Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I return a contemplative nod. How did I get so lucky? And what is wrong with me that I, in fact, feel lucky to have landed this “role?”
“If I’m going to deliver this pie to Rupert today, I should make sure I have all the ingredients in case I need to run to the store. But I’ll give your request some thought for when we’re ready to start another book.”
“Thanks, and sorry. I needed to vent. I’ll save it for my therapist next time.”
“No. It’s fine. I’m a good listener. It’s just getting late.”
“Of course.” She stands, tossing her hair over her shoulders. “I’ll tell Hunter I’m in the mood for a drive, so he won’t know you’re making a pie that’s not for him. Then we will have dinner reservations later, so you can call it for the day after you deliver the pie.”
“Sounds good.” I head to the kitchen while she turns toward his study at the bottom of the stairs.
After I make the pie, smooth my ponytail, reapply red lipstick, and unbutton the top three buttons of my dress to show a little cleavage, I exit through the door to the terrace, nearly running into Murphy coming into the house.
“Whoa!” He jumps aside to avoid a pie collision. “Sorry. I was looking at my phone.”
I ease my death grip on the pie. “It’s fine.”
“Where are you going with that pie? It smells amazing.”
“Sorry. It’s for Rupert Rawlings.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It’s his birthday.” I offer an exaggerated smile.
“Hunter can’t stand that guy.”
“I’m aware.”
Murphy narrows his eyes. “So, what are you doing?”
“I’m being neighborly as a good homemaker would be.”
“Did Vera put you up to this?”
I blink without responding.
“This is beneath you. Don’t let them put you in the middle of their fucked-up issues.”
“I’m a big girl. I knew what I was getting into when I accepted the job.”
His gaze drops several inches. “You missed a few buttons.”
I keep my chin up. “I didn’t.”
“You look like you’re offering more than pie for his birthday.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
“I don’t fucking approve,” he snaps, and quickly recovers with a long sigh and a headshake. “That was out of line,” he stutters. “I’m sorry.”
“Bad day?”
Murphy rubs his temples. “I have a headache.”
“Anything I can do?”
He drops his hands and stares at me. “You can give me a piece of that pie.”
“I can’t deliver a birthday pie with a piece missing.”
He crosses his arms. “You just said ‘anything.’ Did you not mean it?”
“Where’s Blair? Oh, and I’ll wash the dishes as soon as I get back. I don’t want to wait any longer to deliver the pie.”
“Blair’s getting a massage. It’s just the two of us and that pie. And I want a piece.”
After a brief standoff, I lift the edge of the foil and pinch off a tiny piece of the crust. Then I lift it to Murphy’s mouth. He doesn’t look at my hand. It’s as if our gazes are glued. He grabs my wrist and wraps his lips around the tips of my two fingers.
Holy shit.
I can’t breathe.
My skin tingles and my nipples harden beneath my bra. I hate his perfect life and the woman who will be his perfect wife. I don’t want him having out-of-this-world sex with her. I looked for him. He’s the entire reason I’m in Lake of the Isles.
And now he’s here, but it’s too late.
Too late to rectify the past.
Too late to have a future.
Too late to want him this much.
As his grip keeps his lips pressed to my fingers, I swallow hard.
“Smart ass,” he says, releasing my wrist before shouldering past me without looking back.
I brush my hand over my dress, pushing my nipples back into hiding before continuing toward Rupert Rawlings’ house.
After ringing the doorbell twice with no answer, I turn to head back home, then the door opens.
“Can I help you?”
I turn and smile. “Mr. Rawlings?”
“Yes.”
Indeed, he has a full head of salt-and-pepper hair. Symmetrical face. Charming smile. Rupert is effortlessly cool like George Clooney.
I go into character as if the curtains just opened on the stage, and the spotlight is on me. Confidence is just good acting.
“Happy birthday to you …” I sing each line with a wide smile. I don’t go full-on Marilyn Monroe “happy birthday, Mr. President,” but I do my best to make Vera proud. And from the look on Rupert’s face, he’s pleased with my performance.
“This is from the Morrisons.” I hand him the pie. “I’m Alice, Mr. Morrison’s homemaker. I hope you like it.”
Rupert shifts, posture straightening, gaze sweeping head to toe. “Yes. I heard he had a homemaker.” His tone implies more than homemaker.
I keep smiling, letting his dirty imagination run wild.
He nods at my chest. “Does Vera let you walk around the house like that?”
I keep my shoulders back, chest out. “I’m not allowed to suck Mr. Morrison’s dick. That’s the only house rule.” I give him the full show, batting my eyelashes.