Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
He tucks an arm behind his head, and I try not to swoon at his flexed muscles. He’s not one of those gym types who train twice a day and have a weakness for steroids. He’s not bulky, just tall and broad and . . . I need a cold shower. I look away, afraid he’ll be able to see what I’m thinking in my expression.
“Too early to say. He likes you.” He glances at me and his mouth curls up slightly in an almost-smile.
I pause, wondering if Ben likes me too. Because I’m beginning to really like him. “He’s more charming than I expected,” I continue. “He definitely has some grump to his personality—maybe that’s a nationwide British thing—but he’s . . . less formal than I was anticipating. Lighter than—”
“Than me.”
It’s an unspoken question he’s not looking to have answered, but I give him one anyway. “I don’t think you’re heavy.”
He raises his eyebrows in silent accusation.
“I’m serious. You’re not heavy. You’re . . . taciturn, certainly. But when we were at your house, you . . . I don’t know how to put it.” I think for a while, aware he’s watching me as I stare out the window, waiting for my words to come. “You don’t let the world see all of you. There’s a layer underneath the surface you don’t reveal very often.”
He looks away as I turn back to him, like I’ve caught him doing something he shouldn’t. It’s all the confirmation I need that I’m right.
“You seemed a little upset at the dinner table at one point. What was that about?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I don’t remember.”
“The duke was talking about his father,” I press. “About wanting to make him proud. Do you feel the need to make your dad proud?”
“I know he’s proud of me. Can we drop this?”
His expression isn’t harsh, but I can see pain in his eyes. Whatever upset him is firmly embedded in that layer he doesn’t want to show me. I don’t push any harder. There’s no need to upset him or remind him of his pain.
“There’s darkness in everyone. But there’s also plenty of lightness in you,” I say. “I’ve poked a few holes in that armor of yours. I’ve seen it.”
He lets out a half laugh. “You might be right.”
“I’ve seen you without a tie already. Give me a couple of months and I’ll have you lip-synching to Taylor Swift songs and driving with the windows down.”
He growls as he stares at the ceiling. “I’m focused on the end goal.”
“Sometimes you have to have fun on the way.”
“So they say. My fun is achieving what I set out to do.”
He’s so driven. So focused. I try to think about whether Jed was like that. He was certainly ambitious, but he never seemed so . . . determined.
“I get that. But do you ever just kick back and relax? Do you ever call in sick and stay in bed and eat popcorn and watch movies all day?”
“Who would I be calling in sick to?”
“Hmm, I suppose that doesn’t make much sense when you’re the boss. But doesn’t it just mean you can do it more often? We should try it when we get back to London. I’ll tie you to the bed and force-feed you hot buttered popcorn and Daniel De Luca.”
“Not my kink,” he replies dryly.
Tiny explosions start going off in my shorts because I can’t help but wonder what his kink is. Does he want me to ask? It’s like he’s left a door ajar, and I can’t tell if he’s being deliberate or oblivious.
“Hmm. Maybe more of a Timothée Chalamet fan?”
Ben chuckles. “Definitely not.”
He’s not giving much away, but now I can’t help myself. “So what do you like?”
“I don’t watch many films,” he says, and I don’t respond because I know this already. It was on the form. I want him to give me more without being pushed. I’m not sure what I’m asking for. I don’t want to know his favorite sexual position—or maybe I do—but I want to know him better. I want to know all of him. “I like to work out and make myself cheese on toast when Lera is off.”
“Toast in bed could create a crumb catastrophe.”
He smirks. “Every now and then, I’ve been known to watch a little . . . Strictly Come Dancing.”
I’m mentally deep diving into my Anglo-American dictionary, trying to figure out what he’s saying. “The show? Like Dancing with the Stars?”
“My mum was a dancer. When I was a kid, I used to take Latin and ballroom classes.”
My ovaries switch into hypersonic overdrive. “You can dance?”
“A little.”
All I can focus on is the thought of his hand on my back and hips pressed against me, his thigh sliding against mine. “Holy shit.” It’s the only appropriate response. A man like Ben should be strictly a dad dancer. There’s no way the women of the world are ready for this man being able to dance.