Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Eyes glued.
We come together.
Hard.
Long.
Intense.
The sensations of his dick inside pulsating, pushing against my walls, extends my pleasure, my body rolling to cope with the intensity as I reach for his hand over my mouth and knock it away, needing air, heaving. The way he’s looking at me now, his eyes on the greener side of what I know and love . . . I can’t take it.
He slips a hand around my nape and tries to encourage me forward, but I remain steadfast in my position, not allowing him to pull me close for what I know will be a tender kiss.
And only when he relents and releases me, his frown fixed, do I move in, getting my face close to his for a brief few moments before taking my mouth to his ear. I breathe into it, feeling his body roll in anticipation. “I dare you to try and contact me again,” I whisper. “I fucking dare you, Jude.”
“What the fuck?”
I ease off his lap on a held breath and get my skirt into place before lifting my top up. And as soon as the car stops, I get out.
“Amelia!” he yells, lunging across the seat to stop me.
I slam the door in his face.
Take a breath.
And immediately hate myself for caving in to the power of Jude Harrison. I see an opening into Hyde Park and hurry through the crowds, glancing back over my shoulder when I hear him bellowing my name. He’s scanning the masses of people, his hands working to fasten the fly of his trousers.
I disappear into the park and fall against a wall, breathless, sore, and angry again. “Fuck!” I yell, burying my face in my hands, hating myself for surrendering. For lowering myself to his fucked-up level. Tears pinch the backs of my eyes, and I roughly and angrily wipe them away.
I need a drink.
I need to regroup.
I need to forget I ever met Jude Harrison.
Trying to figure out where I am exactly, I soon conclude it’s too far to walk back to the hotel, especially in these heels. So I walk until I reach the other side of the park and flag down a cab.
Chapter 3
After cleaning myself up in the bathroom, I arrive at the ballroom, and I have to stop on the threshold and take a moment to listen, wondering if I’m hearing what I think I’m hearing. It takes only a few seconds—and beats of the track—to confirm it.
The band is performing “Hey Jude,” and everyone is on the dance floor.
I do an about-turn, planning to get straight back out of there.
“Amelia!”
Clark intercepts me, his bow tie now unravelled, the top few buttons of his shirt undone.
“Hey,” I say, clocking Nick across the room at the bar nursing a drink. He looks a bit worse for wear.
“Where have you been?” Clark asks. “And where are you going?”
“I had to freshen up.” I squirm, patting down my hair and wishing I’d reapplied my lipstick. Nick spots me, and his whole stance changes, his body standing taller. “And I was just going to use the ladies’.” Lie. I was going to find a bar and beat myself up about what I’ve just done over a glass of really expensive wine.
“Oh, come dance,” Clark says, taking my hands and backing up, encouraging me into the room. “Please, I’ve hardly seen you today.” He performs a perfectly executed adorable pout.
And that effectively makes it impossible to refuse my little brother. Even with my ex across the room ready to move in.
“Let your hair down, Amelia.”
“It is down.” It went against all my instincts. How tragic. But as I stand here in front of my brother on his wedding day, his face wearing a familiar expression of boyish charm that he’s depended on since he was a kid, I realise that the only tragedy is me. Because I’m making myself one. Over a man. A man who doesn’t deserve my emotions. A man I definitely should not have gotten in the car with. A man who will be a distant memory very soon.
I wince, praying that’s true.
“Fine,” I relent, letting him lead me to the floor, where everyone is forming a huge circle, arms around each other as they sing at the tops of their voices with the lead singer. I work hard to block the music out and focus on the faces of my friends and family. All except Nick, who, unbelievably, is dead opposite me again. I can feel him staring at me. Willing me to look at him, give him a chance, let him win me back. For a split second, perhaps because of my turmoil, I forget why I left Nick. He was stable. I knew where I stood with him. I could depend on—
I pull up, rewinding. I thought I knew where I stood with him. Until he announced he wanted to move to the next step. My next step was career driven, moving up the ladder. His involved knocking me down it. Our conversation about kids happened mere weeks after I finally told Nick I was shooting for partner.