The Mister Read online E.L. James

Categories Genre: Chick Lit, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
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Since when have scruples stopped me fucking?

I was supposed to go out tonight and find a willing hot woman.

“Is this because you’ve met someone?”

“No.”

Yes.

Maybe.

I don’t know.

“Come on, I’ll put you to bed.” I curl my arm around her shoulders and lead her into my seldom-used spare bedroom.

* * *

At some point in the night, the mattress dips as Caroline climbs in beside me. Relieved that I remembered to put on pajama bottoms, I pull her into my arms.

“Maxim,” she whispers, and I hear the invitation in her voice.

“Go to sleep,” I grumble, and close my eyes.

It doesn’t matter to me that she was my brother’s wife. She’s my best friend and the woman who knows me best. She’s also a warm body and a comfort, and I’m grieving, too—but I’m not going to fuck her again.

No. That’s done.

She rests her head on my chest, and I kiss her hair and promptly fall asleep.

Chapter Six

Alessia cannot contain her excitement. She clutches the umbrella and enters his apartment. Today she’s pleased to note that the alarm doesn’t sound.

He’s here!

Last night in her narrow bed, she’d dreamed of him again—malachite-green eyes, shining smile, and that expressive face—engrossed in his music as he played the piano. She’d woken breathless and full of desire. And the last time she’d seen him, he’d been kind enough to lend her his umbrella, and it had kept her dry on the way home and all day yesterday. She’d not received much kindness since she came to London, except from Magda, of course, so his gesture meant that much more. Pulling off her boots and leaving the umbrella in the hall, she hurries through to the kitchen. She is excited to see him.

She stops on the threshold.

Oh, no!

A blond woman wearing nothing but a man’s shirt, his shirt, is standing in the kitchen making coffee. She looks up and gives Alessia a polite but warm smile. Alessia recovers her capacity to move and walks through the kitchen toward the laundry room with her head bowed, in shock.

“Good morning,” the woman says. She looks as though she’s just climbed out of bed.

His bed?

“Good morning, missus,” Alessia mumbles as she walks past her. Once in the laundry room, she stands for a moment to process this crushing turn of events.

Who is this woman with big blue eyes?

Why is she wearing his shirt? A shirt Alessia had ironed for him only last week.

This woman is with him. She must be. Why else is she wandering around wearing his shirt? She must know him intimately.

Intimately.

Of course he has someone. Someone beautiful.

Like him.

Alessia’s dreams lie in shards at her feet. Her face clouds as disappointment constricts her heart. Sighing, she removes her hat, gloves, and anorak and slips on her housecoat.

What did she expect? He will never be interested in her—she is just his cleaner. Why would he want her?

The small bubble of joy she’d felt this morning—the first in a long time—has burst. She puts on her sneakers and sets up the ironing board. Her earlier excitement is a distant memory as she’s forced to face reality. From the dryer she fishes out his clean laundry, transferring it into the ironing basket. This is her place. This is what she was raised to do: keep house and look after a man.

She can still admire him from afar as she’s done since she saw him naked on his bed. There is nothing to stop her from doing that.

Feeling discouraged, she exhales as she fills the iron with more water.

Alessia stands in the doorway. A vision in blue.

Slowly she removes her scarf and lets her plait swing free.

Shake your hair out for me.

She smiles.

Come in. Lie with me. I want you.

But she turns, and she’s in my drawing room. Polishing the piano. Studying my score.

She’s wearing nothing but pink panties.

I reach over to touch her, but she disappears.

She’s standing in the hall. Eyes wide. Clutching a broom.

Naked.

She has long legs. I want them wrapped around my waist.

“I made you some coffee,” Caroline whispers.

I groan, reluctant to wake. A large part of my anatomy is also enjoying my dream. Fortunately, I’m on my front, so my erection is pressing against the mattress, hidden from my sister-in-law.

“You have no food. Shall we go out for breakfast, or shall I have Blake bring us something?”

I groan again, which is my way of saying fuck off and leave me alone. But Caroline is persistent.

“I met your new daily. She’s very young. What happened to Krystyna?”

Shit! Alessia is here?

I roll over to find Caroline sitting on the side of the bed. “Do you want me to get back in?” she asks with a coy smile, her head nodding toward the pillow.

“No,” I answer, gazing at her lovely but disheveled state. “You made coffee dressed like that?”

“Yes.” She frowns. “Why? Does my body offend you? Or are you pissed off I’m wearing one of your shirts?”


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