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)
“I had a lovely time,” he says, voice low, like a secret shared, his gaze holding mine. “I hope you did too.”
“Yes,” I say, my voice unsteady, warmth flooding me. “It was… beautiful. Really. Thank you.”
“Good night, then,” he says, stepping back. “I still have to walk home.” He nods toward the manor, a playful spark in his eyes, and I laugh at the absurdity of it—we’re neighbors, yet worlds apart.
He turns, intending to head back to his manor, but my pulse races frantically. He’s leaving, no push, no game, and it’s right, it’s safe—but suddenly it’s not what I want.
A question burns, sharp and urgent, and if I don’t ask now, I’ll lose it forever.
“Hugh,” I call, my voice cutting the quiet, louder than I mean.
He stops, half-turning, his expression waiting.
I swallow, my throat tight, and force it out. “Why did you fly Raye to London tonight?”
Chapter
Thirty-Four
HUGH
Aflash of dread ripples through me raw and electric, my pulse spiking as I turn to face her.
Lauren stands by her front door, the porch light haloing her, her eyes fierce, unyielding, demanding answers I wasn’t ready to give. My mind scrambles—how does she know? The air’s cool, heavy with dew, but I’m burning, caught off guard, my usual control fraying at the edges.
“Where’d you get that?” I ask casually.
She steps forward, her intense gaze locked on mine. “Raye told me,” she says, her voice edged, like she’s testing me. “Backstage. She said I’m a lucky girl. That you went to all this trouble just for me.”
Her words hit, heavy, and I exhale. To say that I am irritated with Athena for revealing my identity is an understatement, but there’s no dodging this. “Well,” I say, trying for light, “Yeah sure, I pulled some strings to get her here.”
“That’s all fine, but I didn’t tell you that I liked her, so how did you know? You did some kind of search on me, didn’t you?”
I nod. There’s no use lying. “I did,” I admit, the truth raw on my tongue. “When I heard you liked her music, I wanted you to have something… special. A night that’d light you up.” My words feel too honest, and I shift uncomfortably.
Her lips part. “Was this about the land? All this—Raye, the helicopter, tonight—just to get me to sell?”
The question is like a stab on an open wound. Heat flares in my chest. “Fuck the land,” I snap, the words bursting out, fierce and unfiltered.
Her eyes widen, a gasp caught in her throat, and I’m as stunned as she is, the truth ringing in my ears. Because I mean it—every word. The shock of my confession settles deep, rewriting everything. The land’s nothing, it’s worthless compared to her, this woman who’s turned my world sideways, who’s got me chasing feelings I don’t recognize.
She stares, unblinking, her voice barely there, a dare. “If it’s not the land, then what is it about?”
My throat tightens, my heart pounding, loud enough to drown the crickets. “You know what it’s about,” I say, stepping closer, drawn by something stronger than reason. She doesn’t move. Her breath is shallow and quick as her eyes search mine. I’m close now, close enough to feel her warmth.
“You know,” I whisper as my hand lifts in awe to touch her hair, a curl soft as silk between my fingers, fire under my skin.
Her breath stutters.
A small sound that undoes me, and I’m bare, my voice low, ragged. “It’s not about the land, Lauren. Maybe it started that way, but not anymore.”
She’s still, her eyes fastened on mine, her voice soft but ferocious. “Then what is it about?”
I don’t answer—not with words. My gaze holds hers, searching, and I lean down, slow, giving her space to pull back. She doesn’t. My lips meet hers, tentative, sweet, a question in every touch. She answers, kissing me back, and it’s like a dam breaking, heat flooding through me, her taste—wine, need, something sweeter. It pulls me under. It’s gentle at first, then deeper, then it shifts, hungry, desperate. A wild, violent force that neither of us can stop or control. Her arms wind around me as her body presses close. I’m lost, my hands roaming her back, the silk of her dress sliding against my palms. We stumble toward her door. I push it open, kick it shut, crush her against a wall, and kiss her hard, like she’s air and I’m drowning.
When I raise my head again, I gaze down at her in awe.
The Tiffany lamp spills its amber light across her face, turning her skin golden. Her eyes are half-lidded and heavy with desire, and her lips, swollen from our kisses, are parted. Each breath is a soft, ragged pull that hooks deep in my chest. The smell of paint is all around us as I lift her and carry her to the only empty surface I can see: the kitchen table.