Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I open the little packet Yvette gave me.
And then I smile.
What’s written on the paper is not a spell at all. It’s a simple message.
Dearest Mary,
I know you and my grandson haven’t known each other for long, but I see something when he looks at you. I see something I’ve never seen in him before. I believe you’re the one. You were placed in his path and he in yours. Don’t force it, and if you’re not feeling what I believe you are feeling, feel free to ignore this note. But I have a sixth sense about these things. You don’t practice Voodoo for a lifetime and not see the signs of impending love. Inside the sachet are rose petals and peppermint leaves and a small crystal of rose quartz. A talisman to attract love. Keep it with you. Because even if it’s not Ronan, I can see that you’re ready for love, Mary. And it will come to you.
Avec amour,
Yvette.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ronan
After a solid morning of meetings, I end up having to fly to Vegas the next evening.
I want to take Mary with me.
So crazy. I already took her to my hometown, and I’ll be working during all my waking hours in Las Vegas. I won’t have any time to spend with her.
But damn…I don’t want to be so far away from her.
“Get a grip,” I say out loud to myself.
She’s not mine—although that’s the word that comes to my mind when I think about her.
I’m not cut from that cloth, and neither is she.
If I were cut from that cloth, I would be making a life with Keira in Glasgow right now.
Except…
I feel something for Mary that I never felt for Keira. Which makes absolutely no sense. I hardly know the woman.
But I feel as if—as my grandmother would say—we are souls that have encountered each other before, during different lives.
“Absolutely not,” I say, again out loud.
Jennifer knocks and opens the door. “Your flight’s all set. You leave tonight at seven p.m. from LaGuardia. First class seat on United.”
“Perfect. Thank you.” I close my mouth and then open it, ready to ask her to get Mary a seat on the same flight, but then I close it again quickly.
I need to stay focused.
Normally I wouldn’t even tell a submissive that I’m leaving, but I feel like I should let Mary know.
I send her a quick text.
Afraid I won’t be able to meet you at the club this weekend as planned. I have to fly to Las Vegas on business. I’ll be back Sunday.
I wait for her reply.
It doesn’t come.
She’s probably just busy.
Except she’s probably not busy, because she took the rest of this week off.
Still…it’s not my business. Perhaps she won’t be upset at all that I’m going to be gone this weekend.
And if that’s the case, I need to take that as a sign. That whatever this is that I’m feeling for her is nothing.
Nothing more than meeting a new person that I have a lot of rapport with.
Leave it at that.
Jen comes in again. “Your lunch is here. Do you want me to set it out for you?”
“Yeah, please. Thanks.”
Jennifer opens the bag of takeout and sets it out on the little table on the other side of my office. “From the kosher deli down the street,” she says. “Turkey and avocado with bacon on sourdough. Potato salad and freshly brewed iced tea.”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
“Not a problem. I’m going to lunch now. I’ve got my phone on me if you need anything.”
“Great. Have a good lunch.”
I rise, walk over to my small table, and take a sip of the iced tea, cooling my parched throat.
I’ve been thinking about Mary since last night. Since I left her at her apartment without so much as a good-night kiss.
I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to kiss her and stay the night with her in her bed.
But I’ve already spent two nights with the woman—and that is two nights too many.
I pick up half of my sandwich, take a bite. Delicious. I haven’t been in New York long, but I quickly found that there’s no better delicatessen anywhere.
The creaminess of the avocado works so well with the smokiness of the bacon and the mild flavor of the turkey. But the best is the sourdough bread. Freshly baked every day. You can’t find bread like this anywhere else, not even in San Francisco, and certainly not in New Orleans. Of course, I’d defy anyone to find a beignet in New York. At least one that’s worth eating.
I finish my lunch quickly, sit back down at my desk, and continue working. I’ve got a lot to get done before my flight tonight.
Then the ding of my cell phone.
Mary has responded to my text.
Have a safe trip.
That’s it.
Have a safe fucking trip.
What did I expect? She’s a submissive, and I’m a Dominant. We don’t owe each other any further explanation.