Page 88 of (Not) The One
‘I think I’ll stick to my own doctor, thanks.’ I might not have to see him. Maybe the nurse might do?
‘Miranda, you have to let me in. I want to take care of you.’ This echo of his earlier words pulls at my consciousness when the words were delivered with a different intent. ‘In every way that you’ll let me.’ His voice seems to be at its most sultry setting, something I choose to ignore. ‘I want to be part of this with you, but I don’t have the best of schedules to attend appointments and the like.’ Weariness shadows his face, lifting in a blink. ‘But what I do have is the personal number of the man who delivers the royal babies. Will Travers.LordTravers,’ he adds with a heavy emphasis. ‘I never thought I’d ever have use for his services, but there you go. I’ll give you his details, and if you’re still unsure, you can Google him until your heart is content. And if he meets your expectations, he’ll see us at six one evening this week.’
Seeusat six? He’s coming with? Be still my greedy little heart.
‘You’ve already contacted him?’
‘I sent him a text very late last night. I can only imagine he was working because he answered.’
‘I’ve heard babies work on their own schedules,’ I reply deadpan.
‘I guess we have lots of time to find out. But what do you think? About seeing him, I mean?’
‘Well, yeah. That sounds good.’ I can do a bit of digging later, but if he sees to the royals, I’m sure he’s amazing. ‘I’m sure a royal hoo-haw is no different from a common one.’
‘A royal what?’
‘Do you know you give that word an extra syllable.W-hot.’ I try to replicate his diction and fail while still hoping this bit of ridiculousness will distract him from the other bit.Hoo-haw? Really?
‘I’m certain yourpussy is anything but common.’
My expression twists as I scrunch up my nose. ‘I think I prefer hoo-ha’
‘I think I prefer cunt. Actually, I prefer your cunt.’
Something hot and swift blooms inside as an immediate response. How he enunciates this so precisely somehow heightens the effect. Such a bad, dirty word in such a haughty tone. If I had knickers on, I’m sure they’d have fallen off themselves.
‘Bad man.’ It sounds more like encouragement than an admonishment.
‘I like it for the shock value. Though your rose by any other name would taste as sweet.’
I’m pretty sure right now it would taste anything but sweet, but I resist saying so.Wisely, I feel.
‘Sweet and slick.’ He leans forward, quite suddenly pressing his mouth to mine as I roll my lips inwards again, just as fast.
‘Mormim bref,’ I say without fully opening my mouth.
His smooth cheek sliding against mine makes my thighs clench almost involuntarily, at the contrast of sensations between this and last night a little overwhelming.
The scruff of his bristles against my breast and how my clit had turned electric at the brush of his chin.
The sight of him this morning, his obscene tongue flicking out to taste me from his fingertips.
As he stands, I realise he’s already showered and appears clean and rather pristine looking even though he’s only half dressed.Is half dressed the same as half undressed?I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man so at home in his own skin. He turns, pulling a shirt from a hanger hooked around the door handle to his dressing room as I take a moment to appreciate the sight of him. It’s unfair that anyone should look so good this early in the morning. His darker hair is still a little damp from the shower, his back broad and tanned, and his navy-blue pants hug the taut muscles of his delicious rear end.
My skin suddenly feels pricked by a million pins, my nipples drawing tight under the sheet. Is it too early to blame hormones? Why else would I turn to liquid at his touch?
‘Should I collect you up from work?’ His head lifts from fastening the tiny row of hinderances between my gaze and his skin. He shoots me a sly smirk. ‘Perhaps I should’ve woken you earlier.’
‘What?’ I shake my head for two reasons. One, waking me earlier than five thirty is practically waking me last night. And two, I also shake my head to rid myself of the idea of pulling him back to bed. ‘I’ve got my car, remember?’Remember wrist flicking and other bad behaviour?‘And I’ve got a dog sitting gig tonight.’
‘You’re still planning on doing that?’ His tone is a little unsettling, which might account for my response.
‘Well, yeah. Unless that email I got yesterday is legitimate, and that I am in fact related to a Congolese prince who just kicked the bucket and left me ten million. Failing that, I’ll still be pet-sitting for the foreseeable.’
James mutters something under his breath that sounds a little likeunbelievable.
‘You don’t have to worry about money now.’
