Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Yep. I’m going to miss those when we get back to Devil’s Peak.”
“Me too,” Jet says, biting into the cardamom bun. He makes a low sound of pleasure as he turns his gaze to me while he chews and I can’t help but think how his lips would taste now, sticky sweet with cardamom. How his mouth will feel on my skin. Between my legs. Because that kiss, our second ever kiss, it sucked the air from my lungs and made my knees buckle. Hell, the chaste kiss to seal our vows at the altar had my heart racing.
He takes another big bite and grins like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. He finishes his pastry, licks the stickiness off his fingers and leans toward me.
“Anticipating our wedding night?” he asks.
I smell the sweet scent of cardamom and sugar on his breath. “More like dreading it,” I lie.
He leans back and laughs like it’s so very fucking funny. “I wonder, Little Virgin, if I slipped my hand into your panties,” he starts, setting his hand on my thigh and sliding it up under the skirt of my dress. “If you’re already wet for me.”
I shove his hand away. “Stop it!”
“There’s another thing I’ve been thinking about too,” he says, unperturbed, leaning close to whisper the next part. “I wonder if your pussy will taste as sweet as it smelled when I laid my head on my pillow the night after you had your little sleepover in my bed.”
My face burns. Fuck. I’d forgotten that. I’d slid my fingers between my legs that night in his bed imagining it was him, his fingers, and then for reasons that weren’t quite consciously made, I smeared my come on his pillow. Like I wanted him to smell me when he laid down that night.
I guess he did.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie yet again.
“No need to lie. I liked it. It got me hard,” he says in a loud whisper.
“Oh my God!” My face burns and he slaps his knee, laughing hard. I decide to ignore it because he’s enjoying this too much. “Where are you staying?” I ask, my voice unsteady. It takes all I have to look at him.
“The Balmoral.”
Of course he’s staying at The Balmoral. Dumb question. It’s the most exclusive hotel in Edinburgh. Where else would Jethro Blackstone stay?
He gets another message on his phone and thankfully leaves me alone for the remainder of the drive to the hotel. Once we get there and Malcom pulls the SUV up to the front entrance, the doorman rushes down the stairs to open the door, a giant umbrella shielding us from the rain that comes down like it will never stop.
Jet climbs out and this time, before he can lift me out, I step out on my own. He shrugs a shoulder and slings my duffel over his shoulder. We hurry up the stairs and into the hotel.
“Mr. Blackstone,” another staff member says. “Welcome back.” He glances at me and nods a respectful greeting like he’s afraid to even look at me. “Shall I take your bag?”
“I got it, Joe.” We walk toward the elevator and Jet turns to me. “Are you hungry?”
I shake my head, my stomach in knots. Although I can’t remember the last time I had a proper meal, there’s no way I’ll be able to eat anything now.
“My bride is anxious,” he says with a wink that makes me flush as red as the doorman even as I glare daggers at Jet. “Reserve my usual table for us for dinner please.”
“Of course, sir.” Joe says and takes a step backward.
“And make sure we’re not disturbed.”
“Understood,” Joe says with a subtlety that makes me want to punch him.
The elevator doors open and Jet and I step inside. Joe leans in, slides his keycard into the slot and pushes the button for the seventh floor. The doors slide closed and my heart races as I stand side-by-side with my husband.
My husband.
While I take in our reflection in the chrome doors, Jet’s phone buzzes. He takes it out, glances at the message and switches it off altogether rather than simply silencing it.
“Cassian?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Severin.”
Once we reach our floor, he gestures for me to step out. I do and he follows me. With a hand at my back, he guides me to his suite, unlocks the door, opens it and steps aside for me to enter first.
I take in the opulence of the beautiful living room as Jet follows me and closes the door behind himself.
A fire is burning low in the fireplace. It’s an actual wood fire. The room is beautiful. I’ve never been in a hotel room this nice. Every detail has been carefully chosen. The color scheme is all quiet shades of blue and grey typical to Scottish skies. Crown molding covers so much of the walls and ceiling, I find myself turning a circle to see it all, that and the view of Old Town from the beautifully draped windows.