Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
I have nothing else to focus on except Mark’s improved mood and the never-ending scenery of traffic lights and crossings. It isn’t until we go into a huge underground tunnel that I know there’s more to Sydney than meets the eye. We resurface into the bright light, with Mark pointing out the tops of famous landmarks we can see until we take a series of winding roads that seem to head directly for the harbour. It’s actually hills that surround the many coves, inlets, and harbours that make up the greater Sydney area.
The change from heavy traffic to tall tree-lined streets, wrought-iron gates, and cars as expensive as the one I’m in tells me we’re close. The car slows in front of a gigantic hedge with a gate I can hardly see silently yawning open. A long, arcing gravel drive sweeps around an immaculate garden leading up to the main house—a three-story, white, heritage-looking building with a modern annex that extends up three floors.
I saw a lot of similar buildings in town. Old meets new meets the future, all in one. I’m sure the air outside is thick with the smell of old money and those beautiful flowers and plants.
“It’s-it’s just…” I try to exclaim, feeling my eyes widen with wonder as we get closer.
“Perfect,” Mark croons, and I turn my face to see him looking me over again, not paying any attention to his house. The car pulls up silently, and Mark orders me to stay put while he gets my luggage, offering his free arm to take as he helps me out of the car, which disappears in near silence without a word from the driver.
A quick glance around tells me this is no ordinary-sized block. Then again, Mark is no ordinary man.
“You want a quick tour, or do you just need a shower and change of clothes?” he asks casually, making me feel at home straightaway.
“Ugh!” I half-chuckle. “I’d kill for a cool shower and something to eat before I sleep for a hundred years,” I groan, with not too much fake drama. Suddenly, I really am exhausted.
“That’s what I figured,” Mark agrees.
“I think you’ll like it here,” he adds, giving me a strange but warm look.
“I feel like I’m home already,” I gush, having no idea how close to the truth that might be from now on.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mark
Seeing her face when we’re pulling into the driveway, I know she’s the one. If I had any doubts about that, they’ve been replaced with a relief I can’t believe. Will her dad Steve see it the same way? Probably not, but I’ve got a few days up my sleeve. The way today’s going so far, I think anything’s possible where Melissa’s concerned.
Feeling pumped, I want to show her around. It’s clear the flight and the ride down here have taken their toll. I didn’t count on getting so antsy once I saw the hotel they’d booked her into. It could have been the best suite in Sydney, and I still would have found fault. Her place is with me now. Home.
Her blond ponytail swishes, her neck on a swivel as she looks up, down, and all around. I don’t usually have guests. My space is important to me until today. Right now, all that matters is that Melissa’s here, and she likes it. I love the place even more now that she’s in it. She completes it. Letting her bags down once we’re in the foyer, I guide her down the wide, black-and-white checkered hallway to the kitchen.
“This is the original house, which they built onto over the years,” I hear myself droning, kicking myself for sounding like a real estate agent. Next, I’ll be talking about the bloody weather.
“Nice and cool in here,” Melissa observes, but I resist the temptation to discuss anything but her.
“You said something about food,” I remark, stepping over to the smart refrigerator, hooking it open, glad to see I have plenty of everything. I feel Melissa hesitating, still marveling at the house as she glances here and there. The ancient interior’s been refurbished with modern everything but keeping a huge helping of the original feel of the place.
“I could use that shower,” she murmurs. “I must look terrible,” she adds, making me frown.
“Planes are cold,” I remind her, “and movie theaters.” I add, “Last time I saw a movie, I wished I’d brought my sweater or jacket along. It was freezing in there!”
Hearing her say how terrible she looks hurts me. It makes me wanna shake her and tell her how perfect she is, but I’ve already vowed I won’t have any more obsessive outbursts. No more locking doors. No grabbing hold of her… yet.
Melissa chuckles but blushes shyly, looking at her feet, making me wonder if she’s thinking the same thing I am. I only get cold because I have no one to cuddle up against to get warm. Or hotter than warm if Melissa’s involved.