Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“If I’m to bring your bags, I’ll need to know which room you’re moving to.” His tone of voice was so reasonable it made her feel immediately churlish and paranoid.
She didn’t say anything in response, but as she exited the very pretty light- and plant-filled solarium he ushered her to the left.
“The spare bedrooms are down this way,” he told her. She mutely turned in the direction he’d indicated and was utterly unsurprised to discover that the two spare bedrooms were on either side of his room.
Because, of course, they were.
“There are only two spare bedrooms in this gigantic house?” she asked skeptically.
“There are four other bedrooms, excluding the suite you were staying in, but they’re in the Hollingsworths’ private living quarters. They’ve requested that I—and any of my guests—make use of this wing of the house only.”
“Oh. I’m not your guest though.”
“Neither are you theirs.”
Fair enough.
“In that case, this room is fine,” Iris said, picking the smaller of the two. The one Trystan had led her to—God, had it really only been five days ago?—after they’d spent the morning hauling sandbags. A comfortable space dressed in russets and browns, with a queen-sized bed and a small en suite bathroom.
Trystan nodded and turned to walk away.
Iris ventured into the lovely room. Whomever had decorated this house had amazing taste, everything had definitely been designed with comfort in mind.
Trystan returned shortly with her handbag slung over one shoulder and her suitcases rolling behind him. Luna ambled lazily along behind him, curious about the activity.
“Thank you,” Iris said.
He nodded, dropping her handbag on the bed and standing in the middle of the room with his hands thrust into the pockets of the black dropped-crotch fleecy joggers he was wearing. He stared at her moodily from beneath the fall of pitch-black hair that had flopped to his forehead.
“Iris, it occurs to me that I haven’t—uhm—I haven’t apologized.” His voice was gruff, filled with awkward self-consciousness.
“Hmm,” she hummed noncommittally. “That had occurred to me as well.”
His shoulders hunched defensively and his brow lowered. His lips tightened and his beard bristled as his jaw clenched.
Iris waited. Wondering if he would follow through.
“I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“Every goddamned thing.”
“I think,” she mused, shoving her hands into her hoodie’s front pocket. “I’m going to need specifics.”
“Fuck.” The word emerged on a sigh, and he stepped toward her, crowding her. But Iris refused to back down, standing her ground, and waiting.
“I’m sorry for sending you back out into the storm that first night,” he said. “And I’m so fucking sorry for locking you in that room when I knew full well who you were. I was being a bastard and I had no excuse, other than that I didn’t want to deal with a nosy reporter in my space. And I’m sorry for continuing to do so, even after discovering that I enjoyed your company and that you weren’t what I thought you would be.
“I was wrong. I was a fucking prick. And I’m ashamed of myself for not believing you when you told me about your phobia. I’ll never forget the horror I felt when I realized what I’d driven you to. You scared fucking years off my life and I never want to feel like that again.”
As apologies went it was pretty good and a lot more comprehensive than she’d been expecting.
“I know you said you’d be unable to forgive me for all that I’ve done, but you deserve an apology regardless. I fucked up. I know I did. And if I had it to do all over again, knowing what I now know, I’d change so fucking much.”
“What do you now know?” Her question was a whisper and he shifted infinitesimally closer to her, leaving mere inches between his big body and hers.
“I know that I look at you and I fucking ache to do this,” he admitted hoarsely, lifting his hands to cup her face. She loved it when he did that—it made her feel cared for, cherished… Weak with longing. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and his blazing eyes fell to her lips. “And this…”
The last word was muffled as he lowered his lips to hers, capturing her soft oh in the sweetest, gentlest of kisses.
It was exploratory, uncertain, not at all the type of kiss she would’ve expected from a confident, sexy man like Trystan Abbott, but she appreciated it because she recognized the question in the embrace. He was waiting for her permission to take it further.
And Iris, curious to discover more, parted her lips slightly, and flicked her tongue over the sensual curve of his lower lip.
He groaned, the small gesture from her emboldening him. One of his hands dropped to her waist and he tugged her closer, until she was pressed against him, his erection throbbing against her stomach. His tongue surged into her mouth, a living flame, setting everything in its path on fire.