Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“Hello?”
And I’m bombarded by an inexplicable rush of pleasure. Pleasure without sex. So I can only imagine the heaven to be found with my body melded to hers, my cock in her pussy, my tongue in her mouth. I lose my breath just thinking about it.
But she sounded . . . uncertain. “Ava?” Why on earth did I pose that as a question?
“Who’s speaking?”
I can’t stop my laugh. Is she really going to play this game? “Now, I know you already know the answer to that question because my name came up on your phone. Trying to play it cool?”
“You added yourself to my contacts?”
Yes, yes, I did that. I still can’t believe it but, as I’ve told myself one hundred times, and I will absolutely tell her when I have the chance, I’m acting on pure instinct, and my instinct is telling me to have her, one way or another. Easy or hard, and I have a horrible feeling she’s going to make it hard. But I’m ready. I’m ready to remind her of all the bizarre feelings she had on our first meeting. “I need to be able to get hold of you,” I inform her.
“Patrick should have contacted you.” She sounds cool, calm, and collected. Waste of fucking time. “I’m afraid I’m unable to assist you, but Patrick will be more than happy to help.”
I laugh on the inside. How many times has she talked herself round in circles over this? All weekend, I bet. “Yes, Patrick has been in contact. I’m sure he will be happy to help, but I’m less than happy to accept it.” There. What have you got to say about that, Miss O’Shea?
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She is? She actually sounds a bit aggravated. “Are you?”
“Yes, I am.”
She’s not sorry at all, and I’m not sure I like it. A bit like she doesn’t like my approach? Probably. But if Miss O’Shea insists on being stubborn and refuses to acknowledge or accept that we shared an equal attraction, I’ll willingly convince her she’s making a mistake. “I don’t think you are, Ava. I think you’re avoiding me.”
“Why would I do that?”
Silly woman. She’s asking for it, so I’ll give it to her. Plain and simple. No more fucking around. “Well, because you’re attracted to me.” Bam!
“Excuse me?” She practically coughs over her words, and I smile. She has not one fucking clue what else to say. She doesn’t need a repeat, but I’ll happily oblige.
“I said—”
“Yes, I heard you. I just can’t believe you said it.”
Believe it, lady. And I’m not done. I have plenty more to say, and she is going to listen. I draw breath, ready to let loose on a few more home truths, ready to convince her she’s wasting her time ignoring this attraction. It needs exploring. I know she’s curious. She just needs—
“I apologize for not being available to assist with your work.”
The line goes dead, and I stare at the screen, caught between annoyance and amusement. She hung up on me? She actually hung up on me. How rude. What is she so afraid of? She doesn’t know about The Manor. My past. My issue with drink.
I wince, shying away from those thoughts, because they sure as shit won’t help me here. I quickly tap out a message, spelling it out once more.
I notice you didn’t deny it. You should know the feeling’s mutual. Jx
I look up, settling back in my seat, waiting for a response. I’m kidding myself. She won’t reply. And there I’ve learned something about the lovely Miss O’Shea.
She’s stubborn as fuck.
I sit bolt upright when the door of her offices open, and lose my fucking breath when she appears. Jesus good fucking Lord. Just look at her. Sheer perfection. Her black trousers skim her dainty ankles, her cream blouse tucked in, showcasing her small waist. I look down at my hands. They’d circle it, easy. Her hair is down. It’s longer than I thought.
I push my palm into my chest, my heart clattering. Tingles. Everywhere.
She swings her bag onto her shoulder and walks toward the end of the street, and I’m out of my car before I’ve registered I’ve even moved, my eyes stuck to her back.
“Your ticket, sir,” the traffic warden says, and I blindly grab it, throwing it on the driver’s seat.
“Thanks.” I shut the door and follow her. It’s impulsive, my brain working without thinking, my body more than willing to obey my brain. Just try to fucking stop me.
I jog across the road and round the corner, slowing when I see her up ahead. Her long, dark hair bounces across her back as she walks, the sway of her hips like magnets for my eyes. My big body feels restrained in my suit, in the groin area the most. I see her dip into a bar, and I come to a stop outside, wondering . . . what now?