4. Lili
Lili
I jolted awake, my heart hammering against my ribs like a caged bird.
For a split second, I was still in Edward's bed, his storm-gray eyes boring into mine, the space between our lips measured in heartbeats rather than inches.
Sweet Jesus.
I kicked off my covers and stumbled to the bathroom in my blue suite, splashing cold water on my face. The reflection staring back at me looked thoroughly debauched—hair a wild nest of curls, lips swollen from biting them in my sleep, cheeks flushed red as ripe tomatoes.
"Get it together, Lili," I whispered to the mirror. "He's Daphne's brother. Her brother ."
But my traitorous brain kept replaying every second of that encounter.
The way his pupils had dilated when he saw me.
The weight of his body hovering over mine.
That moment when time seemed to suspend itself and all that existed was the space between our lips—a space he'd been closing with deliberate, agonizing slowness.
I gripped the sink edge so hard my knuckles went white.
This was bad. This was catastrophically, monumentally bad.
I was Daphne's guest, for crying out loud. She'd saved me from that nightmare hotel situation, given me a roof over my head when I had nowhere else to go. I couldn't repay that kindness by lusting after her brother like some sort of—
A knock at my door made me jump out of my skin.
"Miss Lili?" A crisp British accent I didn't recognize. "Mrs. Worthington requests your presence for breakfast in the morning room. Nine-thirty sharp."
I glanced at the clock. Nine-fifteen. Fantastic.
"I'll be right there!" I called, my voice cracking slightly.
I threw on the first respectable dress I could find—a vintage-inspired navy number with tiny white polka dots that Mama had insisted I pack "for meeting fancy people.
" My hair refused to cooperate no matter how much I wrestled with it, so I gave up and twisted it into a messy bun, securing it with a pencil since I couldn't find any proper hair ties.
I recalled getting lost the previous night before, I swung open the door and thankfully requested the staff to guide me to breakfast.
The morning room, it turned out, was precisely what it sounded like—a sun-drenched space with windows facing east, decorated in cheerful yellows and whites that should have been welcoming but somehow felt like a stage set for a play I didn't know the lines to.
Edward was already there.
He sat ramrod straight at the head of the table, reading what looked like the Financial Times with the same focused intensity most people reserved for holy scriptures. He'd traded his rumpled shirt from last night for a crisp, white button-down, and navy tie, looking every inch the powerful lawyer.
The only hint that he wasn't completely composed was the way his left hand gripped his coffee cup—tight enough that I worried he might shatter the delicate porcelain.
I hesitated in the doorway, suddenly wishing I'd faked a stomach bug.
"Good morning," Edward said without looking up from his paper. His voice carried that same careful politeness from our introduction, as if nothing had happened between us. As if I hadn't been sprawled across his bed like a pin-up calendar.
"Morning," I managed, sliding into the seat furthest from him. The table could have seated the entire cast of Dallas, but somehow the distance felt like nothing. "Daphne still doing her morning yoga pretzel impressions?"
"She'll be back for lunch." He turned a page with precise movements. "Mrs. Worthington thought you might prefer a proper English breakfast to start your day."
As if summoned, a middle-aged woman in a gray uniform appeared with a steaming plate that could have fed half of Texas. Eggs, bacon, sausages, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, black pudding, and beans. Enough cholesterol to stop a horse's heart.
"This is... substantial," I said, picking up a fork.
"I imagine breakfast in Texas is quite different." Edward's eyes flicked up to meet mine over the newspaper.
There was something in his tone—not quite condescending, but close enough to prickle.
I lifted my chin. "Honey, you haven't lived until you've had my Mama's biscuits swimming in gravy. Makes this look like health food."
A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before vanishing. "Indeed."
We lapsed into silence, broken only by the gentle clink of cutlery and the rustle of newspaper pages.
I tried to focus on my food, but every sip of his coffee, every small movement, seemed magnified in the charged air between us.
When he reached for the marmalade, our eyes met again, and I nearly choked on a piece of bacon.
"Are you quite alright?" His concern sounded genuine, but there was something else there too—awareness, maybe?
"Fine," I squeaked, grabbing my tea. "Just went down the wrong way."
He studied me for a moment longer than necessary before returning to his paper.
I caught myself staring at his hands—long, elegant fingers wrapped around his cup, the way his thumb traced absently along the rim.
Did he know he was doing that? Did he know what it was doing to my already overactive imagination?
This is ridiculous. I was a grown woman, not some teenager with a crush on the school heartthrob. I needed to act like it.
"So," I cleared my throat, going for casual conversation. "Daphne mentioned you're a lawyer?"
"I am." He didn't elaborate.
"What kind of law?"
"Corporate. Mergers and acquisitions primarily."
"Sounds... lucrative."
Something shifted in his expression. "It has its benefits."
Another silence fell, heavier this time. The morning sun caught the highlights in his dark hair, it felt as soft as it looked. Would it curl around my fingers if I—
Stop it.
I was in the middle of taking a sip of tea when Edward's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and his entire demeanor changed. The casual morning-paper reader was replaced by someone who looked like he was preparing for war.
"Excuse me," he murmured, stepping away from the table. "Pemberton," he answered, voice crisp. "Yes, I received your messages... No, I'm at the estate... The American acquisition?" Edward paced to the window, his free hand clasped behind his back.
I caught fragments that caught my attention: "American acquisition... timeline moved up... board approval..." Then, quieter but somehow more chilling: "Yes, I understand the sensitivity. The employee situation will be handled discreetly."
I focused very hard on my eggs, trying not to look like I was eavesdropping while straining to hear every word.
"I'll be back in London this afternoon," Edward continued. "Yes, we can move forward, but I want to see everything first. Every document, every contingency." A pause. "Because I don't like surprises, Malcolm. You know this."
He ended the call and stood at the window for a long moment, tension radiating from his shoulders. When he finally turned back, his mask was perfectly in place again.
"I apologize. I need to return to London earlier than planned."
"Work emergency?" I asked.
"Something like that." He moved to gather his things from the sideboard—briefcase, keys, that expensive watch he'd been wearing last night. "I trust you'll be comfortable here with Daphne."
"Of course." I hesitated, then added, "I hope everything's alright."
Our eyes met again, and for a heartbeat, the careful politeness cracked. I saw something raw flash across his features—desire mixed with frustration and something that looked like regret.
"It will be," he said finally. "Enjoy your stay at Grosvenor Manor, Miss Anderton."
The formality stung more than it should have. After what had nearly happened between us, Miss Anderton felt like a slap.
"Thank you, Mr. Grosvenor."
Two could play at that game.
He gathered his newspaper and coffee, pausing at the door. "I should mention—the library is at your disposal if you enjoy reading. Daphne mentioned you might appreciate the garden design section."
"That's... thoughtful."
He nodded curtly and left, leaving me alone with my half-eaten breakfast and a room that still held the faint scent of his cologne—bergamot and cedar and something uniquely him.
I slumped in my chair, suddenly exhausted despite having been awake for less than an hour. This was going to be harder than I'd thought.
American acquisition. The phrase kept echoing in my head.
Whatever it was, it had put that hard, business look back on Edward's face. The same look he'd worn when he'd first found me—before the heat had flared between us.
The library at Grosvenor Manor was exactly what I'd expected from a four-hundred-year-old estate—floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, rolling ladders, leather-bound volumes that probably cost more than my car.
What I hadn't expected was the cozy reading nook with overstuffed cushions, modern lighting, and an entire section dedicated to contemporary gardening.
I'd been curled up there for hours, skimming through books on British garden design and trying not to think about storm-gray eyes and the way Edward's tie had sat slightly askew at breakfast.
I’d failed spectacularly on that last part.
My phone buzzed. Cece.
"Finally!" I answered on the first ring. "I need an emergency best-friend consultation."
"Ooh, drama! I live for this. Wait, hold on—" I heard muffled conversation, then her voice again. "Sorry, client call. Okay, I'm all yours. What's the crisis?"
"I think I'm attracted to Daphne's brother."
Silence. Then, "The stuffy British lawyer?"
"Allegedly stuffy. Actually..." I sank deeper into the cushions, clutching a book on clematis varieties like a shield. "Actually, he's gorgeous. And last night, there was this moment—"
"What kind of moment?" Cece's voice sharpened with interest.
I told her everything. The bedroom incident, the almost-kiss, the charged breakfast. By the time I finished, she was making those little humming sounds that meant she was processing at maximum speed.