Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
“Oh, come on. You can’t say that and not tell me why it’s so wild.”
“I’ll take you instead. It’s something you have to… experience,” he finished slowly, pulling up outside a beautiful Tudor-style building that looked big enough to have been a home once upon a time. “It’s not as old as it looks,” he said when he caught me looking. “It was built in the eighteen-hundreds to fit in with some of the other buildings in this area.”
“It’s hardly a new building,” I said, staring at it. “Is that real roof thatching?”
“No, just cleverly done to look like it. It’d all blow away if it was.” He chuckled as he got out of the car. He walked around it to open my door, and I couldn’t help the small curl of my lips when he held his hand out for me.
I took it, marvelling for the second time tonight at how small my hands were compared to his. And his skin—it was rough but smooth at the same time in a way I couldn’t comprehend, and all I knew is that I really didn’t mind him holding my hand at all.
Um, that’s not good.
Max kept hold of my hand as we made our way from the car to the front of the restaurant. It really was a gorgeous spot. The rolling hills of the valley surrounded us at every turn, and the green fields were dotted with black and white smudges that could only be sheep. A stream ran behind the restaurant, fed by numerous natural springs that trailed down from the tops of the hills in lazy, higgledy-piggledy tiny waterfalls.
I needed to take reference photos before I left.
Max opened the door for me to step inside first, and a cool breeze wafted across my palm where his hand had just been. It was a weird sensation of loss, but it was quickly brushed away when he laid his hand on the small of my back.
It fit there like it was made for it, and a shiver ran down my spine as his fingertips brushed against it.
He had to have felt that.
There was no way he didn’t.
Max didn’t acknowledge the involuntary reaction if he noticed it, instead turning his attention to the woman behind the hostess station. She was young, cute, blonde, and blushed when Max smiled at her.
“I have a reservation for two at six forty-five,” he said warmly.
She blushed and cleared her throat as she scanned the clipboard in front of her. “Of course. Please follow me, Lord Windermere, Miss Aarons.”
Oh.
This place was fancy.
She even knew my name.
Also, Lord Windermere? How had I forgotten that Max was a duke?
This was very weird. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the fact I’d forgotten who he actually was.
In my defense, to me, he was just a bit of a pain in my arse.
A very handsome pain in my arse, but a pain in my arse nonetheless.
“This is your table,” the young woman said, setting two menus down on the table. “Your waitress will be over shortly to take your order.”
“Thank you so much,” Max said kindly, walking around the table and pulling out my chair.
This wasn’t a date, but it did rather feel like one.
He was the perfect gentleman.
Well, date or not, at least I knew how my hero needed to treat my heroine on their actual date.
Like she was made of freaking gold.
Silver linings and all that.
It’d been a long time since I’d been out for dinner with anyone, and it’d been even longer since my date had been a gentleman.
“Thank you,” I said, setting my bag under the table.
Max smiled across at me as he sat down. “Of course.” He pushed the leather-bound menu towards me and put his own in front of him.
I opened it and tried not to look at the prices. It wasn’t expensive compared to London standards, but for a small place like this… Well, it was definitely a little spendy. Perhaps it was one of those places that survived largely on tourists.
Then again, the name was almost a gimmick, so maybe that’s how it did it.
“What do you recommend? The menu is quite overwhelming.” It was one big list of food, that was for sure.
Max peered at me over the top of his menu. “Not to be facetious, but the steak is pretty good.”
I stared at him flatly. “At least you think you’re funny.”
His lips tugged to one side, up into a ghost of a smile, and he held my gaze for a second before he dropped his again. “My humour is an acquired taste.”
“You’re an acquired taste,” I muttered.
“I heard that.”
“If I didn’t want you to, I’d have said it in my head, wouldn’t I?”
He slowly shook his head. “And you think I’m the acquired taste.”
“I know I am,” I replied. “My brother’s been telling me that my whole life. He claims I was such a weird kid that my parents were surprised I didn’t run away with the circus.”