Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
So why her? Why now? Why at the worst possible time in my life?
Still, I watch the fire crackle softly and have half of a notion to wake Blaire. I think she’d like the peace of this moment.
“Maybe that’s precisely why it’s her and now,” I whisper into the night. “I’m only feeling these things for her because it’s what we both need right now. It works. There’s a freedom for both of us because she’s going to leave. And neither of us will be worse for the wear.”
I hope.
* * *
Blaire
The coffee maker hisses as the final drips of java flow into my cup. I take it from the tray and inhale the decadent aroma.
Holt’s robe is soft and warm. I found it draped across the bottom of the bed when I woke up and couldn’t help myself from putting it on. It smells like him.
I tug the tie together at my middle before leaning against the kitchen island and gazing across the backyard. The peaceful view helps to settle the wildness that’s still present from last night.
“What am I doing?” I ask the empty house.
It’s almost lunchtime, and I’m just having coffee. There are three missed calls from Yancy on my phone that I intentionally left in the guest bathroom. I haven’t bothered to check my work emails yet.
It’s irresponsible despite the fact that I know everything at the office is taken care of. Yancy is handling everything because that’s what she does even though I’m usually too anal to let her. But I should be checking in. I need to ensure that all my court dates are extended due to the asbestos and that nothing has fallen through the cracks.
Instead, I’m standing in Holt’s kitchen drinking coffee.
Maybe this is what it looks like when someone just throws in the towel.
Is this how lives begin to spiral out of control?
I take a tentative sip of my drink and give that a thought.
Today looks so different than my life did this day a week ago. Then I was sitting at my desk in my business suit, probably lecturing someone about the ins and outs of the law. I’m certain I was irritated and probably ready to have a heart attack—that and wondering why I picked a career that keeps me surrounded by overbearing men.
Then I took a vacation.
Now I stand in a business mogul’s luxury kitchen after a night of delicious sex in his multi-million-dollar house near the beach.
I pace around the kitchen, taking in the insane attention to detail in every element of the house. The handcrafted molding around the doorways. The rounded edges of the marble countertops. The way the windows bring in so much light, yet the sun never shines directly in.
It’s not surprising, though. That’s Holt, and it’s one of the things I love so much about him.
My feet stop moving as the last sentence flows through my brain.
I hold my mug with both hands and smile.
I do enjoy so many things about him.
He’s so kind and thoughtful. No detail gets by him. We can talk about anything, and his ideas are so thought-provoking. And he cares.
I lean against the counter and think back to last night. How he pushed me on the carriage to open up about myself. Even then, it was as if he was prodding me gently for my own good. As though he knew I needed to get that stuff off my chest.
What’s funny is that I didn’t even know I needed to share all of that. But waking up this morning felt … different. Lighter. Less weighed down by the world.
It’s probably all the sex.
I laugh at myself.
I grab a seat next to the windows that look across the pool and let my mind float back to Holt’s office. My intention wasn’t to spill my life’s story. All I wanted to do was to admit that he was right—that I do hold things in—and acknowledge that I might need to work on it.
Yet when I experienced the tenderness in his eyes, the attentiveness, my guard slipped.
For once, talking about Jack and the night I started to lose control didn’t feel like a shameful blemish on my soul.
I take another sip of coffee and remember how safe I felt in his arms. It was such a relief to tell someone my secrets and not be judged. His arms help put the pieces of me back together.
I sort back through various men I’ve had semi-relationships with over the years. Never once did I come close to telling any of them.
Why?
Why Holt?
The coffee burns my stomach as the acid sloshes around. I tug the robe even tighter.
My throat cinches, and I take a deep, calming breath.
“It’s because you’re leaving,” I tell myself. “It doesn’t matter what he knows about me. He’s safe.”
He’s safe.
My heart sinks as I realize the truth in that.