Page 44 of His Wisconsin Wallflower
Beth’s eyes lifted, hopeful but wary. “Does that mean you forgive me?”
Raisa hesitated. “I can’t forget the things you’ve done. But… I can move on. I think we both can.”
The tension drained from Beth’s shoulders, and she nodded. “Thank you.”
The memory of Beth’s apology lingered as Raisa adjusted the collar of her black blazer dress in front of the mirror. The ache of Vanessa’s death remained, but at least one less burden was weighing her down. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Quinten’s resonant voice as he called her name.
She turned as he appeared in the bathroom doorway, devastatingly handsome in his black suit and navy-blue dressshirt. The tie, black with subtle navy pinstripes, draped loosely around his neck, the top two buttons of his shirt still undone, exposing a strip of his skin.
Her breath hitched as she stepped forward. “Let me help you.”
He didn’t move, watching her as she began buttoning his shirt with deft fingers. When the last button was secured, she reached for his collar, flipping it up with a gentle sweep of her hand.
The scent of his cologne, warm and woodsy, filled her senses as she picked up the tie. She draped the thick silk over her fingers, aligning the ends with care so the wide end hung longer than the narrow one. Crossing the broad end over the narrow, she looped it up and through the neck opening, pulling it down smoothly before creating the first triangle at the base of his throat. Her fingers worked with practiced precision, guiding the fabric into place as she moved the wide end over the triangle, tightening it gently.
“You know how to tie a Double Windsor?” His left eyebrow arched up.
She glanced up with a faint smile. “I did research for one of my books.”
Quinten’s brows drew together as if he was trying to remember something. “You’ve mentioned writing books before. What genre do you write?”
She swallowed and dropped her gaze.
His finger under her chin tilted her face, gentle but unyielding, and she met his eyes.
Her mouth went dry, and she croaked, “Erotic fantasy romance.”
“Do you now?” There was amusement in his voice. “Have you been published?”
“No, I’m not,” she spoke so fast the words were knitted together, and her fingers faltered for a second before resuming their work on the knot.
“Yet,” he said firmly.
Her hands stilled, and she looked up at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. Why aren’t you publishedyet?”
She shifted uncomfortably, looking away from his intense gaze. “Because I’m not?—”
Before she could finish, he cupped her face in his hands and captured her lips with his, stealing the words from her mouth. The kiss was firm, commanding, and left her mind reeling and her lungs craving oxygen.
When he pulled back after kissing her senseless, his dark eyes glittered with something she couldn’t quite name. “You werenotgoing to say you’re not good enough,” he said, his words low but filled with conviction.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. “Uhm…”
He leaned closer, his forehead resting gently against hers. “You are more than good enough, Raisa. You’re brilliant. And I don’t want to hear you doubt that again.”
Her heart pounded, and for once, she let herself believe him.
With another peck on her lips, he let go of her and turned away. “Are you ready?”
“I’m almost done and just need to brush my hair.” She picked up the heavy wooden brush. “Give me a minute.”
“Sure.” He started to saunter out of the bathroom. “And Raisa, tonight you’re going to read something from your books to me.”
“What?” She halted, the brush hovering midway.
“You heard me. Something hot and heavy. A sex scene.”
