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)
She snorts. “Delusional.”
“Not in my dreams.” His eyes slide my way reluctantly.
“Gotta pee,” is my input before I choke on all these pheromones. I make to pass by him when he catches my arm.
“The boss is here,” he says, leaning in close.
Something treacherous flips between my legs before a whole lot of other stuff follows in its wake. Why? What for? Did he bring her? And fuck no. All of these seem to jostle for position on my tongue.
“Upstairs,” he adds, his fingers tensing briefly in warning.
“Tell him I said hi.” I pull away and make a beeline for the loos without looking back.
As I weave through the crowd, I ignore the tiny hairs on the back of my neck standing as straight as pins. Someone is looking at me and I know I’m not imagining things.
My heart begins to thrash like an angry woman at an Alanis concert.
Meanwhile, my brain is screaming, Fuck him.
And my pussy, well, she seems to think that’s a good plan.
38
LUC
I find her in the middle of the dance floor and for one suspended moment, I just watch her from the balcony of a private lounge. Her body sways to the music, her mouth moving silently with the song. How carefree she looks. How young.
I shouldn’t be here. The thought is instant and unwelcome, but the beginning of a deluge. It’s so wrong. How we’ve gotten here, how I manipulated her. I should leave her to her night and her life. She has a whole bright world waiting for her.
But I can’t. Because watching her leave the house felt less like restraint and more like a lack of air. I fucking crave her, a gnawing hunger that sharpens with every hour I’m denied.
Beneath the fracture of lights, her mouth softly opens like an invitation to bliss. She flicks her hand under her hair, and I imagine I can see the strands clinging to her neck, perfumed with her floral scent and fragrant sweat.
She throws her arms around Zoe, and heads pressed close, the pair begin to dance. Hands skims waists, hips rolling shamelessly, laughing too as Primrose throws her head back, carefree and glowing as the men around her circle closer.
My grip tightens on the heavy glass tumbler in my hand.
She looks beautiful. Reckless. And angry. Because of me.
My anger is swift to rise, hot enough to drown out everything else. I’ve never set aside my children for a woman before today. I’ve never wanted another woman as I have her—can’t she see that?
She should have trusted me instead of assuming the worst. She should have waited instead of reacting, then fucking running. Didn’t she read her phone?
I handled her entrance badly, I know. But Amélie’s arrival had me off balance and on the defensive. I didn’t want to give the woman so much as a thread of interest to pull at. Not that it matters. I expect she has a skilful interrogation of the children planned.
Fucking Primrose. How could she believe so little of me? One misunderstanding and she leaves me for a fucking nightclub—a den iniquity—where men surround her like sharks.
My gaze catches on a man dancing closer. His hands on her hips, he whispers something in her ear. Something ugly curls inside me. I want to twist the fucker’s hands from his wrists. I should’ve gone for her myself, not sent Jacques. And I would have, but for delighting the paparazzi. It was hard enough to get into the club without being seen.
The fist gripping my heart relaxes its hold when she rebuffs the asshole. I know I have no right to this anger. No right to her. No cause to resent the men attracted to her. She’s not mine to keep. Yet here I am. Twisted up inside, furious that she’s here.
The song changes and the women begin to push through the crowd. I watch the change in their body language as they spot Jacques and follow their exchange. The frowns and the exchange of words.
I didn’t ask him how he knew where Primrose was, but I imagined it had something to do with Zoe. He’s a fool if he thinks I haven’t noticed how he avoids the kitchen lately. If I lose my chef because he can’t be mindful of where he sticks his dick, I’m not going to be happy. Double standards, but who gives a shit.
The exchange over, Primrose pulls away. Jacques doesn’t follow, but I have faith in my man. I follow her until I can see her no more, the crowd reduced to flashes of skin and movement between the balcony railings.
I turn back to the room, the music muted here. A low velvet sofa curves around a table laden with gleaming crystal and ice, the suite promising privacy and discretion to those who can afford it. Smoked glass and amber lighting, it’s dark and decadent, designed to make a man forget his better judgement. As though I possessed any at all where Primrose is concerned.