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“Felicity,” she said, clasping my hand between her own. Her touch was cold, and her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“Mrs Bamford.” I turned my wrist, hiding the edges of my Rusty tattoo. “I’m so pleased to meet you.”
“Hm,” she said. “Yes, indeed.”
So… yeah. That was that.
She’s watching us now, staring from the next cluster of guests over. Every time I move or speak or freakingbreathe, her shiny auburn head goes all still.
I tug on Sebastian’s arm, and he leans down, tilting his head so I can murmur in his ear. A little thrill dances through me at the intimacy of that gesture, and I could get used to this role, that’s for sure.
“Your mom is intense.” Can she lip read? I glance over from the corner of my eye and find her staring, her grip white-knuckled on her champagne glass. “Is she going to smother me to death with a pillow while I sleep?”
“No.” My boss’s reply is hushed, but my racing pulse settles at the low timbre of his voice. He’s always so soothing—even when work is crazy back at the office, and everyone’s freaking out about deadlines, Sebastian is the calm in the storm. Best boss ever. “She’d get her staff to do that. Obviously.”
Ha. “Remind me to lock my door tonight.”
There’s a long pause. A mix of polite chatter and classical music swells to fill the gap, and Sebastian’s suit rustles as he shifts.
“Ourdoor,” he says at last, sounding pained. “Forgive me, I should have—but I’ll sleep on the floor, Felicity. Or I could ask the staff to prepare another guest suite. Honestly, my family would be relieved; they’re very traditional. Shall I—”
“No!” I tug on Sebastian’s sleeve as he straightens, yanking him back down. There’s a shocked murmur, a loud huff from nearby. The air smells like salt and roses, and I suck in a deep breath. “Don’t do that. We can share. This way you can protect me from pillow-wielding assassins, you know?”
And I’m chattering like an idiot, gripping my boss’s arm like a lifeline, but inside I’m going: Aaaaaaah!
We’re sharing a room this weekend? There’ll only be one bed, right?
Screw sleeping on the floor. If this is my only chance, I want to feel this man’s weight on the mattress next to my body, and to hear his soft, sleeping breaths up close. Want to see him all rumpled and peaceful.
Want to commit every tiny detail to memory, so I can play it over and over in my brain for the rest of my life. I’m not gonna sleep a wink tonight.
Don’t care. Worth it.
Four years, okay? Four years, I’ve loved this man. Four years of wanting him close.
“You’re sure?” Sebastian mutters. I squeeze his sleeve, scooching nearer until I’m pressed up against his side.Stage directions. Stage directions.
“Extra sure. I’m a method actor, sir.”
He coughs out a laugh, and when he signals a nearby server for a flute of champagne—I lunge for one too. Liquid courage is exactly what I need.
The stars pulse overhead, and the well-dressed crowd mingle and laugh. I tip back my glass until tart, fizzy champagne floods my tongue, but the truth is…
I’m already giddy.
* * *
“So.” It’s past midnight, on the third floor of the mansion. We’re in the east wing, because this place is so huge it probably has multiple zip codes. My boss stands with his back to the guest suite door, hands shoved in his pants pockets. “How would you like to handle this, Felicity?”
He looks tired. There are shadows under his eyes, and his shoulders are slumped. I don’t blame him—spending time with the Bamfords should be counted in dog years. The soiree tonight only technically lasted a few hours, but it felt like a week.
But me? I’m not tired. Not at all.
The second we stepped into this room together, every nerve ending in my body zinged to life. And that rush of adrenaline had nothing to do with the swanky king sized bed or the balcony with french doors, or even the claw foot tub I can see through the doorway to the en suite.
Honestly, I’d be more comfortable on my saggy couch at home with the girls and Rusty. But being alone with my boss?
Thatalwaysgets my heart pumping.
