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)
Ahriman’s yellow eyes alight on me, and he raises his royal head proudly in recognition. I take him, attached to my thickly gloved hand, into the cool morning air, and he extends his broad wings and flaps them with the anticipation of the coming hunt. He is in fine form, and we have an exhilarating few hours hunting together.
Once I return Ahriman to the aviary, I ride onto the estate’s far reaches, where the land stretches into farmland—acres leased to tenants, dotted with barns and grazing cows. Farmers nod as I pass them. My eyes, hungry for a glimpse of Lauren, drift towards her cottage, a speck in the distance, and I catch her—overalls dusted with plaster, a mask over her face, hauling bags of debris. She’s relentless, tearing that place apart, rebuilding it with her own hands. I admire her grit, even as it frustrates me.
I have lunch at a quiet inn tucked away by a stream that my family owns, where I unexpectedly run into Hamish, an old friend I’ve not seen for a long time. He is a legendary polo player of great skill, whom I respect a great deal, and we have a peasant chat over a couple of pints of hand drawn bitters, and roast beef sandwiches with thick-cut fries. He invites me over to his farm to check out the new thoroughbred steed he’s acquired from Argentina. Unable to resist the lure of a white stallion, I leave my horse in the meadow in front of the pub and get into his dusty Range Rover.
It is a good and relaxing afternoon with no thoughts of Lauren. He drops me off at the pub with the promise that I will join him in a friendly Polo game at the end of the month.
Riding back, the manor looms, its lights soft against the approaching night. Lauren’s cottage comes into view, and I slow down, my horse’s hooves quiet on the path. Her living room glows, the curtains are open, and there she is—curled up by the window, a book in her lap and bathed in the apricot light of that Tiffany lamp. She looks like a golden angel, and my dick instantly stirs and hardens.
The lamp that she’d so fiercely demanded I take back but after the chaos of the burst pipe, she has become too rattled to chase me down. Seeing it now, its stained-glass casting colors across her face, I’m struck by how beautiful she is. She is breathtaking, soft in a way I have never seen her, her guard totally down. I could watch her forever, framed like a painting, but I turn away resolutely, dismount and head toward the stables.
One of the stable hands takes my horse, and I begin to make my way towards the manor. The aviary manager would have sent the rabbits Ahriman caught this morning back, and dinner tonight will probably be one of my favorite dishes, rabbit flambéed in cognac, but my steps are heavy. Today… I would give anything to eat some dry crackers and water in her eyesore of a house.
This is madness, thinking of her like this, letting her consume me. I need to act, to do something, or I’ll lose my grip. I turn and stride determinedly toward her cottage, gravel crunching underfoot. At the gate between our lands, I hesitate, doubt clawing at me. Too much, too soon? I start back, then stop, and curse under my breath.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I grumble to myself.
The worst she can say is no.
And so I cross the line. I cannot believe how hard my heart is pounding, but it’s too late to go back now. I climb her porch and my knuckles hover over the door, nerves sparking—when did I last feel this?
I knock, sharp and sure, and wait, the night pressing close.
It takes a little while before she responds. The door opens, and there she is, distracted and surprised. She’s a vision—cheeks flushed, hair tumbling from a messy bun, strands framing her face like a halo. This is by far my favorite look, I realize, raw and real. Her tank top clings to her, pajama shorts baring long golden legs, and the swell of her chest under the fabric nearly undoes me.
Desire surges, a tidal wave, drowning every thought.
I’ve never wanted anyone like this, never felt my control slip so fast. I grip the doorframe, anchoring myself, overwhelmed, as her eyes meet mine.
Fuck, I’m lost.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
LAUREN
He fills the doorframe, his riding gear hugging his body like it was tailored for sin. My breath catches, and for a split second, I’m tempted to rub my eyes, to check that he’s not a mirage conjured by too many pages of lords and moonlight trysts. But no, he’s real—too real—wind-tossed hair tumbling over his forehead, his eyes under the porch light locking onto mine with that unnerving intensity.