Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
And I embrace it.
I embrace this moment with my love.
Reality has a way of poking its head in when it’s not wanted. This time, it’s in the form of my phone.
I hear the damned ring from the pocket of my jeans on the floor of our hotel room.
I don’t want to answer it. I want to stay deep inside her, stay in this dreamlike state forever.
But…reality.
I withdraw, try to ignore her whimper, move off the bed, and pull my phone out of the pocket of my jeans.
“Yeah,” I say without bothering to see who’s calling.
“Mr. Steel?”
“Yes, this is Brock Steel.”
“This is Mr. Havisham, Mr. Ainsley’s butler. He’d like to meet you and Ms. Pike today for tea instead of tomorrow if possible.”
“We just got in,” I say. “Four o’clock is only an hour away.”
“Mr. Ainsley sends his apologies,” the butler says, “but his personal physician just rescheduled his monthly appointment to tomorrow afternoon.”
“Yeah. All right. I’ll make that work.”
“Mr. Ainsley thanks you.”
I end the call. Rory is still lying on the bed, her body flushed with pink, her eyes closed, her hair strewn on the pillow like a dark-brown curtain of silk.
I hate to disturb her. But this way, at least, she doesn’t get her nap.
I pull on my jeans and sit on the bed. “Sweetheart…”
Her eyes pop open. “Hey.”
“You have to get up. Get dressed. Our coffee should be in the hall.”
She yawns. “After what you just put me through? No way am I getting out of this bed.”
“I’m so sorry, but that phone call—”
“You got a phone call?”
“Boy, you are in a climax-induced fog. Yeah, I just got a call. Ennis Ainsley wants to meet us for tea today. In an hour.”
She jerks into a sitting position. “Are you kidding?”
“Believe me, part of me wishes I were. But then there’s another part of me that wants to get to the bottom of all this right away, so I’m actually happy about it.”
“Hey, I’m with you. Let’s find out what the old guy has to say. I sure hope they delivered that coffee.”
I rise, walk to the door of our suite, and open it. Sure enough, a room service cart sits outside holding a pot of coffee, two cups and napkins, cream and sugar, and an assortment of scones.
I grab a scone and take a bite. I’m suddenly famished.
I wheel the car in, pour coffee for Rory and myself, and then I dress.
Once dressed, Rory takes a sip of her coffee. Then screws her face into a frown. “I guess I see why the English drink tea.”
“Really, is it that bad?” I take a sip. “Yeah, it’s that bad.”
My family loves coffee. And Jade especially. She’s got us all hooked on dark swamp root.
I stir in a bit of cream. I don’t normally take cream, but it will cool the coffee down so I can drink quickly, and it may also help the flavor. I take a sip.
“The cream will help,” I tell Rory.
“Cream isn’t really my thing, but I’ll take your word for it.” She pours cream in her own coffee, stirs it, and takes a drink.
She still makes a face, but then she takes another drink.
“Ugh. But at least we’ll get tea with Mr. Ainsley, right?”
“Yes, and hopefully it will be good English tea. Unless he’s a chamomile guy.”
“Chamomile? Herb tea?” Rory shakes her head. “Not a good Englishman.”
“I’m afraid we won’t know until we get there.” I finish buttoning my shirt. “Finish your coffee, because we need to go downstairs and hail a cab.”
“Won’t there be cabs right outside the hotel?”
“Probably, but we still need to hurry.”
“Understood.” She slides her shoes onto her feet and then walks into the bathroom.
I finish the terrible English coffee.
In an hour, we’ll get some information.
Will it help us? I have no idea.
All I know is that I wish I were back in bed with Rory, safely enveloped in our post-orgasmic protective bubble.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
RORY
We are met at Ennis Ainsley’s front door—the front door of a lovely large red brick mansion—by an honest-to-God tuxedo-clad English butler. He’s tall, with a receding blond hairline, piercing blue eyes, and slightly crooked teeth.
“Mr. Steel, I presume,” he says in perfect Queen’s English. “And Ms. Pike?”
Brock holds out his hand. “Yes, I’m Brock Steel, and this is Rory Pike.”
“I’m Mr. Havisham, Mr. Ainsley’s butler. Please just call me Havisham.”
He does not return Brock’s handshake. Instead, he opens the door, and we walk in. Then he leads us into a sitting room.
I’d call it a living room, though it doesn’t look like anyone lives here. It’s pristine, with Queen Anne furniture—all in cherry wood and lavender-and-blue brocade.
“Please have a seat.” He nods to the sofa. “Mr. Ainsley will arrive in a moment.” Havisham leaves the room.
I can’t help a tiny giggle. “I think we’ve just entered the twilight zone.”