Page 119 of This Bitter Sweet Temptation
Just what I expected from the outside.
The house feels austere and impressive, but real and lived in, too.
There’s a lovely stone fireplace in the living room, a small study or office, and a dining room with wide windows.
Upstairs, there’s the master bedroom, Kit’s adorable bedroom decked in pink, and a spare room painted green with a fluffy white bed.
“Here you are,” Holden says, ducking into the guest room with my bags. There’s a fireplace here, too, one of those electric ones that’ll have fake flames when you switch it on.
“This is nice,” I say, spinning around to take it in. “Super nice. I’m a little jealous of the wallpaper with the pink shells in Kit’s room, but this will do.”
“Don’t forget to leave a review. Five stars.” He snorts, looking adorably awkward as he braces a hand against the doorframe and looks around, probably with new eyes.
I’m impressed at how effortlessly homey it feels.
“We don’t get a lot of company these days. This room hasn’t been used in years, not since—never mind.” He stops abruptly, walking past me to set my bag on the bed. “My room’s just across the hall if you need anything.”
“Oh, yeah. Kit showed me.”
How convenient. Barely a wall away when I wake up with wet panties.
I swallow awkwardly.
He hovers over me a second longer before he ducks back through the door and plods down the hall.
I sink down on the bed for a long second, just processing today’s insanity.
This still feels like a waking dream.
At least the mattress is a cloud. But I’m holed up in Holden’s guest room.
And what was with that weird hesitation?
It’s probably just been a while since he had a woman staying under his roof, I guess.
I can’t help wondering about the former Mrs. Holden Verity, whoever she was.
He’s barely mentioned her—except to make it viciously clear he isn’t married. There was violence behind the words.
Why? Did he have a life with her she betrayed?
Did she live in this cute house and sleep in this bedroom?
Probably not, I tell myself. She’d have slept in his room, I’m sure.
Man, I need to stop.
My blood feels like cold coffee, melancholy yet humming, as I start unpacking, moving methodically. Nothing about this feels real.
First, we were attacked by thieves in ski masks like some bad thriller movie, Holden blazing after them like a wolf, so feral, hell-bent on saving us as much as the Hera Egg.
Then the bathroom.
That bittersweet, molten glint in his eye.
Thatbulge.
That man’s dickprint is going to haunt me for weeks.
