Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Tell her some truths.
“Oh, do fuck off,” I mutter. “My lack of sharing isn’t an issue, because she doesn’t know there’s anything left to share.”
No, but she might understand why you’ve bought this beast of a car for her.
“I bought it because I thought—mistakenly, it seems—that she might appreciate it.”
Oh, please.
“Fuck off.” I sigh but pout when my vision is invaded by Ava’s arse swaying like a pendulum in that fetching red dress as she storms off toward her Mini. That arse. Yum. She gets in, and I wander over to my Aston, getting comfy, leaning on it. Perhaps I should get in the boot, because shit is going to fly very soon when she realizes she’s going nowhere.
I look back when I hear someone coming out of Lusso.
“Everything all right, Mr. Ward?” Clive asks, watching Ava pulling out of her space and driving to the gates. They remain closed as she approaches them. “Oh, perhaps her remote control has run out of batteries. I’ll get the gates for her.”
“Don’t do that, Clive,” I say, smiling when I hear Ava’s angry yell blend with the sound of her car braking. She gets out, heaving, furious.
“Planning on going somewhere?” I ask cockily.
“Oh, fuck off.” She swipes her bag from the seat as I twitch, and marches to the other gate. Oh, no. I break out in a run and intercept her escape, picking her up and taking her back to the Range Rover.
“Will you watch your fucking mouth?” I snap, putting her inside and belting her up. I snatch her keys from her hand and start separating them, putting her pink key to the penthouse on her new set. “Why do you have to defy me on absolutely everything?”
“Because you’re an unreasonable arse. Why can’t you take me to work?”
Oh, now she wants me to take her? “I’m already late for a meeting because my wife won’t do as she’s told.” I’m not late. But I do have things to do before I head to The Manor to meet Niles. I haul her onto my mouth and kiss her hard. “Anyone would think you’re after a retribution fuck.’”
“I’m not.”
Why does she lie to me? And try to resist me? I move in, teasing her mouth open with my tongue, expecting her to be defiant for the sake of it, so when she opens up to me and matches my heat and pace, I’m surprised. But not complaining. Never. “You taste delicious, baby,” I hum. “What time are you finishing work?”
“Six,” she gasps.
“Come straight to The Manor and bring your files so we can finalize the orders for the new rooms.” She’s in for another surprise. I can’t wait to show her our new room. Holding a finger up for her to see, I slowly take it to the control on the window, like . . . look. This is how to operate the windows. I let it down, close the door, and lean in. She’s so indignant. “I love you.”
“I know.” She starts the car, scanning the dashboard. She’ll get to grips with it soon enough and never look back.
“Have you spoken to Patrick yet?” I ask, knowing the answer, of course. She only woke up half an hour ago. I’m just reminding her.
“Move my car,” she orders shortly, evading my question.
“I’ll take that as a no.” I grin to myself. “You’ll speak to him today.”
“Move my car.”
“Anything you want, lady.”
She takes the steering wheel and looks around the interior. “Where the hell am I going to park this thing?”
That thing practically parks itself. It has sensors everywhere. I take her in as I back away, thinking how dainty she is behind the wheel. “Enjoy,” I murmur, going to her Mini and parking it in a visitor’s space.
Slipping into my Aston, I drive out, waving my goodbye. I’m too far away to see her expression, but I know she’s glowering.
I call my friend at the florist as soon as I’m out of the gates. “Mr. Ward,” she sings, thrilled to hear from me. “You’ve been married for over a week and not sent your wife any flowers. Shame on you.”
I cringe. “Let’s fix that,” I say. “How quickly can you get some across to her office?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Make it twenty. I have something I want you to take with the flowers.”
“Ohh, what?”
“You’ll see.”
My second call of the day goes to Steve Cook. I get no answer. Still. Juliette definitely hasn’t passed on my message. I can’t blame her. But he also didn’t pick up the first time I tried him, or call me back. Again, I can’t blame him. He probably thinks I want to slice him open after what he did to Ava. I do. But . . . he could help me. My third call is to a fertility clinic. I need to know.