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)
The desire to say yes is incredible, but my instinct screams no, a reflex to protect myself. “I’m not really a club person,” I say, stepping back. “Back in Chicago, my friend Sandy used to drag me out, and I hated it.”
He tilts his head, undeterred, a spark of amusement in his eyes. “Because of the places you went. Trust me—this one’s different.”
“I get that,” I say more gently, not wanting to seem ungrateful after everything. “But I’m… at a stage where I’m good with quiet. Being home with my own company, you know?”
“And reading?” he asks, leaning closer, genuinely curious, and I’m thrown. Why is he doing this, turning my doorstep into a conversation center? I glance at the book on my couch, its worn cover catching the lamp’s light, and hesitate.
“Yeah,” I say vaguely.
“What are you reading?”
I freeze, my cheeks warming. It’s one of my grandma’s old novels, tucked among her things—a Harlequin from the ‘70s, all swooning heroines with heaving breasts and dashing lords. Spicy, too, with scenes of a manor owner ravishing a woman under the moonlight, kidnapping plots and breathless passion. I’d laughed when I found it, surprised at her taste, but tonight, reading it, I’d stopped, embarrassed by how it mirrored my own life—Hugh, the manor, this pull I can’t shake. There’s no way, however, that I’m telling him that. “It’s just… an old novel,” I say, dodging. “I found it in my grandmother’s collection of books.”
“Is it good?” he asks, and I want to groan. He is relentless, determined to draw me out, and I’m trapped.
“It’s… interesting,” I say, clipped, and praying he doesn’t push. He can’t know the details—an English Duke saving his American lover from the clutches of a predator. I’d die if he guessed.
He nods, then shifts, like he’s weighing something. “I’ll let you get back to it,” he says, but adds, “By the way, that club I mentioned— Raye is performing live soon. Do you know her? She sounds incredible when you catch her live.”
My jaw drops and my eyes widen before I can stop them. Raye? My favorite, the one artist I’d kill to see live, her voice raw and electric on every playlist I own. “What?” I blurt, stunned.
He catches on fast, his eyes snapping on my obvious interest. “You like her?”
“Yes, I—she’s my favorite,” I admit, voice betraying my excitement. A sneaky part of me wonders if he knew, if this is another calculated move, but I don’t care. Raye, live? My resolve wavers, temptation clawing at me. “When, exactly?”
“Friday coming,” he says, watching me closely.
I bite my lip, torn. Every warning—Cecilia’s gossip, the whispers about his reputation—screams at me to say no, to stay safe in my little cottage. But Raye… and him, standing here, not pushing, just offering. “Let me think about it,” I say cautiously. “I’ll let you know if I can make it.”
“Sure,” he says easily, then pulls out his phone, his fingers quick. “I think that it’s time we traded numbers, though. So you can update me.”
My stomach twists, reluctance flaring. Giving him my number feels like handing over another piece of myself, another step toward losing control. He’s outsmarting me, inch by inch, and I know it—everyone’s warned me, his charm, his conquests. This tug-of-war between wanting to trust him and fearing I’ll fall is exhausting, but I’m stuck. “Okay,” I find myself agreeing quietly. I rattle off my number and he types it in. I feel the balance tip, him gaining ground.
“Well, goodnight,” he says, pocketing his phone. “Enjoy your reading.”
“Thanks,” I say, managing a smile. “I will.”
He turns and strides off, his silhouette tall and rugged against the night. I watch, my chest aching as my greedy eyes helplessly drink in his confidence, the easy swagger. He’s gorgeous—too gorgeous—and I’m a fool for noticing.
I shut the door and, leaning against it, scold myself, “Oh my God, Lauren, you’re a mess.” A light slap to my cheek doesn’t help either for I’m giddy with excitement and tangled in my own weakness. Irritated, I shuffle back to the couch, grab the book, and open it, the words blurring as my mind stays on him.
It would appear he is dangerous and inescapable.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
HUGH
I’m up early the next day, too wired to sleep in. I spend a couple of punishing hours in the gym, and after a cold shower, I stride through the hall, phone in hand, as I dial Athena.
“Athena,” I say, walking down the corridor.
“Good morning, Sir,” she replies crisply, the faint tap of her keyboard in the background even though it’s only seven in the morning.
“Good job on your research on Miss Hutton,” I say. Her report on Lauren’s hobbies, tastes, and that obsession with Raye was pure gold. It sure tipped the scales last night.
“Thank you, Sir,” Athena says, a smile in her voice. “I hope the information was useful.”