His Domain
Page 27
“Mmm…” came the reply, along with a very displeased expression.
“Hey,” Jayme said sharply, raising her eyebrows, “you might be in charge in the bedroom, mister, but I’m putting my foot down here. Hopefully you’ll get a date through for the operation really soon. And the sooner you have the op, the sooner you’ll be recovered and we can get back to normal. In the meantime”—she grinned widely—”we’ll just have to get creative, won’t we?”
Much to Jayme’s relief, Tristan finally smiled. “You’re right, as always, wife of mine. Clearly I’m not happy about this—fucking carpal tunnel bollocks, spoiling all our fun—but it could be a lot worse, I suppose. At least they’re not operating on my dick!”
“True.” She giggled. “That would take some creativity of epic proportions!”
“It would,” he agreed. “So, does this mean we have to have sex more often, then?”
Frowning, Jayme replied, “How do you figure that out?”
“Well, if it’s too risky to spank you, then surely wanking is going to be bad for my wrist, too! And I’m not sure that when the doctor asked if we had any questions, he meant of this nature, did he?”
Jayme laughed again. “No, I’m sure he didn’t. I think we’d have given the poor man a heart attack if we’d started asking him how we were going to get on with our particular kind of sex life without exacerbating your problem. And I was under the impression we already had plenty of sex and that you don’t feel the need to toss yourself off very often.”
“I don’t.” He shrugged. “But you can’t blame a man for trying, can you? Especially when that man’s wife looks like you.”
“No, I suppose not.” She grinned then slipped her arms around the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Closing her eyes, Jayme allowed herself to get into the touching of their lips, the parting, the questing tongues, shoving all thoughts of not being able to have her arse reddened to the recesses of her mind. She loved Tristan with all her heart, and their relationship was so much more than sex and kink, so they’d just have to get on with it.
Excerpt from ‘A Private Education’ by Dolly Watt
Emma had never met a member of the aristocracy before, but Lord Leopold Denby-Peel, Ninth Earl of Folchester, wasn’t what she’d been expecting. Tall, broad-shouldered and handsome, he stood before her, his hair hanging in an unruly mop, his blue-gray eyes glittering in a craggy, big-boned face. Emma hadn’t, either, been expecting the earl to be answering the enormous oak door to Ashlaine Hall, or to be naked from the waist upwards. Didn’t the nobility have butlers? Shirts?
The earl rubbed his damp, tousled hair with a hand towel. Emma’s eyes briefly strayed over his muscular, richly-haired chest and down to the dark line that disappeared into the waistband of his gray sweatpants.
“Forgive the déshabillé,” he said. “Just got out of the shower. I’m rather short of staff these days.” He flung his towel over one shoulder and thrust out his hand. “Call me Leo.”
His grip was warm and confident, as was his smile. “Do come in,” he continued. “I’ll take you straight up to the library. I bet you’re keen to get cracking.”
Emma followed the earl into a grand entrance hall, her heels ringing on the checkerboard tiles while his bare feet padded noiselessly. Muscles shifted in the broad wedge of his smooth, honey-tanned back as he toweled his hair, dark fluff flashing under his arms. Above them, an enormous chandelier glinted in the wintry sunlight, and the high gloomy walls were hung with stags’ heads and militaristic flags on poles.
“The place has become a bit of a burden,” he said, draping his towel over both shoulders. “The East Wing is leaking and causing terrible damp problems. The tower needs renovating, the outbuildings are practically derelict. And I don’t have the readies to fix it.”
“Do you live here alone?” asked Emma, glancing left and right at grand reception rooms and corridors.
“Yes, apart from a couple of dogs and a handful of staff,” he replied, turning to offer a polite smile. “I’m not the marrying kind.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Not at all. I’m not gay either, if that was your next question. Just one flight of stairs. Follow me.”
“I wasn’t—”
“If I can get some money together,” he went on, his hand on the oak banister, “I should be able to attract some funding for repairs and upkeep. I’m loath to sell the library to a private collector, though, so I’m very grateful that you’ve taken an interest. Obviously I’d need some form of financial recompense but—”
“Well, the library service does have a pot of money for acquisitions,” said Emma, arching her neck to address the back of his head rather than his pert backside. “But the books would need to be deemed of public interest. And I’m afraid we couldn’t pay the sums you’d get from a private collector at auction.”
“That’s not a problem,” replied Leo curtly. “I’m a book lover. I want the books to be housed where they can be appreciated, not squirreled away in the home of some old fogey with more money than sense. Books shouldn’t be status symbols, don’t you agree? Just along this corridor.”
Emma hurried to keep pace with the earl, inhaling the clean, soapy scent trailing in his wake as they passed gilt-framed portraits of important-looking men from bygone eras. Leo’s stride was long and confident, while Emma, dressed smartly in heels and a chocolate-brown skirt-suit, was hampered by her clothing and had to keep scampering so as not to fall behind. Eventually, they reached a glossy wooden door.
“After you,” said Leo, pushing the door open.
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