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“Hello,” I barked, frustrated by my cousin’s blasé attitude that mirrored most people’s. “Farmers need to make a living.”
“Bel. You’re nuts. You hate him because of that?”
I bit into a fingernail. There was a little more to it.
“We’re on opposite sides.” I kept my reason vague. Even to me.
“Forgive him. Have more hot sex. And then use that to cajole him. To turn him.”
That was the best idea I’d heard all day. My body certainly liked it. My stubborn conscience, however, gave it a thumbs-down.
“Talking’s really helped. Thanks.” I rose. “I need to get ready for a sound check. I’ll go and have a shower, I think.”
She followed me. “I better get dressed and face the day. I’m off to my mum’s for tea.”
“Are you coming tonight?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. And who knows? I might actually meet someone.” She waggled her eyebrows. “After hearing all about your sexual adventures, I’m all hot and bothered.”
“Bret’s nice. You can’t leave him.”
“Yes, but nice doesn’t exactly make for an exciting sex life.”
I couldn’t argue with that. I’d met so many nice guys, I could start a congregation for men willing to chop their balls off for a cause.
Chapter 4
Ethan
Iwavedattheconcierge as I stepped out of the revolving door. Expensive fragrances wafted through the air as guests dressed in designer clothes glided past me, adding to the luxurious atmosphere of our family hotel.
Instead of Mayfair, I was now staying at the penthouse suite, where my father lived whenever he was in London. The private elevator deposited me straight into the living room decorated with Persian rugs, modern and classic art, and figurine lamps.
The bedroom, in burgundy accents, was decorated with canvases of minimalist art and nude male statuettes. A figurine of David with a very large erection reminded me of my father’s homosexuality.
How did we not see it?
I made a mental note to bid for a female nude or two at my next visit to Sotheby’s. I liked beautiful things, and it was a great place to pick up girls.
Pick up girls?
Maybe that was what I needed to become that cold-hearted developer who aimed to fuck his way into the Guinness Book of Records.
Is that what I really want?
My phone vibrated, and putting the phone on speaker, I answered, “Andrew.”
“You’ve been trying to reach me?”
I stretched out on the green Chesterfield. Through the windows, I stared at the spiky Westminster and London Bridges sprinkled with dots of humanity and traffic jams. “About the design of the spa.”
“What about it? You signed off on them, and we’ve got the final drafts ready. It looks great. You didn’t get the attachments?”
“I did. And I agree—they look great. Only can we go back to the original design?”
“You mean start again?” The note of surprise in his voice made me take a breath.
I scratched my prickly jaw, which cried for a visit to my favourite barber. I recalled Mirabel’s throaty moans as I gently rubbed my face against her soft curvy thighs.
