Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 120631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 603(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 603(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
When they reached Olivia’s summer house, a charming cedar shake estate perched on the bluff above the harbor, Soren tried to picture himself there, but preferred the contemporary style of his newly built home. The bones of the Aldrich estate were old, the kind of old that predated money and outlasted time. Hydrangeas lined the long porch as the crushed oyster shell drive crunched under the tires of his luxury Cadillac.
“You’re sure you don’t want to come in.”
“Another time.” Speeding this along, he hopped out to grab her door.
The walk to her porch was uneventful, the kiss goodnight even more so.
When he got back into the car, his chest lightened. Olivia waved, and he nodded, backing out before she even made it through the front door.
Once he reached the main drag along the sea wall, his chest loosened. The sense of freedom should have told him everything about the date he needed to know, but it would have meant facing other truths he’d rather not confront.
The faster he drove, the harder his heart beat. By the time he made it back to town, his dick awoke from its coma. His blood pumped harder, and his pulse ripped like a giddy current through his veins.
Driving on autopilot, he tried not to overthink the last few hours, but struggled with the pinch of guilt that followed. He shouldn’t have lied to Olivia, but something inside of him warned him to play it safe with her.
He had no excuse for blowing her off other than his recent pattern of horny stupidity. Every time he gave in to his impulses like this, he swore it was the last, yet here he was again, rushing off to the one place he had no business going.
There was no logical explanation. This addictive fixation was becoming a disruption to his well-ordered life. He knew better. Yet his foot pressed the gas pedal harder, driving the speedometer fifty miles past the speed limit on a dark back road at ten-thirty at night. Puddles sprayed under his tires as he rounded the curves, his pulse intensifying with each closing mile.
There was no meeting tomorrow. He should have gone home. Either that, or tested the sexual chemistry with Olivia. She was the sensible diet of refinement and class he told himself to order, yet he was racing towards a drive-through of indulgence that would end in familiar regret.
“Shit,” he cursed in the silence of the car, his hands tight on the wheel and his eyes focused on the dark road.
No matter how much he knew what was better for him, he couldn’t pull himself off this course. What the hell was wrong with him?
One was messy peanut butter and jelly. The other caviar. He knew the right choice, yet still wanted the taste of sloppy indulgence. Eventually, he’d satisfy the craving and move on. He had to get it out of his system because, inevitably, he’d settle down, and marriage was not a casual agreement to him. He wanted class and sophistication, and he required fidelity.
Something that started as a sinful secret affair would not suit his future situation, and he planned to end it as soon as he found the right woman to marry.
Olivia had an agenda as detailed as his own. Neither of them was pushed by fleeting emotions or carnal cravings, nor did they expect an impassioned kind of love. They moved like nobility, strategic and always focused on the outcome.
Maybe his erratic addiction to a woman so unsuited for his goals came from the sense that he was running out of time. His brother Greyson was now married to Wren and expecting his first child.
Soren wanted his own children close in age to his brothers’ kids, which was why he had to buckle down on a plan. Tonight could have moved the needle forward. Instead, he found himself on another self-sabotaging detour.
He considered turning around.
No, his body instantly objected.
Just one more night, one more taste, then he’d get serious about settling down.
Turning onto a quiet back road, Soren slowed his speed. The streets were dark. Gravel popped under his tires like a warning system as he parked behind the two-story saltbox house. The SUV softly settled into darkness as he killed the engine.
He could still go home.
He could make a drink, relax by the fire, and call it an early night. That was the wise move.
He glanced at the back porch. That wine glass with lipstick on the rim still sat forgotten on the top step. It had been there since early August, collecting rainwater that evaporated every afternoon in the summer heat, and dead gnats at the base throughout the day.
He shouldn’t know any of that. But he did. He walked past the damn glass more times than he could count. He even knew what kind of wine filled it. He could still taste the blend on her tongue.