Well, I had, but I hadn’t expected it to be more than dirty thoughts of mine.
Maybe she’d be open to my games after all.
The idea sent a shiver down my spine. The good kind.
Next time, I’ll hold you to that, Princess.
Crashing back into bed, I fell asleep with my phone still in my hand, her admission bouncing around my head.
I woke to pale winter light creeping round the edges of the curtains, the kind of grey-white glow that threatened snow.
My phone lay on my pillow, still open on Amanda’s messages.
I stared at the thread and felt that same heat I’d felt kissing her against the wall. Like someone had lit my boxers on fire. Or my lungs.
My body reacted by tightening and rising, desperate for her already.
‘Fuck,’ I muttered. How was I going to get through a day without pinning her somewhere and kissing her until she called me Sir for real?
Sleep hadn’t fixed anything. I’d woken up even more obsessed with the woman I barely knew. More unsure of what the hell to do next.
I showered and dressed before stepping out into the corridor. Her door remained shut. Checking my phone, I loitered in the hall.
Then I heard movement and stilled, listening again.
Until her door opened and I tried, and presumably failed, to look nonchalant.
Amanda stepped out looking like the previous night had never happened. Hair smoothed back into a neat ponytail, dress ironed to perfection, not a wrinkle out of place. Not a single trace of what had passed between us.
She blinked at me before heading down the corner, leaving me to follow like a trained puppy.
‘Morning,’ I said.
She didn’t fumble.
Didn’t even hesitate.
‘We’ve a full schedule today,’ she said lightly. Professionally. ‘The florists will need access to the orangery at eight. Catering is delivering fresh supplies at nine. And I’ll need those boxes of spare linens brought in from storage.’
A flare of need spiked. The need to pin her down and demand her full attention. To tame this side of her with my tongue. But not for too long. Ilikedher like this. It made me crave her giving in all the more.
‘Amanda,’ I said quietly.
She slowed.Barely. Turning just enough to look over her shoulder.
‘Yes?’
‘About last night—’ I began.
She cut me off. ‘Henry, I’m at work’
Work.
‘Of course,’ I said, trying to stop the disappointment from hitting my face.
She continued down the corridor, shoulders tight. I followed slowly, keeping distance. Watching the way she moved, like she had armour on. A slight tremble in her fingers was the only tell that she was even slightly affected by the previous night.
Amanda stood by the coffee machine in the kitchen, and I leaned on the counter, watching her. She stared very pointedly at her clipboard.
