Page 33 of Hush Money

“I know.” He’s headed back to the hospital to meet with the doctors and possibly—probably—bring Ravenna back home this evening. I’m not ready, but I suppose I’d better start pretending that I am. “Good luck.”

“What will you do this afternoon?”

“I don’t know. Maybe read out by the gazebo for a while. That’ll keep me busy and out of everyone’s hair.”

A flicker of a smile from Lucien. “Maybe I should start reading historical romance novels to help me decompress.”

“You really should.”

We grin at each other for a moment. Until his smile fades away. I can’t see his eyes, but I get the feeling they’re zeroing in on my lips. “I’ll see you later?”

“See you later.”

But neither of us moves.

“I’m going to eat you alive the first chance I get,” he says in his sexiest, most velvety voice. The one that makes all the fine hairs on my body stand at attention. “I’m going to suck your nipples and lick your pussy. See how wet I can get you when I finger-fuck you like I did yesterday. Then I’m going to fuck you until you sob. I want you scratching my back until it bleeds. Screaming my name. Begging for my dick over and over again. You know that, don’t you?”

Oh, God.

Just the description is enough to make all the tiny muscles inside me clench and weep for him. With that, a little of my sex kitten slips out of her cage. She’s got magical skills when Lucien speaks to me like that—he keeps me on a razor’s edge between arousal and satisfaction at all times—and I can only hold her back for so long. “Know it? I’m living for it.”

Lucien’s breath hisses. “Get out. Now. Or I’m not responsible for what happens next. I don’t care who’s watching. And don’t forget I’ve still got blue balls from yesterday.”

“But—”

“That’s the only warning you’re going to get.”

He looks like he means it. And I know I’m throwing him a lot of mixed signals here, but I don’t think that us fucking each other senseless in his car in broad daylight is the answer to any of our problems. So I grab my purse without another word and hop out while I still have my clothes and my wits about me.

He shoots me a final lingering look as I shut the door, then takes off, all screeching tires and spewing gravel.

I stand there for a moment relishing my feminine power over him. As someone who held on to her virgin card until only a few weeks ago, I feel as though I’m making up for lost time. It’s a thrilling feeling. Until I remember that his unrequited lust is also my unrequited lust.

I shake my head at myself, determined to get a grip. I need to figure out a way to manage my emotions without making everything into a soaring high or crashing low twenty times a day. It’s like I’m suddenly living in one of my beloved historical romance novels.

And speaking of…

I have a nice stack of romance books to keep me busy, don’t I? Better get going. The troop of gardeners stop working and nod at me as I head for the cottage. I wave and smile, gestures they don’t return. I get the feeling that they’re watching me. Judging me.

Or maybe I’m judging myself enough for all of us.

I force my attention away from their prickling gazes on my back and focus instead on the absurdity of calling this spacious and rustic four-bedroom house a cottage. It’s a nice little spot, low ceilinged with exposed beams and the kind of effortless blue French country chic décor that probably required a hundred thousand dollars and several antique-buying trips to Paris by some overworked interior designer. I’m lucky to have it, even if it is a bit gloomy in the shadows cast by all the imposing shade trees. Even if it is a bit lonely without Lucien.

I’m also lucky to have such a great selection of books. What to read? I’m thinking of one of the Bridgerton books or, better yet, turbulent times like these call for a serious comfort read from the OG romance author herself—Jane Austen. And there’s nothing like Pride and Prejudice to?—

I’m so deep in thought that a movement out of the corner of my eye scares me shitless. I stiffen and stop dead when I realize that a woman is already here. She’s facing me as she sits behind the desk in front of the window in the far corner of the living room, an open box of pictures within easy reach and her head bent low as she works her way through a stack. She’s got a bandaged forehead and gleaming black hair.

My stomach drops as I realize. It’s Ravenna.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

TAMSYN

My heart and stomach both lurch as I stand there locked inside my shocked disbelief. “Oh my God.”

Her head comes up. She’s got tears sparkling in her bright green eyes, diamonds on emeralds. When she sees that it’s me, she hastily ducks her head again, wipes away her tears and stands.

She looks stronger. Healthier. She’s also wearing a pretty lavender sundress and sandals. I have no idea where they came from. Maybe someone found her old clothes in storage up in the attic or some such. Regardless, I’d forgotten how tall she is. How beautiful.

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