Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
“He is.” He kind of shrugs, kind of sneers. “To me.”
“Wow,” I blurt, withdrawing. “There’s something we need to unpack.”
“There’s not much to unpack. Bank it and ask me another time.”
I mentally file my questions away for a more appropriate time, turning my attention to our joined hands. His fingers are weaving languidly through mine, easy and slow. “Is it far to your home?”
“Fifteen minutes, depending on traffic.”
“Twenty-four,” Ron says from up front. “Can I offer any ambient music?”
“No,” Dec says slowly, seriously, his eyes narrowed Ron’s way. “Just get me home as quick as you can.”
“Right, boss.”
* * *
Exactly twenty-four minutes later, Ron slows down outside a line of Georgian houses and eventually stops, and I lean forward in my seat. I can’t exactly see the top of the low box hedging lining the front garden, but if there wasn’t a sheet of snow hiding it, I know I’d see it’s impossible pristine, not one leaf out of place. Two snow-topped bay trees, cut into perfect spheres, flank the central stone steps that lead to the front door. “You live on Ilchester Place?” I ask, trying not to sound intimidated.
“I believe that’s where home is, yes.” Dec steps out, and I shuffle along the seat, taking his offered hand. “It’s slippery, be careful.”
My neck cranes to look up the face of the house. “Jesus, Dec,” I breathe, losing my battle. “You live here?”
“That’s what I just said.” He dips when Ron lowers the driver’s window. “You can knock off now, unless Lynette needs to be anywhere.”
“She’s good, I checked in with her an hour ago.”
“Good man.” Dec slaps the side of the Defender. “See you in the morning.” I’m still taking in Dec’s home, a beautiful Georgian double-fronted townhouse, every detail in keeping with its era—the symmetrical sash windows, the cast stone door surround, the pediment, the hipped roof with three dormers. Iconic. And right now, under a thick blanket of snow, it’s also magical.
“This is so gorgeous,” I muse, feeling a bit foolish. And wholly inadequate.
“I’m glad you like it.” He pulls me on, leading the way, which is good because my eyes are still up, not looking where I’m going.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Ten years. Watch your step.”
I peek down and get my bearings, taking the first of seven steps up, feeling grit under the soles of my boots. There’s a short expanse of flat area before three more steps to the front door. Light shines out from the downstairs windows, the black cast iron lanterns, mounted either side of the door, lighting the way too. Dec slips a key into the lock and opens the door, and I step in, rendered mute, taking in the endless, exquisite detail. A crystal chandelier hangs proudly from an ornate ceiling rose, and elaborate cornicing frames the high ceilings.
“Dec,” someone says, a woman, snapping me from my admiring.
“Lynette.” Dec throws his keys into a gold-leaf bowl on a white console table that has a huge dumpy glass vase rammed full of clipped white roses, then kicks his shoes off, prompting me to do the same. “This is Camryn. Camryn, Lynette.”
Lynette smiles, and it’s such a warm smile, her brown eyes shining. “Hi, Camryn.” She tucks her mobile into the back pocket of her jeans.
“Hi.”
“I just texted you,” Lynette says to Dec, just as his phone dings.
He opens the message. Nods. “Got it.
“I’ll leave you in peace. See you in the morning.”
“Thanks, Lynette.”
“Nice to meet you, Camryn,” She gives me another one of those genuine, warm smiles, and I expect her to collect her coat, maybe a bag, and leave via the front door, but she gathers nothing and disappears up the sweeping staircase to the left.
“You too,” I murmur.
“Housekeeper. In case you were wondering.”
“You know I was wondering.”
“And she lives here.” He removes his coat and hangs it on a nearby coat stand. “In case you were wondering.”
“She lives here?”
“She has the top floor.” Dec tucks his fingers into the collar of my coat, brushing my skin, and eases it off my shoulders. “I’ll give you a tour later,” he whispers across my nape. My mind empties, my eyes close in bliss, and my bones turn to jelly, making me collapse against his chest as he drags his lips up to my ear. “Walk.” His palm spreads across my stomach as he encourages me forward, forcing me to open my eyes. The whole staircase comes into view, circling up, a chandelier suspending from the very top of the house, cascading down the middle of the wide spiralling stairs. I fleetingly admire it as I take the steps, one unsteady foot at a time, Dec pressed into my back. My heart’s beating so hard, not in anticipation, but with nerves. I can’t seem to regulate my breathing, can’t control my shakes. What the hell is wrong with me?