Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
It was therapeutic. There was something comforting about the repetitive motion of my feet pounding against the ground that brought me back out here on a daily basis. Some people paid thousands of pounds a year for therapy, but that had never worked for me.
Talking about my past didn’t change it.
At least here I could pretend like I was running away from it.
I looked up. I’d taken the same path as yesterday, and Greygarth Lodge was only a few feet away. It was irritating that there was someone staying there—I hadn’t grabbed any water before I’d left and usually, I’d just nip inside and get some, but that wasn’t an option now, and it was already getting hot.
That was the last time I let Grandma disrupt my morning routine.
I walked the ten or so feet to the dock. It stretched out to the lake and had a couple of small rowing boats hooked up to it, and the little shed that was hidden in the nearby trees contained fishing rods for renters to use during their stay. It cost a little extra and was strictly catch and release, but it was an addition my father had brought in before…
Well.
Before.
I shook that all off and sat on the bench. It was in the shade, so I could cool off a little before I finished running back to the house.
It really was beautiful out here.
I turned at the sound of footsteps and paused when I saw the redheaded woman who was staying at the lodge. What was her name? Ellie?
“Sorry,” she said softly, holding out a bottle of water. “I saw you stop, and it didn’t look like you had one. It’s pretty warm out here already.”
“Oh, thank you.” I took the bottle from her and uncapped it, the seal breaking with a satisfying crackle. I drank half of it in one go, then screwed the lid back on and wiped my hand over my mouth. “I needed that.”
Ellie smiled softly, tucking her shoulder-length red hair behind her ear. “I thought you might. Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She dipped her head and turned away.
“Max,” I said.
She paused, looking back at me. “I’m sorry?”
Shit.
“My name. It’s Max.” I stood up and held out a hand with a tight smile. “My grandmother isn’t amused I didn’t introduce myself to you yesterday, so…”
“Oh.” She bit her lower lip, smiling, and moved so she could put her hand in mine. “I’m Ellie.”
“I know. Grandma hasn’t stopped talking about you since you made the booking. She’s… a fan.” I couldn’t help the dryness of my tone.
Something flashed across her blue gaze, but the glimmer of darkness disappeared just as quickly as it had shown up. “She mentioned it.” Ellie took a step back and clasped her hands against her stomach. “Well, it was nice to meet you… Max. I’ll leave you to it.”
My name rolled off her tongue easily. Too easily. Why the fuck did that sound so good?
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She turned away, and this time, she walked all the way back to the lodge without looking back.
I didn’t take my eyes off her. I couldn’t. It was almost a compulsion—a weird one, but a compulsion, nonetheless.
Ellie Aarons was annoyingly attractive.
I shook my head and turned back to the lake, clutching the bottle of water she’d given me. I’d done what I’d promised Grandma I would do, and that would be my last bloody interaction with her.
I had no reason to spend any time with her unless it was a greeting in passing.
I had even less than no reason when I considered how attracted I was to her.
There was a reason I kept to myself—and temptation like Ellie was exactly it.
CHAPTER FOUR
ELLIE
Daydreamer
Some days worked, and others didn’t. Unfortunately for me, I had far more days that didn’t work lately.
Instead of getting frustrated, I simply shut the top of my laptop down and walked away. I was here for a reason, and that was to find inspiration. Sitting at a desk in a setting as beautiful as the Lake District wasn’t going to provide me what I needed.
Of course, there was something going on inside my brain. My hero was forming as a tall, black-haired guy who would bump into the heroine while on a run, and that was quite annoying.
Because there was only one tall, black-haired guy I knew.
Max.
The Duke of Windermere.
The Duke of Arseholery, more like.
He’d hardly been nice to me, and a part of me wished I’d thrown the bottle of water at him instead of handing it to him nicely. Perhaps Esme’s words about him judging romance novels were also sticking to me and making me judge him without knowing him, but that really wasn’t my fault.
Romance novels were unfairly maligned, and I would fight anyone who criticised the genre.
All right, so fight was a strong word. I wasn’t exactly Ronda Rousey, you know? But if I got a good swing, I bet I could throw a book at someone and hit them hard.