Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 112701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
As soon as I reach the lift, I jam the button and wait. My anger is palpable as I ponder if Raven kissed me while attached to someone else.
Wouldn’t be the first time I fell into that problem.
The chime of the doors opening pulls me from my thoughts, and I step inside. The door is barely open when I hear a request to hold the elevator. I don’t consider who’s speaking as I thrust my arm out to stop them from closing.
Speak of the devil.
As if conjured by my thoughts, Raven steps into the small space. I move aside, enlarging the distance between us. The farther I am from her, the better right now.
But who am I trying to fool?
There could be an airfield between us, and it wouldn’t be enough. I would still find her irresistible. Her intoxicating perfume filters through the air, begging me to approach her, to pull her toward me and inhale. Instead, I fist my hands at my side, willing this ride to be over quickly.
“Are you okay, Mr. Cavendish?”
“Yes,” I grit out through clenched teeth.
“Are you sure? You don’t look fine.”
I inhale, willing myself to calm. “Yes.”
“Because if you—”
“Enough!” I snap.
My head turns in her direction, and I see her eyes are wide with shock.
Fuck.
“Umm . . . sorry,” she squeaks at my outburst. Her chin dips, and she starts to fiddle with the hem of her skirt. Which now draws my attention to how short it is.
Torture.
As we make our ascent to our floor, the air around us grows still, and I’m thankful for her silence, that is until she lifts her head up and looks at me.
“The food in the cafeteria is very good,” she says.
“You seemed to be enjoying it.” My tone is harsh, and she looks puzzled by my reaction.
Her fingers move again, and this time, her nervous fiddling has her touching her blouse. She doesn’t realize it, but the fabric has lifted, and now, a sliver of creamy skin is peeking out, causing my imagination to go into overdrive.
In my mind, I’m hitting the stop button and pushing her up against the wall. She’d moan out my name and the yes I desperately want to hear from her again.
I’d capture her lips with mine, suckling on that bottom lip she likes to nibble on in meetings when she’s thinking. Raven has no idea what she does to me when I look up and see her pensive.
In my daydream, I’d run my hands down to that tease of a skirt. Feathering my touch under it to feel that exposed skin again. My God, her soft arse was divine.
This time, I wouldn’t be forced to stop because of the door. Instead, I’d find her ready for me when I slipped my fingers across her center. The way her body would tremble beneath my touch has me panting for more. Just a taste of her . . .
“Mr. Cavendish.” Her soft voice pulls me from my thoughts. “We’re here.”
With a shake of the head, I follow the direction she is gesturing with her hand and see that the doors are open.
Without acknowledging her at all, I step off and storm toward my office.
I need as much distance as possible.
I’m not even at my desk when my mobile rings with a message. Pulling it from my pocket, I read it.
“Fuuuuuck!”
I’ve been at 5 Herford Street for three days in a row now.
The exclusive club has been my father’s watering hole for damn near a decade. He made the conversion from Annabel’s, another prominent club, on opening, which secured his feud with Annabel’s owner. Yet another betrayal proving my father wouldn’t understand the word loyal if it hit him upside the head.
If he’s not in his office screaming down the line at someone, he can be found here. The question is, why am I here?
I barely take a seat, and a tumbler of The Glenlivet XXV is placed before me. My father’s idea of knowing and loving me.
Fuck that shite.
I was summoned to London on short notice, flying out immediately on Monday after lunch. The bastard knows damn well I am in the middle of closing the biggest deal of my career. If the tables were turned, nothing short of murder would pull him away from a client.
Yet when he rings, I’m expected to come running.
I haven’t for three years, but something about this request is different. Over the past three years, he hasn’t bothered to reach out personally, leaving his assistant to call or send an email. I ignored each and every one.
This time, he rang. Something in his voice was off. He sounded haunted. Hollow.
As the heir to Cavendish Corporation, I’ve been groomed to take over upon my father’s death or retirement since birth, and I can’t imagine this meeting is about anything other than plans for the company.