Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
“That’s good, poppet. I’m happy you enjoyed it.”
“We saw a goat on a cliff! A steep cliff. Papa said they live there and that they have very good balance, but I think it was stuck.”
“He’s probably right.”
“And now I’m so hungry. I’m going to ask Zoe to make me a snack.”
“She’s in the kitchen.”
“Bon. And then I will go swimming. With Papa.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Will you come and watch?”
“We’ll see.” Or in other words, no. Last time was enough.
“Felix thinks he can beat me there.”
“Well, he probably can.” She frowns before I add. “His legs are longer.”
“Hmph.”
“Because that’s okay. You can do things that he can’t.”
“Like draw a horse,” she says, somewhat mollified. Or so I thought. “I’m going to try to beat him anyway.” With a quick squeeze of my waist, she dashes into the kitchen.
Seconds later, Felix follows at a run. “Last one in is a loser,” he bellows.
“Felix,” I don’t quite chastise. “Can’t you let your sister win this one time?”
“Ah, merde. I mean—” His eyes fly wide.
I bend to the rosemary again. “I didn’t hear a thing.”
He gives a laugh and the door slams. Silence settles over the garden again. Well, not quite silence. Footsteps over the gravel. I keep my attention firmly on the rosemary, even as excitement and trepidation swims through my insides with each of his measure steps.
His shadow falls over me, but he says nothing. So neither do I, though I am very careful not to chop off my trembling fingers.
35
LUC
I follow the children’s path to the boot room, turning into the small kitchen garden to the kind of sight that makes my feet and my heart stop. Primrose. Something pleasurable twists in my gut at the vision of her bent over one of the raised pots, her thoroughly enticing ass pointed my way.
I quickly come to realize she’s aware of my presence; some shift in her body giving her away. But she doesn’t stand, which means she likes that I’m watching. Parts of me expands at that knowledge. My lungs, my skin, and yes, the obvious.
So I allow myself a moment to appreciate the shapely line of her legs and her luscious curves beneath her thin summer skirt. With a slight movement, her T-shirt suddenly shifts to reveal a golden slice of her back. It feels like a revelation. Her skin there is as velvet, I know.
My cock pulses and mouth curves. Positively Victorian. Since when have I become titillated at the sight of a trim waist and a little skin? Fuck, tonight can’t come quick enough.
It’s all I’ve thought about since I opened my eyes this morning, the low thrum of anticipation intensifying with each and every vision of her in my head. How I’ll hold her. How I’ll have her. It’s been an inconvenient few hours, to say the least. Painful, even. I wouldn’t recommend riding a horse through a rocky trail with your dick periodically at half-mast.
I draw a slow breath, but it does nothing useful. If anything, it only sharpens my awareness of her. Fuck, I want to rush at her. But I can wait a few hours more. I’m not a slave to my desires.
I knew she’d come around eventually. Hoped. Prayed. Pretty much made a nuisance of myself until she did. Though the way she’d looked at me this morning as I’d come into the kitchen makes me wish I’d resorted to the jodhpurs long before today.
But at least we’re at this point. Finally! To say I’m relieved is a vast understatement. A better description would be to say I feel a little unhinged.
I begin to move toward her. Like irons filings to a magnet. My boots kick up dust, the crunch of stones beneath the soles plainly audible. But she doesn’t move. She doesn’t acknowledge my presence. And it seems she’s somehow made a masochist out of me because I fucking love that she’s ignoring me.
“What are you doing?” I come to stand behind her, my voice pitched lower than intended, though amusement threads through it.
“Pruning. What were you up to?”
Like she doesn’t know. “What I do best. Watching you.” I’m careful not to touch her as I take the scissors from her hand. But as she straightens, I settle my hands over her hips. “Watching you massacre the rosemary.”
“It’s for a good cause.”
A laugh escapes me, soft against her neck. Beneath my hands, I feel a tiny shift of her body as my fingers press against the delicate points of her hips.
“Sometimes a little rough handling produces excellent results.”
She gives a small, snickering giggle. “Well, I’ll have to bow to your superior knowledge of such things.”
I go still for half a beat, then I smile against her skin. “Careful, Primevère.” My fingers tighten a touch in warning. “I might remind you of that later.”
As I turn her, her eyes track over me; my hair, disordered and a little sweaty, to my shirt, open at my throat. My mouth twitches as her gaze slides away, refusing to drift lower.