“I have a newly acquired appreciation, to be honest. Next Jack Irons book will be out before the end of the coming year. Thanks for reading.”
“I mean, I didn’t love the last one, but…”
“Dad.”
“Can’t win ’em all.” Emmett shrugs.
I tilt the phone so Emmett isn’t in the window anymore. “So, Mom, I have a train to catch, but I wanted to tell you—I’ve decided to let Goliath stay here for a while. It’s my Christmas gift to Emmett. To thank him for letting me stay here. Is that all right with you?”
“Oh, that’s wonderful, baby girl. I was hoping one great cock would lead you to another.”
“Okay, gotta go—love you guys! Bye!”
I end the call before either of my parents says the words cock or yoni in front of Emmett one more time.
He grins at me. “They’re nice.”
“I can’t believe you talked to them.”
“What? Too soon to meet your parents?”
“Not too soon for me. I just didn’t think you’d…”
He puts his hands on my waist and draws me in for a hug. “You’d be surprised what I’d…”
I hug him so hard. I don’t want to let go.
“I called you a cab. It’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
“Okay.”
“When can I see you again?”
“You want to see me when we’re in the city?”
“Come to my place. It’s winter. You can wrap yourself up when you’re outside so no one recognizes you. And then I’ll unwrap you as soon as you’re in my apartment.”
He kisses the top of my head, and I press my face into one of his pecs.
Dizzy with love.
36
WILLIAM DEXTER
You Can Viscount on Me by Fiona Walker – Chapter 20
William Dexter was no stranger to scandals involving married women, but this was the first scandal that involved his own wife. It was the first scandal involving a woman he truly loved. It was the first scandal of its kind in the ton.
The unmasking of erotic romance author Harriet Sedgewick as Lady Camden was swift and shockingly ruthless. William never had much faith in those who claimed to be his friends in London. But even he was disappointed in the number of hypocritical acquaintances who had feigned consternation within his family’s social circle.
Though his wife was the subject of harsh gossip, her place in society was now protected by marriage into the aristocracy. However, it had a dire effect on her sisters’ marriage and social prospects this season. Lucy was most guilt ridden over these repercussions in particular. Adelaide had been so fond of the Duke of Maybrook, who had been showing her a great deal of attention until now. It was Lucy’s mother, Catherine, who was most unforgiving. This was to be expected.
William’s mother had been very fond of Lucy from the start, and she was one of the few avid readers who had rallied around her following the exposure. But it was his father, the Earl of Camden, who surprised William the most. He was the one who had suggested that William and Lucy retreat to Camden Manor until things settled down.
“Take your love to the manor,” he’d said. “Let it bloom there until the end of summer.”
William was touched by his father’s generosity of spirit during this crisis. They had never quite seen eye to eye, despite William’s longing for the earl’s respect. Growing up, living in the shadow of a great man had made it all the more difficult to be good. But William felt something akin to good, now that he was married to a woman who inspired him to be a better man.
Right.
Are we actually tryin’ to make readers puke now?
I know this here’s a first draft, luv. But maybe if you want to be a professional author, you can still manage injectin’ a bit of conflict into our story, even when you’re happy as Larry after he’s been shaggin’ all day. Know wot I mean?
Let’s not gloss over the good parts just cos you’re at the good part yourself now, yeah?
Take it back to London. Show me all their troubles. Gimme all the angst.
I bet your lad’s not havin’ any trouble chasin’ his hero up a tree and throwin’ stones at him.
Back to work, then. Chop chop.
37
JACK IRONS
The Departure by Emmett Ford (The Jack Irons Series, Book Six)
Jack’s apartment felt smaller now. It was like this every time he returned to Oceanside. Didn’t matter if he’d been across the country or on the other side of the world. When he walked into this apartment, it felt small. Or maybe it felt empty.
It felt wrong.
He was a fool.
For a few bewildering hours, he had allowed himself to imagine a life with Catalina. She had melted the chains around his heart, and by some strange alchemy, the melted iron had been forged into a shield that protected both of them. Or so he’d thought.
He hadn’t seen Catalina in two weeks. He took his time getting back to California after getting the call from her telling him not to come after her. “Don’t try to find me,” she’d said. “Save yourself.” Then she’d hung up. It was a seven-second phone call, and it had confused him more than every conversation he’d ever had with a woman. More than every conversation he’d ever had with women combined.
She had left Grand Central with her ex-husband. The man she’d been hiding from. The man who’d sent men to kidnap her. The men who’d tried to kill him in order to get to her. But she left with the red-haired man with the scar and then warned Jack to save himself.
He knew she was troubled. He knew she was trouble. But he couldn’t quite believe that she wanted to keep him out of trouble—even when he believed in a future with her.
It had been five days since anyone had tried to kill him. He still slept with one eye open, if he slept at all. It wasn’t just those men he’d been watching for. He would seek out Catalina without wanting to, for months or years. He would secretly hope, without wanting to, that she was seeking him.
There was a song in his head. It had been there ever since he’d met Catalina, mingling with her voice and the voice in his head that told him this was either too good or too crazy to last. It was the Bob Dylan song “You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome.” More upbeat than the usual music he listened to, but for the first time since his wife, he wasn’t feeling the blues. It wasn’t easy or slow, what he’d had with Catalina. But he did know, on some level, that he would look for her in Honolulu, San Francisco, and Ashtabula.
He was lonesome.
But he would let her go.
Jack locked the front door behind himself. There were no signs of tampering. The kitchen looked exactly as it had when he’d left it. It was dark, and it was quiet. Too quiet.
He smelled her before he heard her.
He’d been unarmed ever since Buffalo, but that scent disarmed him like nothing else could…with the exception of her smile. And her brown eyes. And her laugh…
Instinctively, he grabbed an empty beer bottle from the sink, gripping the neck of it with one hand. The door to his bedroom was closed, and he knew, as he slowly approached, who he’d find on the other side of it. He knew she was alone. He knew she’d been waiting for him since long before the sun went down. But he didn’t know if he could trust her.
He raised the bottle in the air and burst through the door.
Before he even saw her, Catalina grabbed the wrist of his raised hand and sent the beer bottle flying. It shattered against one wall at the same time as she pressed him up against another. He felt the gun at his back. It only took him a split second to consider his options, but the tone of her voice told him his only option was to wait to see what she had to say.
“I’m not here to hurt you, Jack.” She sounded different. She wasn’t playful. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t vulnerable. But she was still Catalina, and she was here. She had a gun on him, but she was here. If she were going to kill him, she’d have done it by now. “When I first met you,” she said, continuing w
here she’d left off at the Whispering Gallery, “I was supposed to kill you.”
“And you decided to break my heart instead.”
She only acknowledged his words by pressing the muzzle of the gun against him even harder. “He said he’d let me go forever if I did this one last thing for him. I watched you for days. But I couldn’t do it. Do you understand? I liked you even before I met you.”
It was at that moment that he felt her grip on the gun loosen the slightest bit, so he knocked it out of her hand. He could tell from the way it fell to the floor that it wasn’t loaded. He got Catalina onto the bed. She struggled. They rolled around on the mattress. She was angry because she hadn’t finished telling her story, and he was angry because he was so eager to hear it. Finally, he let her pin him down and straddle him.
“Why kill me?”
“Because you killed five of his men in Berlin. Men who my ex-husband relied on to move things from Russia to the States.”
“I didn’t even know who those guys were. They were in my way, so I got them out of my way.”
“Nasty habit of yours.”
He flipped her over and pinned her down under him. “Nasty habit of theirs, getting in my way. Why didn’t you tell me the red-haired man was your ex-husband the first time we saw him?”
She flipped him over, pinning him down again, and he let her. She straddled him again, and he liked it. “Did it really matter? I wanted to get away from him. That’s all you needed to know. That’s all you wanted to know… I killed him, Jack. My ex-husband is dead. I killed every last one of his men before coming to find you here.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She raised her eyebrows. “No? Had any trouble in the past five days?”
“Only in the past few minutes.”
“I’ve got my fingers on your wrists, Jack. I can feel your pulse. You know you aren’t in trouble. You’re just excited to see me.”
“See, now that’s where you’re wrong, darlin’. I am excited to see you. And I know I’m in trouble.”
She loosened her grip, and a single warm tear fell on Jack’s skin. She lowered herself to kiss him on the lips, just once, and he let her. She tugged at his shirt, pulling if off over his head, and he let her.
She traced the scars on his chest with her fingertip. She had done this ever since the first time he knelt before her, bare chested and aching for her. She carefully circled the bruise over his ribs. It had been five days, but it was still dark. She stood up and undressed from the waist down. They made love, and that song was in his head again, mingling with her voice and the voice in his head that told him she was gonna make him lonesome again. And he would let her.
Okay.
Listen—I know you’re gonna go back in and add more action later. But I think we could do without the whole “chains around his heart” and “you decided to break my heart” shit. Jack Irons doesn’t think about his heart unless he’s literally been shot or stabbed in it. Right? Fiona might own your cock now, but I still have balls.
Other than that—it’s okay.
Exactly as mediocre as our fans expect it to be.
38
FIONA
I don’t understand.
According to this transcript, I got an A in Professor Ford’s fiction workshop.
I had been dreading the moment I got my grade because I thought, surely, he would continue his campaign of overcompensation, especially now that we’re secretly doing whatever it is that we’re doing. I had mentally and emotionally prepared myself to accept that I would have to take a hit in this one course for the sake of whatever our relationship is. I would be mad at him, but I was going to channel the anger into sex stuff. And writing stuff.
Now I might have to channel my shock and glee into sex stuff, and I don’t know if that will be as much fun, but fuck yeah, Emmett gave me an A!
I send him a text. He’s been insisting that it’s fine for us to text each other if we delete our conversations. I had insisted we go back to sending anonymous letters back and forth until I realized I didn’t want to have to rely on the United States Postal Service to deliver a booty message over the holidays.
ME: An A? Is that right? Did you mean to give me an A?
EMMETT: Yes. You deserve it. You worked harder than anyone else in that class and turned in more pages. The quality of your writing is excellent.
EMMETT: I gave you that grade before the cabin, FYI. And I gave someone else an A +. FYI.
ME: I’m a little gobsmacked right now. But thank you. I might be mad that you didn’t give me an A + though.
EMMETT: Like I said, you deserve an A. And if you’re mad at me, then I deserve to benefit from that. See you tonight?
ME: Not unless I see you first.
ME: Nope. Not clever. Never mind. See you tonight!
I delete the conversation, but nothing can erase the smile on my face.
Except Veronica.
I get up from my bench and head for my class. I really hope she isn’t in it.
“Hey, Fiona!”
She has never said hi to me outside of class and never called me by my name before.
“Hi. How are you?”
“Great. Have a good break?”
“Yes. Very good. You?”
“The best… You on your way to Poetry?”
“I am, actually. Are you?”
“Yes.”
Balls.
She pushes her jet-black hair behind one ear, continuing to walk alongside me. Leaning in conspiratorially, she asks, “So have you gotten your grades yet?”
“Mm-hmm. You?”
“Did you get your grade for Ford’s class?” I cannot, for the life of me, read her tone or facial expression.
“Yes. Did you?”
“Were you happy with it?” Again, I just can’t read her.
“I mean…considering what I was expecting, yeah.”
“Oh, that’s great. So you got, what? An A?”
It is none of her business what I got, and I’m pretty sure my face and silence is telling her that.
“Because Beowulf and I are not happy. Nobody that I’ve talked to is happy with the grade he gave them in that class, except for a couple of people. I figured—because of the way he’d always rip into your work—that you probably weren’t either. What a dick.”
I am feeling so protective of Emmett. He’s not a dick. Nobody puts Assface in a corner. Except me. And only when he’s being an assface. “I don’t think he’s a dick. What’d you get?”
“A C. I don’t get Cs.”
“Oh. Wow.”
“Yeah. Did you get a C too?”
“No.”
“A B?”
I don’t answer. I open the door to the building, holding it open for Veronica.
As she passes through, she says, “C plus?”
“No.”
“C minus?”
I jog up the steps ahead of her, but she catches up with me and then steps in front of me, blocking me when we’ve reached the landing.
“Oh my God. He gave you an A, didn’t he?”
I try not to let my face betray me, but part of me wants to rub my A in her snobby Bridgerton-hating face. That part of me wins.
She smacks her thin, glossy lips together. “Wow. Okay. Congratulations. You’re one of two people he gave an A to, then.”
“How do you know? Did you survey the entire class?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” She strolls off to our poetry workshop, suddenly uninterested in walking with me.
I get a chill, and not the good kind.
I pull my phone out because my instinct is to connect with Emmett, but I have no idea what to say to him right now.
I feel uneasy about something, just thought you should know.
FYI Veronica is a b-face, and she may try to ruin everything. See you tonight!
I love you and I want you to know that, in case everything gets fucked up.
I really want to tell him that last thing, but not in a text.
I love him.
I want him to know this.
I will tell him when I see him tonight.
I really hope things don’t get fucked up.
39
EMMETT
I’ve only been a professor for one semester, but even I know that when a student requests a meeting with you within hours of receiving her transcript, she isn’t stopping by to tell you how pleased she is with her grade.
I knew Veronica would be trouble from Day One, but not the good kind of trouble—like Fiona. Not the sassy, nipple-y, impassioned kind of trouble. The self-important, privileged, entitled sort of trouble I grew up around in private schools and at Yale. The kind of person I was until Sophie straight-talked it out of me.
Veronica is waiting for me outside my office when I get there after my class. Classic move designed to trip me up. Too bad it doesn’t work.
I give her a nod as I unlock the door. “Give me a minute,” I tell her, shutting the door behind myself and leaving her to wait in the hall.
Two minutes until our agreed appointment time, so she can wait out there for two minutes. I haven’t spent much time in here since I had that encounter with Fiona, but every now and then, I think I get a whiff of her when I’m at my desk. Like right now, for instance.
I haven’t heard from her since she found out about the A. All I want to do is text her, but that could lead to a text conversation, which could lead to a mild to moderate erection, which is the last thing I need when I have to talk to Veronica in one minute.
I keep my phone in my pocket and decide to get this meeting over with so I can go home.
“Come on in, Veronica,” I call out.
The Love Interest Page 19