Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
That voice.
Rich, warm. Seductive.
That accent.
Just kill me now. Preferably by orgasm overload. Or pistachio-coated chocolate.
That tone.
So not désolé at all.
And don’t get me started on the view; his suit, impeccably cut and the colour of midnight sins. The contrast of his brilliant white shirt, open at the neck to expose the caramel of his skin. His hair is stylishly tidy, his cheeks smooth. He looks almost edible in whatever he chooses to wear, but something tells me he’s made a little more of an effort today.
I tamp back the hope the effort could be for me.
‘But perhaps you were too busy enjoying your cookie to hear. Ventre affamé n'a point d'oreilles. A hungry stomach has no ears.’
I can literally feel the blood rushing to my cheeks—and my poor maligned ears.
‘Okay, so you caught me.’ I fold my arms across my chest. Or under the girls, at any rate. I swear I don’t do it to get his attention, but it goes there anyway. When his attention rises, I’m wearing an expression I like to call, buddy, my face is up here.
‘Rose,’ he says, sliding off his suit jacket and dropping it carelessly to a chest that must surely be a Japanese antique. ‘With you, a man is spoilt for choice where to look.’
I note the lack of apology or discomfit as his gaze roams over me, even as I kind of enjoy it, too. ‘Yeah, well, my boobs are like this fine china here. They only come out for special occasions.’
‘I don’t know about china, but they’re certainly fine.’
‘What are you doing here, Remy?’ If this sounds like an accusation, I’m sure it’s because it’s meant to. I mean, where the hell has he been for the past week? Not thinking about me, that’s for sure.
‘What am I doing here? I happen to be looking at my lunch.’ I’m pretty sure my heart skips an excited, horny little beat. Could that be me? ‘My late lunch.’ I find myself glancing down at the afternoon tea, my sense of exhilaration dipping along with my gaze. He arrived after me. If I’d been invited, wouldn’t he have said “my lunch date”.
Tea for two and guess who gets to play waitress?
‘I guess this must be your place then, huh?’ I try to keep my voice light as I glance around the room. No way I want to look at him, especially not as I experience the unexpected prick of tears. What did I expect? He’s not interested in me. At least, for no more than a cursory boob browse.
‘In a way,’ he agrees, sliding his hands into his pocket and sauntering farther into the room. ‘What do you think of it?’
‘I think it looks expensive.’ But I’m no longer looking at the penthouse. ‘The views are great.’
His gaze is soft yet challenging as he comes to a stop in front of me. ‘Personally, I find the view entrancing.’ He reaches out, tugging lightly on the scarf around my neck, his gaze dipping to my mouth and lingering there. Everything south of my navel clenches, the way he’s looking at me seeming to make perfect sense everywhere but my head.
‘What are we doing here, Remy?’
‘Talking,’ he answers simply.
‘After a week of nothing?’
A shadow of something crosses his expression, but it’s gone just as quick. ‘You asked me to stay away from you last Tuesday. I promised myself I would.’
‘Oh.’ I swallow over the sudden lump in my throat. A whole week and I’ve only myself to blame? I’ve been cursing myself for thinking I was a rich man’s plaything when, in fact, he’d behaved honourably, abiding by my wishes.
But if he’d felt the same about me, wouldn’t he have—
‘At least, I tried. I did keep away until Wednesday, at least.’
‘What?’ I find myself shaking my head a little. This doesn’t make sense. But in the midst of such confusion, why when he’s near does this all seem possible?
‘I stayed away from you until Wednesday.’
‘But I didn’t hear from you then—I haven’t seen you all week.’
I know, I know. It’s all my fault.
‘I requested a delivery over the concierge booking system. When it arrived without you, I thought perhaps you were still angry.’
‘I didn’t see your request.’ It certainly didn’t come to me, because if it had, I’d already be familiar with the butterfly wings beating in my chest, encouraging that overworked muscle to take flight.
‘I tried again on Thursday. Then Friday morning. Once more on Friday afternoon. Three times on Saturday. I’ve acquired a lot of things I don’t require, yet I’m very sorry to say that my needs have gone unfulfilled.’
‘Maybe you should lodge a complaint.’ I chew on the inside of my lip, though I’m sure it barely conceals my relief or my giddiness to see him smiling back at me.
‘I gather someone in your office was eager to take care of me herself.’