Page 51 of Perfect Liar
His brother Thomas had driven us through the lush countryside to Hastings, their hometown situated along England’s southeastern coast. An ancient seaside town so appropriately named.
The name held power.
Will’s family estate overlooked the English Channel from the top of the sandstone cliffs.
And it was during that drive when I had come to understand how much Will favored Thomas over Ethan when it came to me.
Thomas’s size, his dangerous disposition matched Will’s. They even looked remarkably similar, the eyes, the mouth, and both classically handsome.
As I rinsed away the rose-scented soap and shut off the water, I remembered seeing all four brothers greet each other with notable affection at the airport.
I smiled, then winced after realizing I had.
Fresh linens covered the bed, and a tray with sandwiches, cheese, fruit, and hot soup waited on the side table.
Will had mentioned the efficiency of Eastridge’s staff.
I slipped into my robe, pulled the pins from my hair, letting it fall down my back, and let my mind drift back to Will.
He would be back soon.
And as if summoned by some intuitive force, he came through the door with a bottle of scotch in one hand and a bottle of wine in his other. He poured while inspecting me, his eyes roaming, evaluating, seeing my mood brighten.
What we’d shared in the days before was intimate and beautiful, chaste even. His kisses had been tender and sweet, his arms my sanctuary. But now that was all about to change.
A smile tugged at his lips as he stalked across the room and towered over me with our drinks in his hands. He waited for me to meet his eyes.
“Elle, when I say you’re mine, I mean it. And I don’t lose what’s mine. You will recover, you will smile again, and we will start over. Now drink.”
His first command since we had arrived, his voice strong and authoritative.
He put the wine in my hand.
“I want us to do this properly,” he added.
While sipping, I measured the determination in his eyes. Goosebumps raised on my arms. I let a small smile curve against my glass.
“You’ll start eating. With me, tonight. Now, or in an hour or two,” —he smirked— “but you will eat.”
I stood there, just staring at him. I stared at the man who had threatened to smack my ass for poor behavior. Who had shattered me so blissfully on that damn plane, using only his fingers. The man whose presence in my life was finally real.
And I wanted him more than anything.
His brows flashed. Had he read my mind?
Those long fingers guided my glass back to my mouth.
Will went to refill his glass, and while he did, he kept his eyes on me, this time as if he were diving into my soul. Then, without moving his gaze from mine, he shot his whisky.
“You haven’t said anything, Elle, but your eyes tell me everything I want to know…those fucking beautiful eyes.”
He stepped close again and swept my hair out of his way, threading his fingers through the back. He pulled my mouth to his and sucked hard on my lips, mumbling against my mouth.
“Goddamn it, I can’t wait any longer to have you.”
The glass slipped from my hand, splashing wine at our feet.
Neither of us cared.