Read Online Where the Lotus Flowers Grow by Mk Schiller - Free Book Online Page B

by another. I’m sure you are capable, but I don’t want you to handle anything outside of your job description.”
    We looked at each other, the irony of my words hanging in the air. The tension grew thicker than the humidity. She surprised me with a laugh. I found myself laughing as well. What I’d just said was ridiculous considering we were having a quiet dinner for two in my hotel room. Definitely not part of her job description.
    “Do you always need to control everything?”
    “Not at all. I’m very flexible, actually. For example, just recently I was talked into saving a fountain and convinced to attend a surprise birthday party. So you see, I’m pretty easy going.”
    She tilted her head. “Touché.”
    “Ah, do you speak French as well? What else don’t I know about you, Lotus Girl? You have a black belt? Maybe you’re a spy engaging in a form of corporate espionage.”
    “No, no, and certainly not.”
    “Do you really think I’m a bully?”
    “Sir, I completely understand your need to rule. It is in your blood, isn’t it?”
    “Ouch, is that a barb on the British imperialism of India?”
    “Possibly.” Her grin turned sly, fucking sexy.
    “Your country has been free since before you were born…way before. Still holding a grudge, then?”
    She placed her fingers together to indicate a pinch. “Maybe a small one.”
    “And you’re placing all that on my shoulders, yeah?”
    Mary shrugged. “You have very broad shoulders. I think they can sustain it.”
    “I assure you none of my ancestors made any decisions regarding Her Majesty’s pleasure when it came to this country or any other.”
    “How can you be sure?”
    “I come from a long line of surly bastards. None were proper enough for Parliament or Her Majesty. As a matter of fact, my grandmother was Scottish, so you could venture to say both our cultures have sustained suffering under the same flag.”
    Her mouth crinkled with amusement. “Scottish? Have you ever worn a kilt?”
    “No…never.”
    Her mouth turned downward.
    “Does that disappoint you?”
    “Slightly. I think it would suit you.”
    I turned on the Sean Connery brogue. “You have a thing for lads in kilts, do you?”
    She chewed on her bottom lip, a pretty shade of crimson reddening her cheeks. “There is something…appealing about it. At least based on books I’ve read.”
    “Historical novels?”
    She nodded, playing with the label on her water bottle. “Highlanders and the lasses they love.”
    “And where do you procure such books here?”
    “There is a store some distance away. I take the bus there on my days off. Not much selection, but I can usually find something to rent.”
    “Rent? Like a library?”
    “Sort of. You pay for the book and return it for partial refund. I buy a book in the morning, drink my tea, devour the whole thing in one sitting, and return it at night. You can also purchase books outright, but I never have.” She pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around them.
    I almost asked her to shift so I could capture her profile better. “I see. You know, your pronunciation is perfect. You actually sound British sometimes.”
    She graced me with a lovely smile, the kind of expression that made men want to freeze the image of beautiful women on canvas, stone, or clay.
    “My family lived in England for a few years when I was younger. I was only two, and we moved back when I was eight, but it was where I learned English. I suppose I retained the inflection. My papa studied at Cambridge.”
    The pencil fell from my hand. She picked it up.
    “I lived in Luton. That’s about an hour from Cambridge.”
    She dropped the pencil. We both went to pick it up. Our foreheads bumped on the way back up, like some silly Monty Python bit.
    “Sorry,” I said, stroking her hair. God, it did feel like silk. Her body tensed against my touch. I dropped my hand immediately, unsure which I regretted more, starting or stopping the action.
    “It’s okay.