Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“Come on,” he says, his voice low, playful, standing and pulling me with him. “I made breakfast. Your favorite—French toast and strawberries. Jason’s waiting.” He steps back, his eyes roaming over me, still naked under the quilt, and a grin tugs at his lips, a spark of mischief in his gaze. “But first, you’ll need clothes. Jason will notice if I’m walking around hard all morning.”
I laugh and slide out of bed, deliberately letting the duvet fall away.
His eyes darken, tracing my body. “Don’t, Amelia,” he warns.
I feel the heat of his gaze, a caress that makes my skin prickle. He’s right. The one thing we shouldn’t do is let Jason guess that we are lovers. I’m Aunt Amelia. I must always remember that.
Quickly, I grab a pair of cotton shorts and a gray tank top from the dresser and pull them on under his watchful eyes. His stare is a mix of hunger and restraint. The shorts hug my hips, but the tank top is old, loose, and unsexy. I step closer, my bare feet silent on the rug, and take his hand, my fingers lacing with his, warm and sure.
“Let’s go,” I say, my voice soft.
Then we head downstairs, side by side, but not touching. The house feels different—empty and all ours, the absence of staff, a freedom I hadn’t realized I craved. The kitchen smells of cinnamon and bacon, the air warm with the sizzle of French toast on a tray, a bowl of vibrant strawberries and blueberries beside it. Jason sits at the table, his dark curls bouncing as he swings his legs, a shy smile lighting his gray eyes when he sees us.
“Morning, Aunt Amelia!” he chirps. His voice is brighter than last night, and my heart swells. I will not allow guilt into my heart. I will simply enjoy every second of these next two weeks. They are a gift from the universe. A consolation prize for not winning the real prize.
I slide into the chair beside him. Max takes the seat across, and we begin to eat. The bacon is perfectly cooked, the French toast is sweet and golden, and the berries are bursting with fresh juice. Everything is perfect.
Max’s eyes meet mine over the table, a silent agreement passing between us—two weeks, our secret, our stolen time. The tension is there, a current humming beneath the surface, but it’s laced with a fragile joy I’ll hold onto, even though I know it can’t last. It’s not meant to.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
AMELIA
About an hour later, the breakfast plates and dishes have been cleared, and the kitchen returned to its gleaming state. The sweet tang of berries and cinnamon lingers on my tongue as I steal a glance at Max across the breakfast table. His sparkling eyes catch mine, a spark of mischief beneath the warmth, and my heart skips, a reckless beat that hasn’t slowed since he kissed me awake.
Jason’s chatter fills the air, his small voice bright as he describes something he learned about dinosaurs and how they hunted. His gray eyes are wide with wonder. I smile and nod at how animated he is, but Max’s presence is a current, pulling me under, making every nerve tingle with anticipation. We were at it all night long, but already I’m greedy for more, my body craving his touch like air.
Max yawns and stretches, his black T-shirt pulling across his chest. He ruffles Jason’s curls. “Buddy, why don’t you go play games for a little while? You’d like that, right?”
“Heck yeah!” Jason yells.
I can’t help my laughter.
“Go on, and I’ll come up and check on you in a bit,” Max tells him. His voice is casual, but there’s an edge, a hunger I recognize, and my pulse quickens.
Jason nods happily and hops off his chair, his footsteps pattering toward the den. And just like that, we’re left alone in the sunlit dining room, the chandelier casting soft prisms across the walnut table.
Max’s eyes lock onto mine, a smoldering intensity that makes my pulse stutter, my skin prickling under his scrutiny. I’m hyper-aware of him—his black T-shirt clinging to his chest, the faint stubble shadowing his jaw, the memory of his body pressed tight against mine last night.
The fire hasn’t cooled even slightly since the day I laid eyes on him.
Reckless. I feel wildly reckless.
My toes curl as Max leans back in his chair, his movements deliberate, a predator’s grace. The mood in the room has already shifted, like the air before a storm.
“As for you, young lady. You have some unfinished business to attend to,” he says, his voice low, rough, a caress that sends a shiver down my spine. “Come upstairs with me.” It’s not a question, or a plea for my consent, but a shimmering promise.
My heart races, a wild drumbeat I can’t silence.
I nod, my throat tight, and stand, between my thighs, I’m soaking wet. My old tank top is suddenly too thin, too revealing under his stare. He rises, his hand grazing the small of my back as he guides me through the dining room, the touch light but possessive, sparking electricity across my skin.