Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
“Couldn’t find a bloody thing!”
Our differences faded with every shared silly story.
Maybe it would only last tonight. Maybe he’d wake up in the morning, steal his covers back, and boot my ass out the door. Maybe I was that itch he still needed to scratch or get out of his system. Maybe it was the same for me.
I couldn’t say. I only knew that for the first time in a long while, I felt like myself again…the better version of me.
12
GRAHAM
Ominous gray clouds streaked the sky, darkening the horizon. I studied the rain beating against my office windows, humming into my phone when prompted. This call was important. Daydreaming was never an option for anyone running a multimillion-pound firm, and certainly not as we eased into the final stretch of an acquisition. Yet here I was, thinking dirty thoughts about the gorgeous man I’d left in my bed this morning.
I’d had a solid month of Raine. The good kind.
One night had bled into two, then one week, two weeks, three weeks…
He was my new habit and I wasn’t ready to break this one any time soon, which was ludicrous. Raine was wildly inappropriate in every way. He was a brash, wide-eyed American with a questionable filter and no real direction. He wasn’t flighty necessarily, but he wasn’t…practical. I told myself his incredibly sexy body was the main draw, but that was a lie. Yes, he was pretty, but I was attracted to something in him I couldn’t easily define. His sense of adventure, his unconscious courage, his relentless optimism.
Raine looked at life through rose-tinted lenses. He was smart enough to acknowledge lurking danger, but that didn’t stop him from barreling headfirst into half-cocked ideas or jobs he was under or overqualified for.
The barrister’s office he’d interviewed with had gone with another candidate. Raine hadn’t heard back from the local libraries and museums, which left him with the ridiculous notion that he should stand behind the counter at a takeaway shop or a tourist attraction.
“After I do some exploring,” he’d warbled around a toothbrush one morning last week. He’d spit in the basin and whirled to face me, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Day-tripping is my new jam. I’m taking the train to Canterbury today. I want to see the cathedral, brush up on Thomas Becket and medieval English history. Tomorrow, it’s Brighton and the Royal Pavilion. Stonehenge is a must, too.”
“Why? It’s just a pile of old rocks,” I’d deadpanned, buttoning the cuffs on my perfectly pressed oxford shirt.
Raine had shot an undeterred sunny grin my way. “Bite your tongue. That’s a pile of historical old rocks, and it’s only boring to you ’cause you’ve probably seen it a dozen times already.”
“Neh, I’ve never been.” I’d kissed his temple impulsively and stepped aside. “Have fun.”
“Never been? Seriously? Why not?”
“The better question is…why? It’s rocks, pet. That’s it.”
He’d followed me downstairs to the foyer, slinging his knapsack over his shoulder. “Have you been to Brighton?”
“No. Are you leaving now also?” I’d asked, hand on the doorknob.
“Yeah. What about Canterbury?”
“I think so, but I can’t recall.”
“Then come with me. Play hooky, hop a train, and let’s roll. It’ll be fun,” he’d cajoled.
That wasn’t going to happen, but his enthusiasm was utterly charming. I’d closed the door behind us, lifted his chin, and did something I’d never done with a lover in the many years I’d lived in London—I kissed him on the street in front of my house.
It hadn’t been a long, drawn-out affair and I was fairly certain there was no tongue involved, but it was impossible to stress how very unlike me it was to engage in any public displays. It couldn’t be helped. He was so fucking…adorable.
“I can’t, but you have fun.”
He’d stood on the stoop staring after me incredulously as Collins pulled away from the curb. A smile had quirked my lips, and it hadn’t truly faded since.
Case in point, my mouth twitched with a memory of Raine taking notes from my housekeeper regarding what sort of detergent to buy from Tesco and how to use the front-loading machine at his flat, catching every other word of Sanjay’s glum report regarding our stalled negotiations.
Mary had scrolled through the photos he’d taken of his washer, pointing out features like where to put the capsule, while I’d shaken my head in amusement.
“Persil,” Mary’d said with a broad smile, clearly pleased to be consulted. “That’s my favorite.”
“Parasol. Got it.”
“No, love. Persil.”
“That’s what I said. Parasol.”
Not funny in the slightest, but they’d gone back and forth often enough that it became a comedy sketch. And here I was hours later, still grinning like a fool.
“I don’t know why this property has become a bargaining tool rather than a simple asset. It’s strange that Lloyd’s is entertaining the idea,” Sanjay commented, snapping me from my reverie.