Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Not me. Never me.
But Lauren slips in again. And I see it clearly. It is a weakness in me that lets her shake me like this. No. I tighten my jaw. I had a plan, a good plan—seduce her, claim the land, level that decaying cottage, expand my estate. Cold, clear, calculated. I’ll stay true to it. The kiss was a step, a fracture in her defenses. I’ll pry her open. I see it: her signing the deed, my machines tearing down her world, victory sharp and final.
Yet my pulse betrays me, quickening not for the land but for her. The fire in her gaze, the tremor in her voice as she fought me. I grip the table’s edge. Stick to the goal, Hugh. Seduction, not surrender. She’s a challenge, a game that I’ll win, as I always do—land or no land—because letting her take root, letting this madness grow, is a line I won’t cross.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
LAUREN
Iglance at my phone, the time glowing accusingly—6:47 p.m.
“Shit,” I mutter, heart lurching. I’m late. Annabel’s expecting me at The Fox and Hare by 7:00, and I’m nowhere near ready. I scramble up to my bedroom, snatching my makeup bag from the cluttered dresser, and dart to the bathroom.
The bathroom’s a wreck, a half-finished battleground of my renovation attempts. Flaking beige paint clings to the walls, exposing patches of raw plaster where I’ve started scraping. The sink’s clean—I’ve scrubbed it clean—but the chipped tiles and flickering bulb scream neglect. I wince, promising myself I’ll tackle it soon, maybe next week, once the hallway and bedroom are done. For now, I lean into the mirror, my reflection pale and unglamorous under the dim light. My hair’s still in rollers, a haphazard crown from my attempt an hour ago to give body to my hair. Ten minutes before I need to be out the door. No time to waste.
I tug the rollers free hastily and wince as a few strands snag. I run my fingers through the loose waves, letting them fall past my shoulders. Not bad, I think, shaking my head to give them life. I’m not chasing anything tonight—no romance, no spark—just a chance to make contact with other humans, but mostly to shed the weight of Hugh’s kiss that still haunts me like a dodgy fever.
I dig into my makeup bag, planning to keep it simple. A swipe of deep red lipstick, bold but not desperate, stains my lips. A quick flick of mascara, just enough to open up my eyes, and a light affair with the blusher brush to keep me from looking washed out. I step back, tilting my head. The mirror’s unkind, the light casting unflattering shadows. Even so I look… okay. Decent. Like someone who’s got her shit together, even if it’s a lie.
My outfit’s a gamble—a short black skirt, not too daring, paired with thick tights against the spring chill. A striped crop top under my favorite leather jacket. I tug at the hem, suddenly worried I’m trying too hard. I don’t want to look like I’m screaming for attention. This is Hawk’s End, not Chicago, but the clock is ticking—6:53.
No time to second-guess.
I grab my keys, sling my bag over my shoulder, and head out, not even bothering to lock the door behind me. The evening’s dim, the sky bruising purple. Kinda pretty. The rental car’s waiting. It’s bleeding me dry—gas, insurance, repairs. I know I need a cheaper way to get around. I should buy a small car. Even if it’s a beat-up old thing. I’ll start looking around on Monday morning.
The drive to The Fox and Hare is quick; the village’s narrow lanes are quiet under the fading light. But as I pull up to the pub, my stomach twists. The place is alive. Voices and laughter spill through the open door, and the yellow lights are warm and inviting against the stone facade. It’s exactly what I thought I wanted, some other voices to drown out my lustful thoughts, but sitting in the car park of the pub, I suddenly start craving my little cottage, my home, its creaky safety. I pause, gripping the wheel. When did I start calling it home? The realization tugs a smile from me, soft and unexpected, like finding a forgotten treasure.
My phone buzzes, snapping me back. Annabel’s name flashes. “Hey,” I answer.
“Where are you?” she asks, her tone bright, music thumping in the background. “We’re about to order drinks!”
“Right outside,” I say, glancing at the pub’s glowing sign.
“Come on in!” she urges. “It’s buzzing tonight.”
“Be there in a sec.”
I hang up, take a deep breath, and step out. The pub’s heat and smells hit me as I push through the door. A mix of beer, wood smoke, and chatter wraps around me like a warm cocoon. Annabel spots me instantly, her face lighting up like we’re old friends, not just two women who bonded over village gossip and groceries.