Mr. Blackwell: Part Three (A Billionaire Romance) by Emilia Winters

Author:Emilia Winters [Winters, Emilia]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2015-06-01T07:00:00+00:00

EIGHT

I came awake slowly to a soft caress.

Moaning, I snuggled deeper into Tristan, sticky from warmth and sleep. His hand traced my shoulder as sunlight pierced through the room, bright and relentless.

“Morning,” he murmured, voice gravelly.

“Mmmm, good morning,” I managed.

I could hear the smile in his voice. “Are you going to wake up for me, sweetheart?”

“Do I have to?”

“It’s almost ten in the morning. Mary will barge in here if we’re not downstairs in a half hour for breakfast. She doesn’t believe in sleeping in. Or having a ‘lie-in’ as she calls them.”

I turned over onto my back, my t-shirt bunching around my stomach. “All right.”

He stroked my hair away from my face, looking down at me. Propped up on his elbow, shirtless and all bronze muscle, he was a great sight to wake up to in the mornings.

“What does this mean?” he suddenly asked.

I blinked up at him, the fogginess of my brain clearing. “What?”

He gestured between us with a flick of his fingers. “You and me. Last night. Right now.”

Oh.

I sighed, not knowing how to explain. So I told him the simple truth of the matter. “I was laying in bed last night and I realized that it wasn’t where I wanted to be. I wanted to be with you. And so…here I am.”

Tristan’s eyes softened—a look that made my breath catch—and he leaned down to give me a soft kiss. “Works for me.”

And even though I wanted to stay in bed with him all day, he persuaded me to get dressed for breakfast. Ten minutes later, we were entering the kitchen where Mary had a full Scottish breakfast prepared—fried eggs, haggis, black pudding, tomatoes, mushrooms, potato scones, bacon rashers, and sausages.

Turned out, I was quite a fan of haggis, but of course, I tried it before Tristan laughingly told me what it was. Mary joined us for breakfast, although Tim, her husband, was off feeding the horses. Over breakfast, we talked how she’d grown up in a little town called Cruden Bay, which was on the eastern shores of Scotland. She’d told me stories of Tristan as a child and how he’d always been so serious, nothing like his sister, Aria, who was a little hellion. I didn’t ask questions about Aria, because even though Mary seemed to know the two well, Tristan still hadn’t said anything about her to me. It seemed like I would be prying if I asked.

Mary asked me about my family and seemed quite put out when I told her my family and I only spoke every so often. “Why, I call my children every day! And you better believe they ken to call if I doona.” I was thoroughly chastised, much to the amusement of Tristan. At least until she said to him, “And doona even get me started on you.”

I was stuffed by the time breakfast was over. Completely filled to the brim, but Mary wouldn’t let us leave the table until both our plates were cleared. Tristan packed his breakfast away with ease, but I made him eat my bacon when Mary’s back was turned.

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