Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“So you came all this way for . . . what?” he asks.
He’s got me. “A massage, of course.”
He laughs, low and throaty, and I stop my pacing, looking up at the ceiling for strength. I’m fooling myself. Irresistible. “You wore your hair down.”
I still, my eyes automatically searching the corners of the ceilings. My God, they wouldn’t have cameras in the guest rooms. What am I thinking? He’s laughing lightly again. He needs to stop that. It makes me disintegrate.
“I’m not spying on you, Amelia. Go to the window.”
I turn to the window by the drinks cabinet and slowly tread towards it, looking across the glass roof of the Orangery to another wing of the mansion. Five large windows stretch from one end of the wall to the other, all with pulled-back drapes at the windows. I breathe in when I see him emerge from the darkness of the room, putting himself in one of the windows.
A towel wrapped around his naked waist.
“Oh God,” I whisper, the beads of wet on his smooth chest glistening. He rakes a hand through his hair and then rests it on the window frame, leaning into it. My eyes cross. His lazy eyes sparkle, his smile small.
“I’m glad you came.”
“I’m still on the fence,” I reply, not holding back, making sure he knows I’m all over the place.
“You think I’m bad for you.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” he muses, serious. “I have a feeling you could be bad for me too.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re on my mind. Constantly.”
“I know how that feels,” I admit.
“So are we done playing games?”
“It was never a game to me.”
He nods mildly. “You look incredible.”
“You look . . . naked.”
“Nearly.” His voice is quiet. Husky. So damn sexy. “There’s something on the chair by the bed for you.”
I narrow my eyes, glancing toward the bedroom. “What?”
“Go see.”
I walk backwards as far as I can, only turning when I reach the door to the bedroom. I spot a gift-wrapped box that I completely missed before on the cream brocade, high-backed wing chair.
“Open it,” he says gently.
I click him to speakerphone and set my mobile on the floor as I kneel and pull the bow free, dragging the ribbon away. On a deep breath, I lift the lid and find a mass of black tissue paper. I move it aside. “Lingerie,” I whisper, reaching for the straps of the black lace balcony bra and lifting it out. The quality is sublime, the lace delicate, the detail exquisite. A gold disk hangs in the centre between each cup, a white pearl in the middle. I look at the tag and don’t know whether to be delighted or insulted that he’s got my size spot-on. “How did you know my size?”
“Do you like it?”
I drop my arse to my heels. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“And the knickers?”
I breathe out, resting the bra on my thighs and pulling out the knickers. They have a matching gold and pearl disk on the front.
“You struck me as a bikini-style kind of woman.”
“You certainly know your female underwear.”
“Did I get it right?”
He wants my approval? This is happening, and it’s happening in the wrong order.
Or is this the right order?
“Something tells me you’re a man who rarely gets things wrong, Jude Harrison.” I pick up my phone, stand, and go back to the window, greedy for another look at him in his glorious semi-nakedness. Reaching the glass, I get as close as I can, my small smile unstoppable as I admire him. His hair looks darker wet, the damp waves flicking out adorably messily. His shoulders. His smooth chest. Those perfectly formed hips, his tight stomach.
My hands all over every bit of him.
“You’re stunning, Amelia Lazenby, even more so when you smile.”
And now I blush. This isn’t me. And yet I’m completely in the moment. Drowning in Jude Harrison’s world. “I have to get ready for my massage.”
He nods slowly, pushing off the frame of the window, taking the towel and holding still for a moment as I brace myself. Then he pulls it off, dropping it to the floor, and I exhale so sharply, my upper body folds forward as I stare at his semi-erect cock. “Don’t miss me too much.” He hangs up and backs away, every glorious naked inch of him shimmering under the hazy glow of the moody lighting in his room.
“Missing you already,” I whisper, my phone lowering, my mouth watering.
My knees weak.
I take myself to the nearest chair and sit, dazed, knowing beyond anything I’ve ever known that I’m being drawn into something huge.
The question is, can I handle it?
Handle him.
Chapter 16
When I make it to the spa in my robe, a lady wearing a green tunic and a friendly smile is waiting for me. “Miss Lazenby,” she says, standing. “I’m Maria, one of the therapists here at Arlington Hall. I’ll be looking after you today. Please, take a seat.”