I trudge up the stairs, feeling very incompetent indeed.
It takes money to make money.
Hence why I have none.
Knock, knock.
I glance up. “Come in.”
Mr. Masters puts his head around the door. “Nightcap, Bree?”
I smile. Bree. He called me Bree.
“Erm.” I scratch my head, glance back at my book, and then back at him. God, I’m at a really good part of my book and they are just about to get it on.
“If you would rather read your book, don’t worry about it,” he snaps quietly.
“Look at you, getting all annoyed.” I smile. “I’m not annoyed.” I hold my fingers up and pinch the air. “Little bit?”
He looks at me, deadpan. “Nightcap or not?”
“Yes. That would be lovely, thanks.” He turns and walks back to the kitchen and I follow him. My stomach does a nervous jitterbug dance as I take a seat at the kitchen counter.
He pours us a glass of red wine each, handing me mine.
We clink glasses and I smile. “I can’t stay long. One glass only.”
He raises a brow. “Are you brushing me off for your book?”
“Completely. Don’t be offended. I would brush Superman off for this book.”
He smiles and takes a seat opposite me. We sit in silence for a moment, neither of us sure what to say.
“Where are you going on your trip tomorrow?” I ask.
“Kent.”
“Ah.” I sip my wine, and then eye it in the crystal glass. “Hmm, this is delicious.” “I have good taste.”
“Obviously.” I wink. “You hired me.”
“Sight unseen.” He smirks.
I giggle. “Kent is where Dover Castle is.”
“Yes. Have you been?” he asks, seeming surprised that I know this.
“No, but I want to. It’s on my to do list while I’m here. Its history fascinates me.”
“Why is that?”
“The Archbishop was slaughtered there in front of his altar by King Henry’s Household Knights.”
A frown crosses his face. “History buff, are you?”
I smile. “Perhaps. It was one of the reasons that Emerson and I wanted to come here. We love old buildings and history. We don’t have anything like that in Australia. Australia has only been a country for three-hundred or so years. The only old thing we have a lot of back home are tombstones.”
He sips his drink and licks the red wine from his bottom lip.
“There are lots of old things in the United Kingdom.” He raises his eyebrow suggestively as if to imply that he is one of those old things.
He’s just so…
“Do you travel much for work?” I ask as I try and remain casual.
No drooling at the table, fool.
“Not really.” He sips his wine. “I’m guest speaking at a conference.”
“Wow.” I smile. “Impressive.”
He smiles shyly and drops his head. “Hardly. I’m speaking on the effects of prison on drug addicts.
“Oh, that sounds heavy.”
He nods. “Could say that.”
We stay silent for a moment as the air buzzes between us, and if I’m not mistaken, he seems a little nervous too… or maybe that’s just because I’m nervous enough for the both of us.
“What have you got on this weekend? Anything fun?” I ask.
He exhales. “No. Not yet. You?”
“I’m going out with Emerson on Saturday night.” I sip my wine and lift my glass to him. “And you needn’t worry, I won’t be coming back here to embarrass myself again.”
He rolls his eyes. “Why do you keep bringing that up?”
“Because it’s beyond mortifying. I’m having it put on my tombstone.” I put my hand up in a rainbow shape. “Here lies Brielle, champion refrigerator humper.”
He chuckles, and I close my eyes, faking a shiver.
“Are you going out with your Canadian friend again?” he asks, suddenly falling serious.
I cringe. “God, no. That guy is a douche, and so not my type.”
His sexy eyes hold mine. “You have a type?”
My stomach flutters.
You… you’re my type.
“Everyone has a type… don’t they?” I smile shyly.
He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Do you have a type?” I ask.
He refills our glasses as he contemplates my question. Jeez, slow down. These drinks are going down way too easily. We don’t want a repeat fridge humping performance.
He purses his lips as he contemplates my question. “I guess the women I’ve dated lately do fall into somewhat of a type.”
“You’re dating?” I ask, acting surprised. Thankfully, he has no idea on my spying activities this week.
His eyes dance with delight… or mischief. I really can’t tell.
“I date.” He smiles against his glass. “I’m not that old. I’m not dead… yet.”
I bite my bottom lip to hide my goofy smile. “I never said you were old.”
“You seem surprised that I date.” He raises his eyebrow, and this time I know it’s from curiosity.
“Not surprised.” I wobble my head from side to side. “Okay, maybe a little. I thought you would have a steady girlfriend.”
It’s him that fakes a shiver this time. “I have no desire to have a steady girlfriend.”
“A wife, then?” I laugh.
“Oh, hell, don’t wish that on me.”
We both laugh, and our eyes linger on each other’s faces a little too long.
This is getting a bit weird. I am seriously attracted to him.
“No girlfriend. No wife. What do you have?” I ask.
His dark eyes hold mine. “Friends with benefits.”
My heart begins to thump hard in my chest. “What benefits?” I whisper.
He smiles sexily and sips his drink, giving me his best ‘come fuck me look’. “Sexual satisfaction.”
I swallow the lump in my throat as I imagine him naked.
I really need to have sex. He could say the word milk and I would find it stupid hot.
“I should get back to my book,” I whisper.
He nods and rolls his lips, as if stopping himself from speaking.
“Thanks for the chat, Julian.”
His sexy eyes hold mine. “You’re most welcome, Bree.”
My breath hitches.
There is something about the way he says Bree that is just so… perfect.
“Can I help you with anything before you go?” I ask.
His eyes darken. “Like what?”
“Um.” I get a vision of me on top of him, naked in my bed, and I feel myself get wet instantly.
Okay, get back to your room, you dirty hoe.
“Your itinerary or something,” I splutter, distracted by my wayward thoughts.
He smiles, as if knowing exactly where my thoughts were. “My itinerary is sorted, but thank you anyway.”
I stand and wash my glass up before I turn back to him. “Have a great trip.”
“I will. I’ll call you each day to check on the children.”
Our eyes lock once more, and my stomach dances with excitement that he will be calling me.
Just for the children, stupid, I remind myself.
I smile bashfully, embarrassed that he makes me feel like a giddy young girl.
I don’t remember any man ever making me feel like this. Is there something more going on here, or just wishful thinking on my behalf?
“Goodnight, Mr. Masters.”
He stands, and suddenly we are brought face to face, only millimetres apart. “Julian,” he corrects me.
My heart skips a beat at our close proximity, and I look up into his sexy eyes.
The power emanating from his body is palpable. He’d be so fucking dominant in bed. “Julian,” I whisper.
His eyes drop to my lips.
Oh God, is he going to kiss me?
Do it. Do it.