I can’t help that the man makes me thirsty just looking at him!
But coincidence or not, fate or not, it doesn’t make the wanting not true. For either of us, it would seem.
God . . . I press my forehead to the cold window. Is that Griffin and Alexander I can see down there? I close one eye and peer down at the courtyard, but I can’t tell. The sun is too bright, and they’re standing almost directly underneath me. Well, if it is, I hope Alexander is giving him a hard time about last night. The ass.
I jump away from the mirror when a thought hits me over the head.
I don’t want either of them looking up and discovering which room is mine because where would I hide then? Though, come to think of it, there are so many rooms, it’d probably end up being like that scene from Friends. The one where Joey can’t find the hot girl in the apartment opposite. Still, best not to take any chances. They probably both spent a lot of time here as kids.
Not that I can hide out here for too much longer. I can’t exactly order UberEats or keep sneaking snacks from the kitchen. And I also have work next week, but at least they’ll both be gone by then. Yes, to work. Not even to work my notice period.
Not that Griffin worries me. Alexander, however . . . he makes me worry for my sanity. I press my hands to my heated cheeks, trying very hard not to think about last night. Maybe, I consider, now that we’ve had sex again, he might travel back to London earlier than originally planned. You know, like he’s worked me out of his system.
It’s true. I am stupid.
It’s not a case of wishful thinking but a case of stupid thinking because, in hindsight, last night has done nothing more than feed the beast—feed the beast within both of us.
Oh, God. I’ll probably need therapy.
Great sex is so dangerous because despite my intentions, despite the fact that I swore to myself as I crept out of his bedroom in the early hours of this morning that I’d be giving Isla notice of my intention to leave, I’ve somehow promised her the opposite.
I couldn’t really do anything else because when I went to see her earlier, she grabbed my hand and insisted I sit down. Then she’d said such wonderful things about me. She told me she appreciated my help more than words could say, that she thought of me as a friend. That she needed me to stay.
Argh!
When I tried (with much bush beating and many euphemisms) to say I couldn’t, her delicate fingers tightened on mine as she’d insisted she’d spoken to her brother. She said she understood that “something of a personal nature” had gone on between us and, at that moment, I prayed to the heavens that she and Alexander weren’t too big on sharing. But I guess the fact that she was still holding my hand told me enough.
Where was I?
Oh. Isla made it sound like she’d read him the riot act about his behaviour at the dinner table and guaranteed it wouldn’t happen again. She apparently told him he put me in a very awkward position.
Ah, positions.
There was nothing awkward about his position last night, especially as it had resulted in the kind of orgasms that curled toes. And probably my hair.
I ache to devour your pussy.
I almost came right there. The man’s aural game is something special.
In his bed, I’d kissed my way down his broad chest. How he’d sighed when I’d swirled my tongue around his flat copper nipples. How he’d growled as I’d grazed with my teeth. I’d taken his hard length into my mouth for the first time since that night back in London, and he’d thrown back his head.
Something inside me blooms darkly as I remember the noises he’d made and how he’d demanded I keep my eyes open. He’d wanted me to watch what I was doing to him, watch him unravel. So, our gazes joined. I’d work him so slowly, long slides and deep pulls, teasing him more than trying to make him come. Surprisingly, he’d kept me at that pace, his fingers tangled in my hair as he’d tortured himself through me.
Almost as though he knew he’d never get to enjoy the experience again.
I’d hummed an encouragement as he’d whispered in a tight voice that he was coming. His thighs shook beneath my fingertips the moment before he’d exploded into my mouth with the kind of masculine groan I think I’ll forever hear in my dreams. The sky had begun to turn violet with the coming morning when he’d pulled me up to his chest. I’d kissed his shoulder and nestled in.
“I’ve dreamed about your mouth,” he’d said, brushing his fingers down my back.
“That sounds . . .” familiar. It definitely sounded familiar.
“Deeply erotic,” he’d said with a satisfied smile. “But even my wildest dreams couldn’t come close to capturing you.”
In a matter of moments, his chest was moving under my ear with deep and steady breaths. But I couldn’t sleep, and no matter what had happened over the course of the previous evening, I knew I couldn’t stay.
That had been made perfectly clear in a number of ways.
My family and the dukedom rule my life.
The toasts to his dearly departed wife.
Sounds like I’m gonna need this job for a little while longer to pay my therapy bill.
Alexander will go back to London tomorrow, and I’ll stay here for a little while. At least until Isla finds someone to fill both of my roles.
Meanwhile, I suppose I should do less hiding. Go rip off that Band-Aid and tell the delicious Duke of Dalforth that what happened last night will never happen again.
I can’t be his side piece, stashed away in his Scottish castle, and I like myself better than to be a sometime booty call.
So I guess it’s time to go and find Alexander and have an adult conversation with the lord of the manor.
Not the fun kind of adult conversation, either.
I have to swallow my pride and take the higher ground. I need to make sure he understands that last night was a one-night-only deal. Anything else would be unprofessional. Not to mention so awkward now that Isla knows what we’ve been up to. Or at least I surmise she knows some of it.
Alexander will leave today, and I’ll carry on working, and by the time he comes back to visit, Isla will have her new hires, and I’ll be long gone. Here’s hoping that all goes to plan because the truth is, I still want the man, and I can’t see that changing. The heart wants what the heart wants. And it seems my heart wants my body and my mind to be bent in all kinds of shapes by Alexander Dalforth, the man I now know as the 13th Duke of Dalforth.
“Hey, Holly. How’d last night go?”
I’m on my way from the education centre to the kitchen, mainly to pull off another of last night’s Band-Aids by clearing the air with Chrissy when a nearby ride on mower cuts out, Cameron calling out to me.
My white knight on a mower? I don’t think so. Even if he is nearer my age.
“I guess it went,” I call back, wrapping the sides of my hoodie tighter across my body. So, I guess he hasn’t heard the gossip yet. Maybe he won’t, given the fact that Mari wasn’t there. I can’t see Chrissy or Mr McCain saying anything and the rest of the staff working last night don’t really know me. Except maybe Sophie. Wee Sophie. Will she spill the beans about us being in the library?
I watch as Cameron turns off the mower and hops off, making his way over to me in great lolloping strides.