Page 33 of Jane Deyre
So loosened up by the wine, I just blurt it out. “I want to be an actress.”
“Then your dream board or whatever it’s called has led you to the right place.”
I listen.
“There’s no greater living actress than Edwina Rochester. Let her help you. It’ll give her purpose. You, intent.”
With that, he sets his glass down on the table and stands up.
He heads toward the front door. Pausing when he gets there.
About to let himself out, he looks over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Jane.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Rochester.”
“Please call me Ward.” Our eyes lock for a brief moment and then he swings the door open. “And don’t forget to get this lock fixed.”
He closes it behind him and I feel bereft. It felt good to be with someone who’s so perceptive. And such a good listener. I suppose all writers are.
Oh, and Edwina was right. He is good with a hammer and screws.
I still know nothing more about his personal life.
The mysterious Ward Rochester is more mysterious than ever.
An enigma.
CHAPTER 18
Ward
Back at Thornhill, I keep my head bowed, my eyes on my feet as I mount the steep stairs. I feel a little lightheaded from the wine. But there’s another feeling I haven’t experienced in years that I can’t shake.
An attraction to a woman. To Jane Deyre.
I feel lit up inside. My blood pressure elevated. My heartbeat accelerated. And there’s a pulse in my genitals that won’t go away.
I can’t get her out of my head.
Waif-like, she’s definitely not the type of woman I’m usually attracted to. Tall, blond, and lanky with supermodel looks that turn heads. That draw men to them like magnets and then spit them out like tobacco.
Jane is different. She’s not what most people would call beautiful, but she possesses a rare, different kind of beauty. One that stems from the inside out. Radiates outward. From her heart. And from her soul.
She’s clearly not self-obsessed or self-absorbed like the women I’ve been involved with. Rather, she’s reserved. Like the first bloom of a rose. Her delicate petals opening up slowly, cautiously. A fresh-faced beauty. Vulnerable and fragile.
I felt an intense hunger for her tonight. A longing. A burning in my fingers as I held her hand in mine. I had the crazy urge to touch her. To run my fingertips along every part of her petite body. Brush them across her full lips, around the shell of those adorable ears, down the slender column of her neck. And that’s for starters.
“Excuse me.” The two sharp words cut into my lustful thoughts. I miss a step and almost trip.
Composing myself, I look up. Standing on the landing of the stairs, her arms folded across her chest, is Alice Fairfax. I stop dead in my tracks as her eyes latch on to mine.
“You should watch where you’re going.” Her tone is as icy as her demeanor. “What you’re doing.”
“What are you talking about?”
Her expression hardens. The pout on her lips is on the cusp of curling into a sneer. “I saw you outside coming from the guesthouse.”
“Were you spying on me?” I bite out, gritting my teeth. I’ve loathed this despicable woman since I was a kid. And after what she tried to do to my daughter today, I hate her beyond what words can describe.