Page 29 of Until I Own You

“Yeah, thanks. I appreciate that.”

He holds out his hand to me. We shake on it.

I’m such a slime ball for lying like that, making up a relationship Bridget hasn’t been in. But it was the right thing to do. That way, I protect her.

And protecting her means protecting me.

Shit, maybe I am a manipulator.

Before I can make other false claims, Solomon approaches. A relief for pulling me from this conversation. A shame for the way I just lied about his daughter.

“Am I interrupting some sort of business deal?” he says with a daddish lilt on the phrase “business deal.”

“Always,” Dory says, then gives us both a nod. “Gentlemen.”

The guy might be a Casanova, but he knows how to read a situation.

“What’s up, Sol?” I ask.

Solomon grabs my shoulder. “Your mother wants a picture of the four of us while the photographer is doing portraits, but I can’t find Bridget. You mind taking a look inside?”

I look back at the manor house and gulp. “Sure.” I try to play it cool.

Solomon smiles. “Thank you, Seth.”

I head out of the garden and up the stairs to enter the mansion. Past the column where I feel the ghost of Bridget and me sniping at each other in low tones.

All I can hear in my ears is my heartbeat.

Where could she be? Camped out in the bride’s quarters? Trying to calm her nerves with a glass of champagne?

I walk the halls calling out her name. Event staff are scurrying past me carrying trays and linens, trying to set up the reception room while cocktails take place out in front of the manor.

If I know Bridget, which I think I do in some respects, she wouldn’t be camped out around the chaos. She’d be taking a breath somewhere quiet.

I head up the grand staircase to the second floor and head to the west wing. Us guys got ready at the opposite end of the hall in the west wing from the girls’ room.

Once I get to the bride’s quarters, I rap on the door. There’s no response.

With care, I open the door and peer inside.

“Bridget?”

The empty room doesn’t answer.

I begin to close the door but stop when I hear the sound of a woman’s voice. Distant and muffled. In pain?

“Bridget?” I say again.

Still nothing. But another…moan?

I go into the room and stand there for a moment, waiting for the next sound.

Sure enough, with my ears tuned to the sound, I am able to identify the direction. And it’s coming from a door I didn’t see before. Must be a bathroom or…

“Oh god…” the voice whimpers.

Okay, that’s not pain. That’s arousal.

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