Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“No,” I say to myself as I make it outside the auditorium and rush through the glass tunnel. I realise quickly that I have no idea where the ladies’ bathrooms are—the only ones I’ve used here were in the changing rooms on the other side of the hotel in the spa. “Shit.” I spot Anouska.
“Miss Lazenby?” she says in question as I approach.
“I’m looking for the ladies’.”
“Just through there on the right.” She motions back through the glass tunnel.
“Thank you,” I call, hurrying back the way I came, but I come to an abrupt halt when Jude Harrison pushes his way out the double doors from the auditorium, looking a little ruffled.
And worried.
“Amelia,” he breathes, checking me up and down. I don’t do the same. Reminding myself of the splendour before me won’t help. Not that I need a reminder. Everything Jude Harrison is embedded in my mind. “What’s wrong?” He moves toward me, and I move back, making him still, the concern on his face maddening.
What’s wrong? Where does he want me to start? I could be here all fucking day, and I don’t have time. I walk away, heading for the ladies’, but stop when I hear his fancy dress shoes join the clicking of my heels on the marble.
I swing around. “Do not follow me,” I snap, backing up, keeping him in place with my eyes. His are full of uncertainty. I’m sure mine are full of annoyance.
I reach the door and push my way inside, not taking even a brief moment to appreciate the opulence surrounding me. I set my phone by the cream marble, resting my hands on the sink and closing my eyes. Jude Harrison. He owns Arlington Hall? All along? All-a-fucking-long?
My darkness is invaded by visions—all him. In the Library Bar, in his lovely suit, the spa in his black shorts, in the reflection of the mirror when he seduced my hands. “No, no, no.” I snap my eyes open and stare at myself in the mirror, silently ordering my brain to recalibrate. Today is important. So fucking important. How dare he steer me off course? How dare he! “Come on, Amelia,” I say to myself. “Remember why you’re here.”
The doors open, and I look past my reflection. Of course he didn’t listen to me.
Don’t wash your hands.
He finds me in the mirror, slowly releasing the door. “Amelia?”
“Jude,” I say, for the first time using his name. Because I know it now. Who he is, what he does.
“You’re pissed off,” he murmurs.
“I’m sorry, were you expecting something else from me?”
“Well, I didn’t expect this,” he says, remaining by the door. Wise.
I drop my head, looking down into the sink. What the hell did he expect? I’ve told him repeatedly to back off. It doesn’t matter that it’s taking everything out of me. It doesn’t matter that I’m incredibly attracted to him. It doesn’t matter that I desperately want to explore this mad chemistry. It doesn’t fucking matter that I’m obsessing about him. I’ve told him to leave me alone, and he isn’t.
Fuck.
“Your hair is down,” he says, as if that means more than I’ve simply changed the way I wear my hair. I flinch. Stiff.
“I’m wearing my hair down,” I confirm quietly. I don’t have the capacity right now to read into my own reasoning.
“Why can’t you look at me?”
“I can look at you. I just don’t want to.”
“Why?”
I bite down on my back teeth. “Stop it.”
“No.”
“Jude, please.”
“Don’t make me say it. Don’t make me spell out how attracted I am to you.”
I inhale, beginning to shake as he comes to a stop directly behind me. Close. I can feel myself falling under his spell. Mesmerised by him. The aura sucking me in. This is a man who could derail me. Not with a baby or marriage, but with plain, overwhelming, uncontrollable lust. He’s disarming, smart, successful, and devastatingly handsome. Denying my attraction, my desires, would be so fucking dumb. “I can’t do this today.” Not any day. I tense when his hand meets the small of my back. His touch burns my skin through my dress. He slides it up to my neck. “Jude, please.” I soften under his grip as he massages my nape. His front meets my back, his other hand sliding onto my stomach.
“What are you begging for, Amelia?” he asks, pulling me tighter to his body. He moves my hair away from my neck, breathes across my skin. Wildfire sweeps through my veins, my arse pushing back into his groin. “Tell me.”
I honestly don’t know what I’m begging for. Him? This? Space? Sense? Air?
Resistance?
But you can’t resist the irresistible, and Jude Harrison has proved time and again that he’s irresistible.
“Dinner,” he whispers, bombarding every sense I have.
I moan, letting the feeling take me. I’m a puppet again. Not in control of my reactions, my head and body bending to his will.