubs the edge of his jaw.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
“You.”
We reach the second floor, and he opens the gate, motioning me ahead of him. He points down the hall. “Left off the elevator. We’re in the west wing.”
“Left off the elevator,” I repeat. “Of course there are wings.” I fall into step beside him, counting the doors.
“What about me?” he asks.
“What about you, what?” We pass door three.
“What were you thinking about me?”
I glance up at him. The muscles tense in his jaw, like he’s waiting for the blow. He probably is. That’s what he’s used to from so many people in his life. Media comments about him always start with He’s an excellent player, but…
He’s too emotional, too aggressive, not a team player.
“Just trying to figure you out,” I assure him.
“Good luck with that.” He pushes the door open and steps aside to let me pass. “This is you.”
“Holy shi…zzle. This is my bedroom?” It’s like falling backwards through time, into an era where ballgowns filled closets and well-read women were rare and kept secret.
“Yes. It’s yours.” Connor looks wildly uncomfortable standing on the threshold.
I tilt my head. “Where do you sleep?”
“In my bedroom.”
“Where are my things?” I glance around the room, but it’s perfectly tidy, not a single box in sight.
Dewey’s enclosure has been set up in the corner. But it’s not the one from my apartment, it’s new, much bigger, and somehow manages to fit the space.
“Everything has been put away for you.” He swallows. “May I come in?”
“Are you a vampire? You need to ask permission?”
His brow furrows.
Fuck, he’s stupidly hot when he looks disconcerted.
He tugs at his shirt cuffs. “You might not want me in your personal space.”
“You were in my apartment.”
“That’s much different than your bedroom.”
“You’re fine.”
He steps over the threshold, and I’m almost surprised he doesn’t burst into flames as he passes through a beam of sunshine. He crosses to the first door and pushes it open. “This is your closet. All your clothes are in here.”
I glance inside. My entire wardrobe takes up maybe ten percent of the space. If that. The closet is also bigger than my previous bedroom.
Connor brushes past me to open the next door. “And this is your private bathroom.”
I follow him inside and shriek, clambering into the clawfoot tub. “This is my new favorite place to read.” I stretch out on a sigh. It’s huge and deep and perfect.
“It’s probably more comfortable when it’s full of warm water,” he says wryly.
“And bubbles. You can’t forget the bubbles.”
“Of course not.” He tucks his hands in his pockets.
I pull myself out and examine the rest of the space. The details are incredible, from the patterned tiles in the floor to the wallpaper that tells a story. It’s the most beautiful bathroom I’ve ever seen. I open drawers and check the medicine cabinet, which is fully stocked with all the things I could possibly need, including feminine hygiene products. I immediately take inventory of everything and wonder how much I can reasonably take to the library and share with Everly. She’s always complaining that the group home stocks her least favorite brand of tampon.
“There’s more. Let me show you, and then you can get settled.” He leaves the bathroom and I follow, mostly out of curiosity as to what more there could possibly be.
He stops in front of an ornate bookshelf and tips the figurine of a woman reading a book forward. I gasp, thinking he means to let it fall, but then I’m gasping for an entirely different reason as the shelf swings inward.
“Secret passageways? What the hell, Connor?”
“Thank my grandfather.” He inclines his head. “Captive future brides first.”
“I’m not your captive.”
“Aren’t you, though? You signed away your freedom for the next year,” he reminds me.
I leave that alone and squeeze by him, far too curious to waste time arguing about my freedom and what exactly I’ve agreed to. “Oh my sweet heaven.” I grab Connor’s arm and nearly swoon into him. “I might spontaneously orgasm.”
He looks down at me, eyes flashing with heat. His lip curls, and for a moment something primal and needy passes between us.
But before the embers have a chance to spark and flame, he steps out of reach. “I’m just across the hall. I’ll leave you to explore.” He disappears back through the bookshelf, but the heat in my belly doesn’t leave with him.
I wasn’t lying about the potential spontaneous orgasm. I’m standing in the middle of a library—a big, beautiful library. It’s climate controlled, based on the temperature, the walls lined with ornately carved shelves, filled with endless tomes. A huge cherry desk sits in one corner of the room, a perfect place to work. In another corner is a grand fireplace with two high-backed chairs and plush footstools. But the most amazing part is the domed glass turret at the far end of the room. In the center is a plush velvet area rug with a stunning chaise lounge, bookended by coffee tables. It’s like a private snow globe that overlooks the blooming gardens.