The Mister Read online E.L. James

Categories Genre: Chick Lit, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
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“Okay,” she says, mollified by his kind words, and she sits down at the piano once more. She gives him a quick, knowing smile and starts to play.

* * *

It’s my song.

The song I finished after I met her.

She knows it. By heart. And she plays it a damned sight better than I do. I started this song when Kit was alive…and now I hear my own sorrow and regret in the harmonies that fill the room. Grief hits me like a tidal wave, crashing over me. Drowning me. A knot forms in my throat, and I try to contain my emotion, but it expands, constricting my ability to breathe. I watch her, spellbound but aching as the music punctures my heart and touches the yawning void that is Kit’s absence. Her eyes are closed. She’s concentrating and losing herself in the sad, solemn melody.

I’ve tried to ignore my grief. But it’s there. It’s been there since the day he died. I told Alessia that I loved him. I did. I really did love him. My big brother.

But I never told him.

Not once.

And now I miss him more than he’ll ever know.

Kit.

Why?

Tears burn behind my eyes as I lean against the wall, trying to fight my anguish and loss. I cover my face with my hands.

I hear her gasp, and she stops. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. I shake my head, unable to speak or look at her. Hearing the scrape of the stool, I know that she’s stepped away from the piano. Then I feel her near me, and she touches my arm. It’s a compassionate gesture. And it’s my undoing.

“That reminded me of my brother.” I squeeze the words past the lump in my throat. “We buried him here, three weeks ago.”

“Oh, no.” She sounds crestfallen, and she wraps her arms around me, surprising me, and whispers, “I am so sorry.”

I bury my face in her hair and inhale her soothing scent. And I cannot stop the tears sliding down my face.

Shit.

She’s unmanned me.

I didn’t cry at the hospital. I didn’t cry at the funeral. I haven’t cried since my father died when I was sixteen years old. Yet here. Now. With her I let go. And I sob in her arms.

Chapter Fourteen

Alessia’s heart rate accelerates as she panics. Confused, she holds him, her mind in a whirl.

What has she done?

Mister Maxim. Mister Maxim. Maxim.

She thought he’d find it amusing that she knew his piece.

But no, she’s reminded him of his grief. Her remorse is swift and merciless and flutters staccato in her belly. How could she have been so insensitive? He tightens his hold on her as he weeps, making no sound. Three weeks is no time. No wonder he’s still grieving. She draws him closer and strokes his back. She remembers how she felt when her grandmother passed away. Nana had been the only one who understood her. The only person she could really talk to. She’s been gone a year.

She swallows the burning sensation in her throat. Maxim is vulnerable and sad, and she wants nothing but to make him smile again. He has done so much for her. She runs her hands up his shoulders and to the nape of his neck and, clasping his head, turns his face to hers. His gaze holds no expectations; all she sees in his luminous green eyes is his sorrow. Slowly she pulls his mouth to hers and kisses him.

* * *

I groan when her lips brush mine. Her kiss is timid but so unexpected and oh, so sweet. I screw my eyes shut as I fight the outpouring of my grief. “Alessia.” Her name is a blessing. My hands cradle her head, my fingers threading through her soft, silky hair as I accept her hesitant, unschooled kiss. She kisses me once, twice, three times.

“I’ve got you,” she whispers.

And her words draw all the air from my lungs. I want to crush her to me and never let her go. I can’t remember the last person who consoled me in my hour of need.

Alessia kisses my neck. My jaw. And my lips once more.

And I let her.

Gradually, my grief recedes, leaving only hunger in its wake. My hunger for her. I’ve been fighting my attraction to her since I saw her standing in my hallway holding that broom. But she’s broken through all my defenses. She’s exposed my grief. My need. My lust. And I’m powerless to resist.

She moves to hold and stroke my face, which is still damp with tears, and her caress spirals like a tornado through my body. I’m lost. Lost to her compassion, her courage, and her innocence. I’m lost to her touch.

My body responds.

Fuck.

I want her. I want her now. I’ve wanted her forever.

I tilt her head back and move one hand to hold the nape of her neck, my fingers still in her hair. With the other hand, I circle her waist and pull her against the length of my body. I deepen the kiss, my lips more insistent. Alessia lets out a little gasp, and I seize the moment and tease her tongue with the tip of mine. She tastes as sweet as she looks, and she moans.


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