Page 48

“Now comes two hundred pages of this man groveling for her,” I said, utterly delighted. “We get to see him yearn and want. Maybe a secret moment or two. Settle in, Wolfe. It’s going to be a long night.”

He mirrored my pose, slumping down in his seat. He propped his temple up on his fist, red-brown eyes wholly locked on me.

“I don’t sleep,” he reminded me. “I’ll win.”

I stuck my tongue out at him and turned the page. A surprised huff of laughter erupted from his seat. Joy speared through me, sharp and sweet. I memorized the feel of it, the way my heart began to beat faster in my chest.

I read past midnight, until my voice turned rough from exhaustion. We were on the cusp of something, I could feel it ramping up in the pages. I loved this part—the tension, the build up, the promise of it all crumbling down and someone breaking first.

Finally, three pages later, it arrived. A declaration that had me sitting up, hand pressed to my chest.

“‘Despite it all, despite every way we have tortured each other, I am undone by you. I exist only when you look at me. See me now, and tell me that I am not yours.’” I was breathless, captivated. “Oh, shit.”

Wolfe had his elbows braced on his knees. “Incredible.”

“There’s more,” I said, eyebrows raised. “If your sensitive ears can take it.”

Pure challenge lingered in the lines of him and he gave me a nod, jaw clenched tight.

“Do your worst.”

It was an effort to keep my voice even. To keep the scalding blush creeping up my neck at bay. It was one thing to write it in the privacy of my room where no one could see me or hear me. It was another thing entirely to read it out loud to a man that looked like that.

Midway through the scene, Wolfe stood. He moved the end table out of the way and rotated the couch around. I trailed off mid sentence as he shuffled the pillows, arranging them over the arm of the couch.

“What are you doing?” I rasped.

“Theorizing,” he said mildly. “Why? Is that a blush I see?”

Absentmindedly, I touched my face. Warm. Too warm. “Not at all.”

He moved to the arm of the couch, hands held out like he was holding an invisible pair of hips. I nearly fainted right to the floor.

“Mmm,” he rumbled. “I would never have thought…”

A strangled noise left me. “Are you…are you testing out their sex position?” I managed.

“I’m a man of research,” he said airily. “Like to have my facts straight.”

I closed the book around my finger, keeping my place. The Irish Lord in the book did currently have Elise bent over the settee in their room, hips held aloft by the arm of the couch while he wrecked them both.

The angle would be nice…

I shook myself. “You’re being a menace.”

The grin that spread over his face was arrogant, slow. Every part of me heated under the weight of it.

“It seems a romance writer can still be scandalized,” he mused, running a hand down the pillows. I felt that same touch echo down the length of my spine.

I grumbled something unintelligible under my breath.

Wolfe chuckled, leaning his hip against the couch. “Keep going.”

I didn’t want to keep going. I wanted to take an ice bath or jump in the sea. Whichever one would cool my heated blood down faster.

“Or are you too…flushed to continue?”

I glared at Wolfe and snapped the book back open. After a few more pages, I wished I hadn’t. The lord moved Elise from the arm of the chair to the wall by the fire, letting the heat and flames paint her skin in rosy pinks and bronzes. Wolfe moved to the wall beside the mantle, one hand braced against the wood.