Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
She deserves a man who will offer her a beginning. Not one who would ask her to step into the middle of a story already marked by loss.
I twist my neck and rotate my stiff shoulders as I tear my mind from what feels like a pull back to the house, like I’ve forgotten something there. This morning, I will climb aboard a helicopter and there I will concentrate on the day ahead. I’ll sign a contract that promises the safest stewardship of a heritage brand after months of negotiations. The deal isn’t done until the paper bears that ink. I need to get my head back in the game. Get my priorities straight.
But I already know that later, I’ll fly back to a house I own, in a valley that is almost entirely mine to see a woman I have no claim on. A woman I want more from, to discover if she really is intent on dating an ordinary man. Alejandro, I internally scoff.
“The viniculturists we employed from California.” I’m almost surprised at the sound of my voice. Jacques visibly also. “Amador County, I think.” I was impressed with the chardonnay there.
“Okay, yeah. I remember that trip.”
“What is his name?” As though I didn’t already know.
“Martinez? Alejandro Martinez, I think.”
“When we get to the mainland, have HR send me a copy of his file.” I don’t know the man’s age. I don’t know exactly where he’s from, though I know he’s personable. A winning personality, I think sardonically. And that he’s proficient at his job, or I’m sure he wouldn’t be here on the estate.
“Will do.” A pause. “Is there a problem?”
Not until this morning there wasn’t. “I just want to check something.” What he has that I lack.
I take a moment to straighten the snowy cuffs under the sleeves of my bespoke suit that is a silk-linen blend, then run my hand down my chest. I wonder if he likes wearing overalls embroidered with my name.
Connard, I chastise silently.
Primrose owes me nothing beyond her professionalism, and after the way I treated her that night in Paris, I forfeited the right to resent her for choosing someone else. So why does the thought of another man touching her leave such a bitter taste in my mouth? Why does the thought of her face in his hands create the sense of a steel bar tightening across my chest?
Because it shouldn’t be him. The thought arrives uninvited. It can’t be me. Does that mean it shouldn’t be anyone?
I close my eyes briefly, and a vision of her arrives unbidden once more in my head. How she looks when she comes seems indelibly inked onto my brain.
Christ. Desire I can manage, but this acute sense of possessiveness… how do I manage that? I tip my head back against the headrest and allow myself a rare moment of honesty: possessiveness might the least alarming thing I feel for her.
27
PRIMROSE
My phone is ringing as I get to my room, and my stomach immediately turns in on itself with guilt. It could be Emmy. I can’t let her know. But as I reach for it, my sister’s name flashes up on screen.
Lavender is next to me in the family line, Heather being the eldest sister. I know, Primrose, Lavender, and Heather; what were our parents thinking? It gets worse because they named some of my brothers in a similar vein. There’s Leif, the eldest, who everyone refers to as Whit. Technically, his name means heir or something but… also leaf. Then there’s Sorrel, who prefers to be called El, then Brin, as in grass, and then Orion, the youngest, who at the age fifteen decided he was done with this nonsense and now goes by Daniel, his middle name.
People often jokingly ask if our parents are botanists. They aren’t. They were just unable to keep their hands off each other. Sadly, my dad isn’t with us anymore, and we all miss him terribly. Especially since Mum has devoted her life since to managing her offspring and her grandchildren in his absence. But I digress: the phone call.
As I accept the call, Lavender’s face immediately appears on screen. Yuck, a video call.
“Where are you?” she demands, glancing around my head rather than at me.
“France,” I answer, crossing my fingers. The less I say, the less questions she’ll ask. Hopefully. “I’m not sure if you know, but phone conversations usually start with a greeting.”
She doesn’t even bother to roll her eyes. “Without Emmy?”
“Yeah. Sad but…?” I make a gesture: whatchagonnado.
Her expression softens. “He’s okay though, right? Her dad?”
“Yeah, but still in hospital.” According to her last text. “Em thinks he’ll be discharged before the weekend.”
“Good. I’m glad.” Her attention slides behind me again. “So where exactly are you?”
“In a hotel?” Dammit, I didn’t mean to sound so unsure. I do not want her hammering me with question after question. Lavender pretends to be hard-hearted but she’s fiercely protective of all her siblings, and that was before she discovered she was pregnant. Pregnant Lavender is a whole other level fierce. I sort of feel sorry for her impending offspring.