Perfect Bastard (by Mary D. Sant) novel Chapter 52

Chapter 52:

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“When I feel like it, I’ll let you know, but that’s not the case.” I forced a smile.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he said, making me genuinely smile.

If we kept this up, I’d be limping for a week when I got back home. I pushed his hands away before stepping out of the shower, leaving him

alone.

“Have a good day, Mr. Morgan.”

“You don’t want to do that.”

“I already did,” I said over my shoulder before leaving the bathroom.

I had to admit, provoking him was somewhat fun.

I went downstairs for breakfast before Ethan came out of the shower. Jack and Bennett had gone for a run, but the rest of my friends were in

the kitchen, having coffee and discussing the itinerary for our third day of the trip.

The plan was to visit a historic building, a famous medieval castle dating #rom the eleventh century, which offered a guided tour. After that, we

had one more winery to visit, which meant I’d probably be drunk by the end of the day. That sounded excellent.

‘Did anyone else hear a noise last night that seemed to come from downstairs?” Zara asked, sitting in a chair around the kitchen counter, on

the opposite side of me, making me freeze.

“Maybe what you heard was Miss Brown’s snoring.”

I heard his footsteps behind me and turned halfway to look at him. There was an idiotic smile plastered on his face. God! His hair was still wet,

making him look even sexier.

And why the hell was he wearing a leather jacket? Definitely playing dirty blinked away the desire.

‘I don’t snore, you rude jerk. But what should I expect from someone like you?” I showed him the middle finger before turning away.

A second later, he stopped behind me and whispered almost inaudibly.

‘I didn’t hear you complaining about my rudeness last night.”

Damn it! He couldn’t just say something like that when everyone was around. I struggled to maintain a neutral expression while he walked away, grinning.

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A few hours later, things didn’t look much better. Mr. Morgan seemed very intent on flirting with our French guide during the tour of the

castle. Her name was Lola, she had wavy blonde hair and big green eyes.

Although she was pretty, I knew he was doing it just to try to annoy me;ust didn’t know why. And I also didn’t know why the hell I couldn’t

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Chapter 52:

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avoid feeling jealous.

But the way he smiled at her and acted exaggeratedly attentive, helping her up a step or assisting with the things she was carrying, was getting

on my nerves.

At some point, when the guided tour ended and he continued talking to her while the others drifted away, I wondered if he might actually be

interested in her.

Maybe I was being presumptuous to think he was acting that way just to irritate me. Maybe he was just being a damn jerk.

I knew I had no right to feel jealous, but now we had a damn rule about not sleeping with other people during this trip, a rule he had created himself. But apparently, it didn’t mean he couldn’t flirt with whoever he wanted.

“He’s getting exactly what he wants. At least try to hide that face, Anna said, stopping next to me. We were on the top floor of one of the tall

towers.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I turned to look at the view through the window.

The monument was surrounded by green fields and tall trees.

“Don’t worry, I noticed he looks at you every ten seconds to check your reaction.”

“He’s a big idiot.” I huffed.

“And you’re jealous. It seems the idea of having wild sex like you’re two strangers is going down the drain.”

Hell. I didn’t need to hear Anna say that. Things already seemed confusing enough in my head. I couldn’t continue what we were doing if I started feeling anything for him. It couldn’t happen; it was unacceptable. But maybe my jealousy meant it was already too late.

When we finished the tour of the castle, we went to a nearby village. Every French village seemed to have a more peculiar name than the last, names I could barely pronounce. Basically, we were doing the Burgundy wine route.

There were gentle hills along the way, and the vineyards stretched in rows between each village. The villages always seemed to follow the same typical French architecture, beautiful limestone houses and tiled roofs, wih vineyards all around.

Old wine shops could be found in almost every village, some dating back to or three centuries, as well as hotels and churches with Gothic

architecture.

Sometimes I felt like I was in one of those old French movies when I stopped to look at the scenery. The place made me feel too American. It

must be normal for a California girl.

Automatically, that made me miss my parents. Maybe I’d still manage to it them when I got back to New York, before having to return to

work.

We stopped for lunch at a traditional restaurant in the center. We pushed few tables together to accommodate our group. The space was quite

small, so we took up half of the place, as we were twelve.

We opted not to sit at the tables available outside. The place seemed incredibly cozy in a messy way, with a wooden ceiling and quirky

chandeliers made from a wire structure that tried to imitate flowers or well some kind of modern art.

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