Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Silence settles, and I rest my head back, cherishing this moment of peace. “I’ve never had a bath before.”
“Never?” she replies, surprised.
“No, never.” Baths leave too much time alone to do nothing but think. And, worse than that, they remind me of the times I used to give Rosie her bedtime bath. The water no deeper than a few inches. The bubbles overflowing. Her little body lost amid the puffs of white. Her laugh. Her smile. The way she looked at me like I wasn’t a hopeless wanker. “I’m a shower man,” I whisper, my throat tight. “But I think I might be a bath man now.”
“I love having a bath.”
“Me too,” I breathe. “But only if you’re in it with me.” Never alone. “It’s a good job the designer of this place anticipated the need for a big one.”
She laughs, and it’s golden. “I think she did well.”
“I wonder if she ever considered being in it?”
“No, she didn’t.” Her words are wistful. Like me, she can’t believe she’s here either, although for entirely different reasons. I drop my chin and observe her wet hair covering every inch of my chest. Her legs rubbing against mine. Her hands lying across my forearms where they’re holding her.
I have a nibble of her ear. “Well, I’m glad she is,” I whisper, and she sighs, settling deeper into my body, closing her eyes. She looks so peaceful. So . . . mine.
I let her be, happy to watch her, happy to just soak in the warmth of the water and her body. It’s something else to be added to my list of favorite things.
“You’re going to be late for work,” I say when I’m sure she’s dozed off. “Just think . . . if you didn’t go to the office, we could stay longer.” I smile into her temple and rip my body from hers, hoping she feels the pain like I do. But it’s for a greater good.
Fourteen days and counting.
I leave Ava in the bath, hopefully regretting refusing to work on The Manor today, and by the sound of her disgruntled moan when I tore myself away, my hopes have been answered.
When I make it to my dressing room, I pluck out a black shirt, a gray suit, and get dressed, planning my day by the hour in the hopes it’ll pass quickly.
When I arrive in the kitchen, I call John and settle on the stool to eat my breakfast. He answers with a grunt. “So tell me who got too excited,” I say before sliding my finger into my mouth.
“Ken Fraser. He’s remorseful, of course.”
“They always are.” Especially when confronted with a pissed-off John. “What did he do and what was his excuse?”
“He videoed another member giving him head.”
I nearly bite the end of my finger off. “He did what?”
“A moment of madness, he claims.”
“Did you get the phone?”
“Yes.”
I look up when I hear Ava coming down the stairs, her heels clinking the marble. She appears, and everything inside of me pouts. Damn her job. She looks me up and down with her own little pout in place. She’s damning herself too. Wishing she hadn’t been so unreasonable and given me what we both want.
“I’ll be there after I’ve dropped Ava at work.” I swivel to face her, throwing an order with my eyes.
“The kitchen has the final menu for the anniversary.”
“Yes, tell Sarah I want it on my desk when I get there.”
Ava wanders over when I pat my lap. “And what about Ken? What shall I do with him?”
“We revoke his membership,” I say as Ava comes to rest on my lap, my mouth moving without instruction, my mind consumed in an instant. My face goes into her neck, my nose breathing her into me. “Simple.”
“He won’t be happy,” John says. “It’ll kick off.”
“He can kick off all he likes,” I ramble on, forgetting myself completely. “He’s gone, end of. Get Sarah to cancel it.”
“With immediate effect?”
“Yes.”
“Done.”
“Okay. See you in a bit.”
I pull Ava into my chest, slamming my hungry mouth onto hers for a few mind-spinning moments. It’s going to be a long, long day. “Breakfast?”
“I’ll grab something at the office,” she says, freeing herself of my clutches. “Can I have some water?” she asks, and I tense. I can’t help it.
I turn away, cringing, warning Jake to keep quiet. “Knock yourself out, baby.” I dip my peanut butter and shove my finger in my mouth, following her path to the fridge where she places her bag on the side and starts rummaging through. She huffs. Puffs. Sighs. Starts pulling everything out.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing.” She stills for a moment. I can practically hear her asking herself what she’s done with them. “Fuck,” she hisses, starting to dump everything back in her bag with heavy hands.
“Watch your mouth, Ava,” I grumble, screwing the lid on the jar. I’m a disgrace. “Come on; you’ll be late.”