Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“True,” I say. “What is it about the hotels that makes you want them so badly? Surely there are other things to invest in.”
“I have my reasons,” he says.
Another thing I like about Ben: I ask him a question he doesn’t want to answer, and he doesn’t lie to me. He doesn’t even skirt the question and give me a nonanswer. He just tells me he’s not going to tell me. My dad would answer the exact same way. It would be so easy to make something up—It’s a great investment or I suspect there’s oil in the grounds—but he doesn’t. I haven’t known him long, but I suppose it’s one of the reasons it feels like I can trust him. One of the reasons I feel so safe around him.
“Aha,” I say. “I’ll have to dig deeper if I want my answer.”
But I don’t dig. He’s not in the mood to share, and I respect that. Instead, I twirl an entire three hundred and sixty degrees, taking it all in. “I’m going to make you watch the movie when we get back to London. It’s so romantic. They’ve married under pressure from their families and have no time for one another in the beginning; they’re both resolved to endure their lives rather than enjoy their marriage. The night before the scene in the garden, they’ve hosted a ball, and when they dance together in the ballroom, she realizes she’s fallen hopelessly in love with him. She comes to the garden and relives their dance, going through the steps and even mimicking the conversation they had. And then he finds her. He watches for a while from the gate, and then as she spins, she sees him.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Embarrassing for her if he’s not feeling it.”
I let out a small laugh. “Except he is feeling it. He pulls her to him for a waltz around the roses.”
“Like this?” He grabs my hand, hooking his thumb around mine, and holds our arms up like we’re about to dance.
I suck in a breath, trying to will away the blush I know is coming from being so close to him. After lifting my other hand to his shoulder, he presses his palm to my back. Suddenly there’s no space between us, his hard stomach pressing against my rib cage. My heart thumps in my chest so loudly, I’m sure he can hear it. We’re two strangers, pretending to be lovers, standing body to body, like we’re actually lovers. I try to control my breathing because I don’t know how to act. I don’t know what to do.
“Ben.” I can barely say his name because I have no air in my lungs.
“Just relax and let me lead you.” He inhales and seems to grow another two or three inches before stepping forward, taking me backward.
Suddenly we’re dancing. He leads me in small, rhythmic steps, almost like we can both hear music. I can feel every muscle in his body, his thigh is against mine, and I have to bend backward to look up at him. I’m no virgin, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt so intimate with a guy.
Despite feeling exposed, Ben’s so unfazed, like our closeness is no big deal, that I do what he says and relax. I let him lead us up and down the pathway between the rose bushes. He guides us so I’m floating. My feet barely touch the ground. Maybe I missed my calling and I should have been a dancer all these years. But of course, it’s all Ben making me feel so good.
All of a sudden, he twirls us around, and this time, my feet actually do hover in the air. I squeal and close my eyes.
He sets me down and I look up at him, willing him to keep moving because I’m not ready for this to be over. We sway left, then right, and then he begins to move his feet. The pace is slower than before, and it’s easier to keep up. He drops his frame, and it’s like he’s unzipped his old ballroom costume, stepped out of it, and Ben’s back—except we’re still dancing. It’s just a little more equal this time. It’s how we might move if we were dancing at a wedding or something. We’re just an engaged couple in a garden who have decided on an impromptu waltz.
Because that happens all the time.
I smooth my hand over his shoulder and look up at him, pulling in a breath as I take in his sharp jaw, his full lips, and how close he is to me. He’d only have to move his head a little, and we’d be kissing. I fight the urge to burrow under the soft wool of his jacket, to feel more of him, to be even closer than we are.