Read Online A Brit on the Side (Castle Calder Book 1) by Brenda St John Brown - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brenda St John Brown
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idea of it still worked.
Jasper’s eyes widen enough for me to think maybe he and Theo have at least that in common, and I kind of hope their comparisons stop there. “Hmm. Like, I like pineapple on my pizza. I prefer villains to superheroes. And there’s an attic room in the castle, which I’ve always thought would be perfect for a tryst on a rainy afternoon.”
It’s not an invitation. Not an invitation. But my, oh my, Jasper’s words feel awfully deliberate. I give myself a mental high five for keeping my voice steady as I say, “Oh? Perfect how?”
“It’s small, so the bed is right next to the window, and it feels like you’re completely alone looking over the world when you’re up there.” Jasper leans in and his lips barely brush my ear. “Plus, it’s far away from the guestrooms. You don’t have to worry about being quiet.”
You .
My heart sings the word, even as my mind insists he means it in the generic sense. He’s not talking about me – even if one of the tidbits we talked about during our infamous weekend was how vocal we liked our partners to be in bed.
Are you promising to make me scream?
It’s the perfect opportunity to make this about us, but I chicken out as I say, “Sounds like you’ve spent a good amount of time there already.”
“I go up there sometimes when I need some space.”
Alone ?
Again, I take the chicken-shit route. “I don’t blame you. I imagine living where you work is intense.”
“Very.” Jasper steps back and peers behind the partition. When he faces me again, his expression is different. The smolder I didn’t even realize was in his eyes is gone, as is the hint of a grin from his mouth. His come-hither look has been replaced by not quite cool detachment, but close. “The Fishers are done with their soup. Scarlett’s clearing, so we should probably check on the mains.”
Shit. Between yesterday at the tennis court and now, I’m sending all the wrong signals. Jasper turns away and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Maybe one day I can see your attic room?”
Jasper stops and turns around slowly. “Maybe,” he says. Then he shrugs and walks away.
And I let him.
Chapter Eight
B y the time dinner and clean up are done, I’ve worked myself into the kind of shit mood usually only shopping for clothes inspires. So I explode when Scarlett comes into the kitchen where I’m helping Claire and Mrs. St Julien put away serving dishes and says, “Bea, Angela Fisher is asking to see you. Something about a bottle of Prosecco?”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Doesn’t that woman have anything better to do?”
“Whoa. I’m kidding.” Scarlett crosses the floor and peers down at me. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have joked about her, of all people.”
“No. You shouldn’t.” I rattle the bowls I’m stacking for emphasis.
Scarlett puts her hand on my arm. It’s the same spot Jasper reached for earlier in the dining room, but my reaction is totally different. This time I yank my arm away. She takes the bowls out of my hands and, when I glare at her, says, “What’s wrong?”
Scarlett asks this in a way that makes me want to sit down and actually tell her. Well, see, I had this little fling with your brother and I think he’s flirting with me, but I keep blowing it and I don’t know why. Instead, I feel my eyes fill and shake my head, turning away.
“Oh my God, Bea, what’s wrong?” Claire asks.
“You were fab tonight, darling. Don’t let a witch like Angela Fisher upset you,” Mrs. St Julien says.
I shake my head again. “I’m tired. Sorry. I don’t mean to get upset. I’m not even that bothered by her. I swear.”
I don’t have to look at her to know Scarlett’s eyes are still trained on me, trying to decide what to believe. I won’t look at her for fear her gaze will pry the truth from me and make a bad night even worse. When she speaks, her voice is bright. “She’s not worth tears, that’s for sure. I say we make an Angela
Jasper’s eyes widen enough for me to think maybe he and Theo have at least that in common, and I kind of hope their comparisons stop there. “Hmm. Like, I like pineapple on my pizza. I prefer villains to superheroes. And there’s an attic room in the castle, which I’ve always thought would be perfect for a tryst on a rainy afternoon.”
It’s not an invitation. Not an invitation. But my, oh my, Jasper’s words feel awfully deliberate. I give myself a mental high five for keeping my voice steady as I say, “Oh? Perfect how?”
“It’s small, so the bed is right next to the window, and it feels like you’re completely alone looking over the world when you’re up there.” Jasper leans in and his lips barely brush my ear. “Plus, it’s far away from the guestrooms. You don’t have to worry about being quiet.”
You .
My heart sings the word, even as my mind insists he means it in the generic sense. He’s not talking about me – even if one of the tidbits we talked about during our infamous weekend was how vocal we liked our partners to be in bed.
Are you promising to make me scream?
It’s the perfect opportunity to make this about us, but I chicken out as I say, “Sounds like you’ve spent a good amount of time there already.”
“I go up there sometimes when I need some space.”
Alone ?
Again, I take the chicken-shit route. “I don’t blame you. I imagine living where you work is intense.”
“Very.” Jasper steps back and peers behind the partition. When he faces me again, his expression is different. The smolder I didn’t even realize was in his eyes is gone, as is the hint of a grin from his mouth. His come-hither look has been replaced by not quite cool detachment, but close. “The Fishers are done with their soup. Scarlett’s clearing, so we should probably check on the mains.”
Shit. Between yesterday at the tennis court and now, I’m sending all the wrong signals. Jasper turns away and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Maybe one day I can see your attic room?”
Jasper stops and turns around slowly. “Maybe,” he says. Then he shrugs and walks away.
And I let him.
Chapter Eight
B y the time dinner and clean up are done, I’ve worked myself into the kind of shit mood usually only shopping for clothes inspires. So I explode when Scarlett comes into the kitchen where I’m helping Claire and Mrs. St Julien put away serving dishes and says, “Bea, Angela Fisher is asking to see you. Something about a bottle of Prosecco?”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Doesn’t that woman have anything better to do?”
“Whoa. I’m kidding.” Scarlett crosses the floor and peers down at me. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have joked about her, of all people.”
“No. You shouldn’t.” I rattle the bowls I’m stacking for emphasis.
Scarlett puts her hand on my arm. It’s the same spot Jasper reached for earlier in the dining room, but my reaction is totally different. This time I yank my arm away. She takes the bowls out of my hands and, when I glare at her, says, “What’s wrong?”
Scarlett asks this in a way that makes me want to sit down and actually tell her. Well, see, I had this little fling with your brother and I think he’s flirting with me, but I keep blowing it and I don’t know why. Instead, I feel my eyes fill and shake my head, turning away.
“Oh my God, Bea, what’s wrong?” Claire asks.
“You were fab tonight, darling. Don’t let a witch like Angela Fisher upset you,” Mrs. St Julien says.
I shake my head again. “I’m tired. Sorry. I don’t mean to get upset. I’m not even that bothered by her. I swear.”
I don’t have to look at her to know Scarlett’s eyes are still trained on me, trying to decide what to believe. I won’t look at her for fear her gaze will pry the truth from me and make a bad night even worse. When she speaks, her voice is bright. “She’s not worth tears, that’s for sure. I say we make an Angela
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