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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I want her. Badly.

I’m infatuated.

There, I’ve admitted it to myself. She’s invaded my thoughts and my dreams since I laid eyes on her.

I fucking burn for her.

But in all my fantasies, she shares my desire. I want her, yes. But I want her wet and willing—I want her to want me, too. I know I could seduce her, but right now if she were to say yes, she’d be doing so for all the wrong reasons.

Besides, I promised her that I wouldn’t touch her unless she wanted me.

I close my eyes.

When did I acquire a conscience?

Deep down I know the answer. I am hamstrung by our inequality.

She has nothing.

I have everything.

And if I take advantage of her, what would that make me? No better than those fuckers with the Eastern European accents. I’ve brought her to Cornwall because I want to protect her from them—and now I have to protect her from myself.

Fuck.

This is uncharted territory.

While I down the remaining beer, I wonder what’s happening at the Hall. I decide that I can find out tomorrow, and I’ll also let Oliver know where I am. I doubt there’s anything urgent to deal with and I’m sure he’ll be in touch if there is. I can work down here. I have my phone, though I wish I’d brought my laptop.

Right now I need some sleep.

Leaving the empty glass and the beer bottle on the counter, I switch off the lights and head upstairs. I pause outside her bedroom door and listen.

Shit!

She’s crying.

I’ve had my fill of wailing women over the last four weeks: Maryanne, Caroline, Danny, Jessie. An image of Kit’s lifeless body comes to mind, and my own grief rises raw and unexpected.

Kit. Fuck. Why?

Suddenly I’m bone tired. I contemplate leaving her to cry but hesitate outside her door as the sound pierces my mourning heart. I can’t leave her sobbing. Sighing, I steel myself, then knock gently on the door and let myself in.

She’s crumpled on the floor, her head in her hands, right where I left her. Her grief is a reflection of my own.

“Alessia. Oh, no!” I exclaim, and scoop her into my arms. “Hush, now,” I murmur, my voice cracking. I sit down on the bed, cradle her in my lap, and bury my face in her hair. Closing my eyes, I inhale her sweet scent and tighten my arms, holding her and rocking gently.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper past the knot that constricts my throat. I couldn’t rescue my brother from the demons that drove him out on his motorbike into an icy night, but I can help this beautiful girl, this beautiful, brave girl. Her sobbing ceases, and she splays her hand over my racing heart and holds it there, I don’t know for how long. Finally she quiets and relaxes against me.

She’s fallen asleep.

In my arms.

In the safety of my arms.

What a privilege this is—to hold a sleeping beauty.

I press a soft kiss in her hair and shift her onto the bed, then cover her with the throw. Her plait snakes across the pillow, and for a moment I consider untying it and freeing her hair, but she mumbles something unintelligible in her own language, and I don’t want to wake her. I wonder once more if I haunt her dreams like she haunts mine. “Sleep, beautiful,” I whisper, and switch off the light before I step onto the landing. I close her door, anxious that the glare shouldn’t wake her, then turn out the hall light and stride into my bedroom, leaving my door ajar.

Just in case she needs me…

I press the electronic closer for the blinds, which descend over the French windows facing the sea. In the walk-in wardrobe, I strip off my clothes and find a pair of pajamas that Danny has brought over from the main house and slip on the bottoms. In London I rarely wear pajamas, but in Cornwall, with all the staff present, I have no choice. Leaving my clothes in a heap on the floor, I head into the bedroom and climb into bed. I turn off the bedside lamp and stare into the inky darkness.

Tomorrow will be a better day. Tomorrow I’ll have the lovely Alessia Demachi to myself. I lie in bed questioning my judgment. I’ve taken Alessia away from all that she knows. She’s destitute, friendless, and totally alone. Well, she has me, and I have to behave myself. “You’re going soft in your old age,” I mutter, and fall into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

It’s the shrill sound of her scream that wakes me.

Chapter Twelve

It takes me a couple of seconds to orient myself, and she screams again.

Fuck.

Alessia.

I fly out of bed as adrenaline fuels my body, bringing all my senses to attention. Punching the lights on in the hall, I burst into her room. Alessia is sitting up in her bed. Her head whips around at the sound and light from the hallway, her eyes wild with terror.


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