Page 67 of The Wallflower Manifesto
He nodded, slowly, intentionally. “You were,” he confirmed.
“And?” she prompted, a little breathless, her lips parting ever so slightly.
He groaned, his skin prickling to life. He rolled her onto her back, looming over her with a wolfishness that boiled just below his veins.
“And now,” he continued gruffly, “all I can think is this: Reckless once? Reckless many, many times? The outcome is the same, isn’t it?”
Her breath caught, her soft form wriggling slightly beneath him. “Oh,” was all she said, low and breathy.
He moved against her, grinning in satisfaction before he caught her mouth again with his. “I’m glad you agree,” he said against her lips.
And then he was reckless. Many, many times.
PHASE VI: DISSEMINATION
CHAPTER 25
Even when the sun rose, the panic never did.
They were still giggling, still stealing little kisses all the way through getting their clothes back on and trying to restore some semblance of decency to her appearance.
She left her hair down for the time being. Her dress was hopelessly wrinkled from the rain … and of course also from being in a damp pile on the floor for some hours before being dried over a fire grate in Abe’s living room.
It was probably ruined, just like she was, and she didn’t care at all.
He brought her coffee, steaming in a chipped earthenware mug, and told her with a very serious tone that this was the best of his mugs, his favorite. Then he measured out sugar and cream as though he were conducting the most volatile chemistry, and a lack of perfection would literally explode in his face.
They sat together, sipping the coffee in companionable silence, simply lingering in the moments they had left before she’d have to return to the real world.
So, naturally, it was abruptly destroyed. Naturally.
And of course, the agent of destruction was Freddy Hightower, bursting into his own home like he belonged there.
He looked just as rumpled as they did, freezing in the doorway, halfway through the action of slamming it behind him with his eyes growing to twice their usual size at the scene in front of him.
“What?” he managed, releasing the door and letting it clatter shut. “What?!”
“Good morning, Freddy,” Abe said pleasantly. “How’d it go? Maidens sufficiently smuggled?”
“What!” Freddy repeated, gripping a fistful of his own hair like he was considering pulling it out as a demonstration of his upset. His wedding ring glinted against the morning light that was streaming in from the window, melding into the color of his hair.
“Lord Bentley,” Millie began, trying not to let her exasperation with life itself tint her words.
“Millicent, did you … didhe…?!” Freddy seemed truly dismayed. He managed to find his footing, propelling himself forward to collapse onto the chair opposite the couch Abe and Millie were sharing before reverting right back to another strangled “What?!”
“Get a grip, Bentley,” Abe said, as though it were a friendly suggestion.
It was enough to give Freddy a jolt to his senses. “You! That is my sister-in-law, Murphy! How … howdare…”
Abe stood up then, putting a stabilizing hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Relax, Freddy,” he said, not taunting anymore. Reassuring, perhaps? “I’m going to marry the girl.”
Millie blinked. Not quite startled, but certainly surprised.
Abe glanced over his shoulder at her. “We’re going to get married, aren’t we?”
“Oh,” she said, taking another sip of her coffee as she met Freddy’s wild-eyed stare then flicked her gaze back to Abe. “Yes, probably.”
Abe nodded, looking back at the other man. “See, Bentley? It’s fine.”
