Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 151845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
‘Your gramps just told me the tale of this sturdy desk.’ I pat the top on a cheeky smile, and Becker rolls his eyes as he wanders over, dropping a kiss on my cheek.
‘That’s his favourite story. Just humour him. It won’t be the first time he bores you with it.’
‘Cheeky sod!’ Old Mr H laughs, pushing himself up from his chair with too much effort. ‘You might have skydived off the Burj Khalifa, but you didn’t wander the corridors of the White House.’
Becker is over in a shot, helping him, and the old man doesn’t argue. ‘Careful.’
‘I’ll be scaling the side of a skyscraper again soon,’ he quips, turning to his grandson and giving him a sharp nod, staring into his eyes and taking his cheeks in his palms, getting his face close to Becker’s. ‘God’s speed, and all that nonsense.’
I could melt when Becker takes his grandfather in a fierce hug, holding onto him tightly as the old man pats at his back affectionately. It’s the first time I’ve seen them embrace like this, and the comfort it gives me surpasses heart-warming. ‘I love you, Gramps,’ Becker says quietly, kissing the old man’s head.
Emotion creeps up on me and wedges itself in my throat, my lips pressing together as I stand quietly to the side and let them have their moment.
‘Good lad,’ Mr H says, instigating their separation and getting on his way, raising a waving hand in the air as he goes. The door closes and I look to Becker, seeing him staring across his office, his face expressionless for a few moments before he glances across to me.
‘Come here,’ he orders quietly, opening his arms.
I walk straight into his body and let him hug me, getting a hint of how tightly he held his dear old gramps. ‘I’m so glad you’re home,’ I mumble into his chest, letting a happy warmth penetrate me bone deep.
‘Me too,’ he whispers, sighing. ‘I have somewhere I need to be.’ He detaches me from his body and homes in on my questioning face. ‘Therapy,’ he answers on a smile. ‘And I think it will be my last session.’
‘It will?’ I ask, surprised, though on the inside I’m all kinds of happy about that.
‘It definitely will.’ Dropping a gentle kiss on my forehead, he breathes in and lets all the air stream out slowly. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you, too, my sinful saint.’ I feel his lips stretch into a smile across my skin before he pulls me away and finds my happy eyes. He stares at me for the longest time, combing through my red hair with his fingers. Then he swallows and plants one last kiss on my lips. ‘See you later.’ He strides out, but slows at the door, looking back at me. ‘Never stop looking at my arse, princess.’
‘Never,’ I reply.
He flips me an endearing wink and leaves.
Chapter 39
After Becker left for his session with Dr Vass, I made a point of finding some work to do. It wasn’t difficult after I took a call from Bonhams who put me onto a lord in Devonshire who was interested in the Rembrandt that the countess bought and then decided, conveniently, that she had nowhere to hang it. I checked in with Lucy, who was still on cloud nine, before calling Mum, who was at the top of the London Eye. She was so damn excited when I suggested dinner tomorrow night.
After answering a few emails, I start to finish off some filing when Mrs Potts shoves her head around the door. The smell of something delicious wafts into the room. ‘I’ve made Mr H a roast chicken dinner for lunch, dear. Come, there’s plenty to go around.’
My tummy growls its excitement. ‘On my way,’ I confirm, dropping the files to the table. My appetite is back with a vengeance. ‘Is Becker back yet?’
‘Not yet, dear. Come along.’
The phone rings from behind me, pulling my hasty pace to a stop. ‘I’d better get that,’ I say. ‘I have a bite on the Rembrandt.’
‘Okay, dear. I’ll finish serving.’ She lets the door close, and I answer the phone. ‘The Hunt Corporation.’
‘Eleanor?’
I recognise Becker’s therapist’s voice immediately. ‘Hi Paula. How are you?’
‘I’m good, you?’
‘Couldn’t be better,’ I answer, but she probably knows this already after her session with Becker.
‘Good to hear. Is the cheeky maverick there? I have a question about a piece of art I want to buy through an online merchant, but his mobile’s going straight to voicemail.’
My back straightens. ‘He left hours ago to come see you.’ I don’t like the quickening of my pulse, nor the fact that my eyes have automatically drifted across the room to the bookshelf with the hidden compartment.
‘But we don’t have an . . .’ She drifts off, obviously realising that she’s dropped Becker in it. ‘Oh dear.’