Page 98 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

I study the wisp of hair on her cheekbone, going against the impulse to laugh her off. I want to give her some bits of truth, at the very least. “I’m not used to this caring thing. Loyalty, blood oaths. That’s all I get. But the caring thing. It’s... hard.”

She watches me, her expression softening just slightly. “No shit. You took my phone and told me we were done.”

“Dick move, I know. I’m gonna do better. At least I’m gonna try. I want to be better for you.”

If she knows how big it is that I’m saying this, she doesn’t show it. She doesn’t need to know. It’s for me to know that she’sinspiring me to raise the bar for myself and what it means to be a man.

I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re nothing like anyone I’ve ever known.”

She grins. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve never met anyone who could lecture me on historical accuracy one minute and threaten to firebomb a reformatory the next.”

She laughs despite herself. “I did not threaten to firebomb?—”

“You were thinking it.” I brush my lips against her forehead. “Most dangerous bookworm ever.”

“Most secretly soft-hearted villain ever,” she counters.

“Only for you.”

She snorts and kisses me.

I tunnel my fingers through her hair and deepen the kiss. I cannot get enough of this woman.

Standing on her bedside table is a framed photograph of a young Edie alongside a girl who looks to be a few years older. Matching freckled noses. Matching honey-colored hair. Christmas tree in the background.

“Your sister?” I ask. She has an older sister, according to her file, and that girl’s been in a lot of trouble.

She searches my eyes, and I get this flash of something not right. “You found me. I guess you know the answer to that question.”

“I do know. I know all about you now.”

“What does that mean?”

I take the bottle from her fingers and set it aside. “It means I read your papers, for one thing.”

“You read my papers?”

“Three of them are online, Edie. It doesn’t take much to find them. Anastasia Laskarina: Scholarly Ambitions and Diplomatic Challenges of a Young Byzantine Royal was especially fascinating.”

She blinks at me, stunned.

“I do read, shocking as that may seem.”

“No, it’s not that it’s... shocking.”

“But maybe it’s a little bit shocking.”

“It’s just weird to think of you reading my papers.”

“But it was so very interesting,” I say. “The princess in her pastel gown strolling past marble columns. Writing down her observations.”

“On parchment made of animal skins,” Edie adds.

I slide a finger down the side of her face, tracing her cheekbone. “With a quill pen made from the feather of a swan.”

“Right.” She starts going on about how they made pens because she’s nerdy like that. She wants to find a picture.

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