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)
“That’s nice,” I say, full of sarcasm. “You two lovebirds have fun.”
“We would, but he’s just called me to cancel. Something about sealed bids and a deadline.”
“I haven’t got time for a quick pint.” I’m too busy going crazy. And has he forgotten I’m not drinking? Although, admittedly, I could really fucking do with one right now.
“That’s not why I’m calling. You wouldn’t believe who’s in here.”
I frown. “Who?”
“Your pretty little interior designer and a particularly fiery-looking redhead.”
I sit up straight in my seat. She’s having lunch with Kate? She canceled me to have lunch with her friend? “What bar?” I ask, edging out again, seeing the line of cars up ahead beginning to move.
“Baroque on Piccadilly. So, who’s the redhead?”
“Kate. She’s not your type.”
“She looks very much my type from where I’m standing,” Sam muses. I’d laugh if I was in the mood. Sam’s type drops their knickers at the drop of a hat. Usually at The Manor. I don’t know Kate all that well, but I get the feeling she’d play hard to get. A bit like her annoying friend.
“I’ve got to go,” I say when the traffic finally breaks, giving me space to put my foot down. I hang up on Sam and overtake the car in front, my Aston screaming. It’s not the only thing.
* * *
I make it into the city finally, park illegally, and stalk my way to the bar, hammering out a text as I go.
There better be a GOOD fucking reason for you standing me up & needing time isn’t one. Someone had better be dying. I’m going out of my fucking mind, lady. NO KISS
I push my way into the bar and find her immediately. And as if it’s backing me up, my heart starts galloping. It pushes all reason out of my mind. It makes me resent her more for depriving me. Sam’s at the table too, flashing his cheeky smile left and right.
I’m glad he’s providing the comedy. I’m about to provide the angst.
Ava stands, collecting her bag and phone, as I heave like a gorilla behind her. I can see her profile. She’s smiling. And doesn’t that just wind me up more? What the fuck is there to smile about?
She turns, still smiling.
Sees me.
Stops.
“Who’s dead?” I bellow, stunning her. “You don’t get to fuck me off, Ava.”
She blinks, looking back at her friend and Sam, seeming lost. Like she doesn’t know what to do. As if she thought I’d happily accept her piss-poor excuse for standing me up and not come after her.
“I have to get back to work,” she eventually says, dropping her eyes and passing me, hurrying out of the bar. What the fuck? Didn’t she note how rattled I am? Didn’t she consider for a moment how to change that?
“Jesse,” Sam says, pulling my confused form around to face him. He cocks his head in question. “Breathe, man.”
Breathe? Yes, breathe. But when I try to drag air into my lungs, my chest goes tight. And there’s the problem.
I leave Sam and Kate in the bar with alarmed looks on their faces, going after Ava. I spot her on the pavement, her stride fast, her hair bouncing across her back. She rounds the corner onto Bruton Street and arrives at her office door too quickly for my liking. I’m about to call out to her when she zips inside, and I laugh out loud, part disbelief, part infuriation. She thinks she’s safe from having to face me? She thinks I won’t go right on in there and bring her back out? This woman needs to remember that when it comes to her, I have no shame or boundaries.
Apparently.
I burst through the door, stalk to her desk, and catch her before she can take a seat, throwing her over my shoulder. Her squeal makes my damn fucking cock twitch. Even blood-boiling mad, I’m still hard for her.
“What the bloody hell are you doing?” she shouts as I pass her colleague’s desk, his eyes wide as he follows my path. I get her outside and find a suitable wall. “Jesse, fucking hell! Put me down now!”
I cringe. Good lord, won’t she stop cursing like a fucking sailor? I reach back and start to slowly ease her down my front, making sure every inch of her front slides across every inch of mine. With my arm wrapped around her waist, I hold her off the ground, our noses nearly touching, my raging erection pressed in her lower stomach. You feel that, baby? That’s for you, even if you don’t fucking deserve it right now.
She groans as my eyes dart across her face, drinking in every exquisite piece of her desire. I didn’t need this confirmation. But I wanted it. What game is she playing?
She swallows and looks across to her office window, wincing. Fuck them.