Page 76 of The Devil's Deceit
I burst out laughing. “If that analogy works for you, we’ll go with it.”
She beams. “Where were you thinking?”
“I thought somewhere warm. Southern Europe is still mild this time of year, or we could head further afield. The Caribbean, Mexico, Brazil.”
She grimaces. “Um, I don’t have a passport.”
“That’s okay. I can arrange to have one here in a couple of hours.”
“Passports take weeks.”
“Not when you’re in this family.”
She rubs the back of her neck and bites her lip. “Okay, the truth is I’m afraid of flying.”
“Safest way to travel.”
“I just… I can’t. I don’t want to. I’d rather stay in this country.”
“It’s cold.”
“There’s no such thing as bad weather, only wrong clothing choices. Besides, think roaring fires, hot chocolate with marshmallows, going to bed early, sn?—”
“I’m convinced. You had me at the early to bed thing. Where were you thinking?”
“I’ve always loved the Cotswolds. My father took me there once when I was little, but I haven’t been back in years.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m positive.”
“Then, the Cotswolds it is.” I graze my hands up her sides and lower my head, stealing a kiss that immediately makes me hard. “Sex first, then breakfast, then I’ll make somecalls.”
She giggles, and it’s so freaking adorable, I want to record it so I can listen to her laugh whenever I want. “You know the way to a girl’s heart.”
“I know the way to her pussy better,” I say as I lift Grace into my arms. “I owe you a carry over the threshold.”
“Careful, Christian. At this rate, I might start to think this marriage is real.”
You’re not the only one.
It only takes a phone call to organize a base in the Cotswolds, a beautiful stone house on the outskirts of Chipping Camden owned by a member of The Consortium who was only too happy to offer it to us for however long we wished to stay. We have a place in Gloucester, but a more intimate setting feels right, and I think Grace will feel more at home in a smaller place, too.
Although small to me is different than small to Grace, it seems, when Dawson steers the car through the gates two days after our wedding and Grace squeals, “God, it’shuge.”
I open my mouth, a dirty retort on the tip of my tongue.
She clamps her hand over my mouth. “Don’t say it.”
Laughing, I shove her hand away. “Then, don’t make it easy for me.”
The car comes to a stop outside the front door. Grace’s jaw is on the ground as she shields her eyes from the weak autumn sun and gazes up at the house.
“You said a cozy place.”
“This is cozy.”
She snorts. “My dictionary description of cozy and yours are poles apart.”
