Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Keeping my hands to myself and my mind out of his pants was going to be difficult. Which was weird; I loved men and sex, but I’d never been preoccupied by either. Until him.
I put down the window as we turned onto Rosemont’s drive. “I’m starving. What do you think they’ll have for lunch?”
“I don’t know. I was going to make myself a sandwich.” Lucian glanced over, a glint in his pale-jade eyes. “You’re wrinkling your nose. Disrespecting the humble sandwich, Em? Or have you been spoiled by the elaborate meals from the kitchen?”
“I was not wrinkling my nose at your sandwich.” I might have been. The lift of his brow said he read me like a book. I huffed a laugh. “Okay, fine. The house kitchen is spoiling me rotten. I should end it now and tell them not to send me any more meals.”
“Don’t go overboard,” he murmured, eyes back on the road. “You’ll offend Amalie. She’s very proud of her kitchen.”
“It was an empty threat. I’m hooked well and good.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “If it’s difficult for you to fix your own meals, I’ll make you a sandwich.”
“Hey. I’m not a princess. I can make my own sandwich—thank you very much.” Though the idea of Lucian making one for me had its merits. Spending more time with him, chief among them.
He tossed me a challenging look. “Can you really?”
“You don’t have to look so dubious. All right . . . I admit I am a horrible cook. Everything comes out bland or dry. But I can slap peanut butter on bread.”
His expression told me all I needed to know about his thoughts on my sandwich-making abilities. “Don’t worry, honeybee; there will be lunch ready for you. Meals are one thing you can count on at Rosemont.”
“Snoopy, honeybee . . . I’m not certain I like that you have so many names to tease me.” Lie. I loved it. But he didn’t need to know that.
Lucian, however, got that gleam back in his eyes, even though he kept them on the road. “Put Brick back into the rotation, and we’ll be even.”
My heart skipped a beat. He’d noticed I’d stopped using it. I felt awful for having called him something that hit too close to the bone for him. And yet here he was challenging me to use it again. Maybe there was power in embracing what could be perceived as a weakness and making it your own. Or maybe men were strange beasts, and I’d never fully understand them.
Either way, I shrugged, as if unaffected. “How about brick head? Seems accurate half the time.”
Lucian chuckled and pulled into his parking spot under the shade of a towering eucalyptus. “Sounds about right.”
His humor ebbed as he caught sight of the two SUVs parked in the lot.
“Looks like Amalie has company.”
Lucian grunted, then got out, still eyeing the vehicles. He waited for me to round the pickup and come alongside him before heading toward the path that led to the grounds and my bungalow. Silence fell as we walked, and I could feel the tension radiating off him.
However he was before, I didn’t know, but this version of Lucian Osmond did not like unexpected guests. If I had to guess, he would disappear until they were long gone.
Then again, I’d been assuming the guests were Amalie’s. But as we rounded the corner that took us to the terrace of the big house, Lucian’s step faltered. A low and vicious “Motherfuck” tore from him as he spotted the people having drinks at one of the tables.
There was an undercurrent of pure panic in his tone, and I felt compelled to brush my arm with his just once, my finger trailing over his curled fist. He jerked his gaze my way, pale eyes pained, panicked, and a little surprised. But he’d felt my touch, and his pinky twined with mine for a brief moment of acknowledgement.
“Friends of yours?” I murmured.
“You could say that.” Lucian moved just enough to put space between us.
One of the men stood and shouted a jovial “Oy! Ozzy!”
Visibly bracing himself, Lucian trudged forward. I could, in theory, retreat to my bungalow. But it would be rude. More importantly, I’d be abandoning Lucian to face whatever this was.
Maybe he doesn’t want you around to witness it, my inner voice hissed. But it was too late. We were already at the table.
There were three guests, all of them around our age. The one who’d shouted stood and spread his massive arms wide in clear happiness. A big bear of a man, he was taller than Lucian by an inch but likely outweighed him by a good twenty pounds. Shaggy sandy hair with a thick beard that framed a smile broken up by a missing right lateral incisor—the man lumbered over to a stone-faced Lucian and gathered him up in what looked like a bone-bending hug.