Here, it’s minimalistic but a bit cosier. I fall onto the plush sofa, throwing my head back. “This is so comfy.”
“We can get a similar one for home.”
Home.
No idea if he’s calling it that on purpose, but somewhere deep down, in that wrong part of my soul, I believe it.
Whether I like to admit it or not, the King mansion has become my home. Jonathan’s home is my home.
That’s a scary thought.
I vaguely remember that I only have a few months left of the agreement we had, but I stopped thinking about that a long time ago.
I bite my lower lip as I open my eyes. Jonathan stands in front of me, his jacket slung over his shoulder, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He lost the tie somewhere during the flight. Some strands of his black hair are tousled and falling over his forehead, making him appear the most ruggedly handsome I’ve ever seen him.
He’s studying me intently. He’s always doing that, watching me, pulling me to the centre of his attention as if I’ve always belonged there. “You should go rest.”
“I’m fine.” Rest is the last thing on my mind right now. I clench my thighs together, trapping the tingles in. I can’t believe I’m turned on by just his appearance.
If Lay hears about this, she won’t let me live it down.
“You must have jet lag, Aurora.”
“I don’t.”
“You might not feel it now, but exhaustion will soon take over you. It’ll be better once you sleep.”
“I slept enough on the plane.”
He sighs. “Must you have an objection to everything? Stop fighting me about your health and go rest.”
I’m apparently doing a shit job at showing my interest, so I try again, this time lowering my voice. “Are you going to join me?”
I swear something shines in his eyes, but the blank façade returns all too soon. “I have to make a few calls.”
“Fine.” I huff, getting to my feet. “Whatever.”
I bypass him and stomp to the stairs like an angry kid with issues. Damn him.
Upstairs, there are only two rooms, so I go into the first one. Sure enough, there’s a large bed with white sheets, and the curtains are drawn, hiding the sun.
I kick my shoes off, then jerkily strip off my clothes. Disappointment sticks at the back of my throat like a foul aftertaste, but I refuse to acknowledge it.
Screw Jonathan.
I step into the glass shower and let the cool water submerge me. A full-body mirror is positioned in front of me, making me watch myself shower. It must be another one of the prince’s creations — a weird as hell one. Who even does that?
I close my eyes and try to let the flow of the water rinse away my thoughts. But no matter how long I stand there, my mind keeps jumping back to the shitshow I left behind in England. This island is merely a temporary solution.
There’s no way in hell I can escape forever. Besides, now that Layla and her family are involved, it’s one more reason to not escape. It’s not like I can take them all and smuggle them to Scotland or out of the UK with me.
A warm body envelops me from behind, his hard chest moulding to my wet back. He pulls my hair to the side, baring my throat before he wraps a hand around it.
Jonathan’s lips graze the shell of my ear as he murmurs, “Is this what you meant by joining you?”
My thighs tighten as the earlier wave of arousal slams back into me with a vengeance. There’s nothing I love more than the feel of Jonathan’s body glued to my skin and his hot breaths mingled with mine.
His free hand comes down on my arse, and I yelp, my eyes shooting open. God. It hurts so good with the water like this.