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 swallow, my throat tight, his words stirring something fragile—hope, maybe, or something more dangerous. “You’re saying this isn’t about control?” I ask.
He stands and moves closer.
I tense, my pulse spiking. His bare chest is too near, too delectable.
“I’m not asking you to trust me blindly,” he persuades. “You can keep your guard up, Lauren, if that’s what you want, and you’ll be the only person who decides everything that happens to your cottage, but please, just let them handle the construction for you. They’ll make it fast, and they’ll do it well, so there’ll be no errors like the plumbing issue. Of course, in the meantime, it’ll be too noisy with people working in different parts, so you’ll need somewhere temporary to stay. I want to offer you a room in the west wing of the manor. We’ve got plenty of rooms, and almost all of them are—unused. You’d be comfortable, and it’d make things easier while they work. That way you will be able to direct and inspect the work they’re doing at any time.”
My mouth moves. “What’s in it for you?”
He shrugs. “Call it aesthetics. Having to look at a dilapidated wreck sitting at the bottom of my garden is not something I enjoy doing. It has always been my biggest gripe with your grandmother, but she refused to let me update it for her.
I blink, the offer hanging like a ripe fruit, tempting. Oh, so tempting. My cottage, done to high spec, and all for free, a room in his manor in the meantime. The inner-city girl in me cackles with derisive laughter.
“So … you’re doing all this… for aesthetics?” I ask sarcastically.
“Yes,” he grins, a flash of teeth, playful but honest.
It disarms me and tugs at me, loosening the knot in my chest.
“Absolutely, I’m doing it for aesthetics. Who doesn’t care about aesthetics?” he asks, shrugging his broad shoulders. “I’m being straight with you, Lauren. I want you to have the home you love, and yeah, it’ll look better next to my place. I hope you can see it.”
I stand there, suddenly feeling too warm, my heart thudding, his words a mix of promise and danger. I want to believe him, to sink into the care he’s offering, but I’m scared—scared of falling, of being discarded, of losing myself in him. My lips part and a shaky breath escapes. I’m like a caught fish, the morning light spilling around us, his eyes holding mine like they see everything I’m trying to hide.
Chapter
Thirty-Six
HUGH
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7NQ6ljPjvsA
-maybe, maybe, maybe-
The orangery’s glass walls catch the pale April light, and bathe Lauren in it. Her tangled hair is a wild halo, and her eyes pin me with a wariness that cuts deeper than I expect.
Her crossed arms, her faded University of Chicago t-shirt, the way she holds herself like she’s bracing for a blow—that holds me captive. Her words from moments ago—like you’re manipulating me—linger, sharp and heavy, and I feel them, not as a challenge but as a truth I’m desperate to unravel. Because right now, as I lean back, I realize every word I’m saying to her, every promise, is true, raw, stripped of the games I’d once played. Last night—her skin against mine, her gasps filling the dark, the way she arched into me, fierce and unguarded—burned away the calculations, the charm I’d wielded to win her land. Now, it’s just her, and I mean every syllable, every breath.
I inhale slowly, the air tasting of coffee and spring grass, and let my voice come, steady, soft, kind. “Lauren,” I say, my eyes locked on hers, unblinking, searching for the crack in her guard, “if you stay here, in the manor, think of it as a well-earned vacation, a pause from all that back-breaking work. You’d have use of it all—pool, sauna, gym, garden, music room, library, stables… Whatever you need to relax, to breathe, it’s yours.”
The wicker table between us is filled with croissants, their buttery flakes crumbling, and coffee steaming in delicate curls. “And whatever in the world you’d want to eat at any time of the day and night,” I add.
There is a glimmer in her eyes.
She is weakening. I pounce. With my fingers gently cupping the coffee cup, the porcelain hot against my palm, I lean forward and drop my voice. The words I utter are raw with a sincerity that startles even me. “I’m not asking for anything in return, Lauren. Not a single thing. Just take what you need, at no cost, no expense. I’m ready to give it, all of it.”
“Nothing ever comes at no cost and no expense,” she mutters.
“You’re right,” I agree, my voice low, rough with the memory of her—her hands clutching my shoulders, her breath hot against my neck. “So I’ll say this: last night was one of the best nights I’ve ever had. And I want more. I want you day and night. The closer you are, the easier it will be for me to visit you and ravish you.” I let the words hang. They are spoken lightly so as not to spook her, but they are heavy with honesty. I watch her face shift, a flicker of amusement softening the lines of doubt, then her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile. It’s a small victory, a crack in the wall she’s built.