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Utterly ridiculous.
So why couldn’t she forget it? Why had she woken up every morning for the past week tangled in her sheets with her heart pounding, tendrils of sensual dreams she’d never experienced before lingering with her throughout the day?
She paused halfway across the bridge. Morbid curiosity drew her to the edge and she leaned over. The drop down to the thin line of water at the bottom of the gorge was dizzying. She sucked in a deep breath, knew she was secure behind the solid wall of stone. But her heart beat a little faster as she continued on.
On toward the one man who had stirred inside her a carnal curiosity that, despite her best intentions, she couldn’t ignore.
It had been easy to resist the attentions of overly hormonal teenage boys when she’d been so fixated on earning money for college. Then, once she’d reached Chicago, dating had fallen low on her priority list. One girl in her dorm, Louisa, had accused her of having impossible standards. Of building up what her first time would be like to impossible heights no man could meet.
Perhaps, Rosalind thought as her shoes scraped across the stone underfoot, Louisa had been right. Perhaps she’d never let her dates go beyond a kiss because she’d been afraid. Afraid that her fantasies of her first time, of intimacy and sex and the man she would share her body with, would fall far short of her desires.
Except now everything she’d ever dreamed about in the safety of her own bed and her own flat was coming to life at the worst possible moment.
Not to mention the worst possible man.
Her phone rang and yanked her out of her immature thoughts. Cursing when she saw who was calling, she answered.
“Yes, sir?”
“Where are you?”
Robert Nettleton’s voice, smooth as whiskey and cold as ice, snapped through the line.
“France, sir.”
“Making progress, then?”
“Yes, sir.”
Kind of...sort of...not really.
“Good. I needn’t remind you of what rides on the completion of this contract, Miss Sutton.”
She gritted her teeth.
Only every other time we’ve talked the past six weeks.
“No, sir.”
“Good. The deadline is eight days away.”
“I have a flight booked back to London for Tuesday, sir.”
“Be in my office by Wednesday morning at nine a.m. with the signed contract, Miss Sutton. I want to see it with my own eyes. Daily updates are encouraged.”
She rolled her eyes. It was as if her hard work the past few years had been wiped away over one damned document.
“Yes, sir.”
“Your future at this firm—”
A burst of static made her wince as she moved off the bridge and into the shadows of the trees.
“Sir?” The static faded, followed by a single beep. “Great.” Rosalind shoved her phone in her pocket. While she wasn’t upset at her conversation being cut short, she didn’t care for the lack of reception as she prepared to walk into the proverbial lion’s den.
Walk to the chateau. Get the signature. Get out.
Cool air kissed her skin as she moved beneath the trees. Quiet descended, save for the soft crunch of shells beneath her feet and the occasional trill of a bird. The tension she’d been carrying slowly drained away, replaced by the peace she had desperately been seeking ever since she’d had the unfortunate luck to be assigned to the Lykaois case.
