Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 38306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
“Are you insane? Who the fuck do you think you are?”
But Mr. Rochester only shrugs. “We both know you already know the answer to that.”
“You—-”
“Last but not the least, Ms. Reed.” He pauses, his gaze narrowing on me. “You are not to touch yourself or make yourself come tonight. I want that pleasure for myself. Do you understand?”
“Fuck you.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He slides to his feet gracefully and takes my hand. “Let me walk you to your room.”
“No, thanks.” I yank my hand out of his hold and stalk back to the connecting door of our suites, all the while feeling his gaze on me. Oh God. I can’t believe I’m doing exactly as he says, walking out of his room with nothing but my pants—-
The thought has me wrapping my arms around myself, and the feel of my bare breasts against my skin makes me shudder in a mixture of shame and desire.
Oh God.
Is this how my life is going to be from now on?
I TOSS AND TURN THE entire night, troubled by nightmares of both the past and the present. When I do fall asleep, it’s already too late, and it’s only as if I’ve been dozing for mere moments when I feel warm, hard fingers clasp my bare shoulder.
“Rise and shine, Ms. Reed.”
My eyes fly open, and it’s exactly as I wished and feared.
Mr. Rochester looms over me, and when I sit up he moves away. He’s already bathed and dressed for work in a sexy pinstriped suit. He looks so very dashing the way only proper Englishmen seem capable of looking, and he could’ve been the epitome of elegance if not for the ugly cast that covered his right hand.
“You’d make an exquisite sight to wake up to, my dear.”
The term of endearment feels like something a grandfather would say, but with Mr. Rochester and his oh-so-British tone, the endearment feels thrillingly sensual—-
Until I realize what said exquisite sight he’s staring at.
“Bastard!” Too late I reach for the covers and clutch them to my naked chest.
Mr. Rochester smiles. “It was good while it lasted.” He gives me a nod, murmuring, “I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast.” As he turns towards the door, he says, “You have thirty minutes.” He pauses. “Don’t make me wait again.”
The door closes behind him.
Asshole. Bastard. Jerk.
But even as I call him all sorts of names, I’m already racing around the room, not wanting to make him wait. If I do, I just know he’s going to make me wait as well—-
The icy cold water blasting down my body is both a torment and comfort, relieving the dull, persistent ache of my unfulfilled needs. If last night has taught me anything, then it’s sleeping sexually unsatisfied is hell on earth, and I definitely want it to end.
When I finally make it to the dining room, I’ve at least ten minutes to spare, and I grit my teeth as Mr. Rochester makes a show of checking the gold-plated watch on his wrist. “You’re remarkably early, Ms. Reed.”
“It’s no big deal,” I snap defensively. “I’m not the one to linger in the shower, that’s all.”
“Of course.” Mr. Rochester’s voice is soothing, but the smirking amusement in his sapphire gaze is unmistakable.
Bastard.
“Please have a seat.” He pulls out a chair for me, and I force myself to acquiesce. Returning to his seat, Mr. Rochester offers, “If there’s anything else you’d like Consuelo to prepare—-”
I shake my head. “This is like a feast already, thanks.” And I’m not exaggerating. All kinds of breakfast fare are laid out before us, more suitable to feed a party of ten rather than just the two of us.
I take my time choosing my food all the while worrying that Mr. Rochester expects me to be a model houseguest and expect me to make small talk. But when my boss continues to prioritize his Wall Street Journal over paying me attention, I find myself relaxing and letting my appetite take over.
It’s only when I’m on my second mountain of bacon that I realize Mr. Rochester has been staring at me for quite some time.
Shit. Feeling guilty and self-conscious, I offer him the last strip of bacon on my plate, which also happens to be the last strip on the table. “Do you want it?” I ask clumsily.
He laughs. “It’s all yours, and I’ll make sure Consuelo prepares more next time.”
I have coffee after while Mr. Rochester has tea, and then we’re off to the office, with Sam once again driving the limousine.
I blink in surprise when Mr. Rochester takes a seat beside me. “Sorry,” I say right away. “I didn’t know you prefer this side.”
But when I start to move to the opposite row of seat, Mr. Rochester shakes his head. “Stay here, Ms. Reed.”
Oooookay. We’re still just a little too close to each other for comfort, so I try inching towards the other end of the seat—-