Page 62 of Book Boyfriends
“My capacity to listen is boundless.” He steps closer, and his large body towers over me. Those emerald eyes almost bore into me. Hand raised, he fiddles with my earring before dragging one finger along my jawline and down the long column of my throat. “Soon you shall discover my limitless potential, my lady.”
“Lord James.”
“Call me James,” he murmurs, tracing slow circles along my skin.
“James…” My breath whooshes from me.
I’m not unimpacted by him, but the reaction is reminiscent of shoving a jigsaw piece into the wrong puzzle. It doesn’t fit, not completely, and the image isn’t correct, but it’s there, nonetheless.
He leans close, his breath rasps against my lips, the sensation akin to the caress of rough palms. “I am but yours to command.”
“What?” Palm on his chest, I push him back, putting distance between us. “That’s for Lady Cecily, not me.”
“My lady?”
“It’s Georgia, not ‘my lady’!” Hands on my hips, I mimic his accent.
A fire burns within me. It’s the second time in an eight-hour period that a man has used a line on me meant for another woman, but something about how James calls me “my lady” stokes that anger. It’s like a placeholder endearment for whatever lady is there.
He places his hand on his chest. “Pardon me?”
“Don’t recycle linesIwrote foryouto say to someone else”—I point to him and then myself—“I deserve better.”
“My la… Georgia, you deserve everything, and that’s what I plan to give you.” He crosses the threshold, causing me to step back. “All I have to give?—”
Shoulders slumping, I finish his line. “Is yours. All you need to do is ask.”
It’s not just the recycled line for another woman being spewed to me, but annoyance at my own stupid expectations. James is just acting as I wrote him to be. Owen may have surprised me last night, but I can’t forget that these three men are creations from my imagination.
Not to mention, I have a flimsy foundation to be upset that he’s using lines meant for someone else. We’re not in a relationship, and I don’t want to be. Attraction aside, James isn’t the man who consumes my thoughts. None of my book boyfriends are. Worry nips at me that even if I don’t have to choose one of them, I may have already lost the man I want to give my heart to.
“It’s okay,” I say, my voice small.
“Georgia…” He steps forward, stops, and heaves a long breath. “I mean no offense. I thought I was being romantic. This world is utterly different than mine. I am not sure how things work or how I work here.”
“I’m so sorry. This may be harder for you than for Lars or Owen. Their books are at least modern-day, even if Lars’s has supernatural beings. His world still has internet and cars.”
He nods, his throat bobbing, and takes a careful step closer. “Please know that my feelings for you are real. My ways may not be what you’re accustomed to, but do not doubt my sincerity.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“But I do.” He grips my shoulders. “You’re beautiful, kind, talented, brilliant, strong, and a million other things I have yet to discover about you. From the moment I clamped eyes on you, my heart knew it was you. You may believe that you wrote me to fall in love with Lady Cecily, but I think I was written for you.” He cups my face and leans in.
My pulse roars.
It’s almost like watching a car wreck. Everything is in slow motion.
“No.” Blinking out of the little trance, I pull out of his hold. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“Is this not the point?” He gestures, his tone curt. “For you to pick one of us?”
This all feels wrong. If I say, “Yes”, this all could end. Lars and Owen may be sent back. It’s the easy solution, but since when do I do things the easy way? Just like with publishing, I took the harder path.My path.
They don’t belong here. I need to try to get all three of them back where they truly belong. That needs to be my focus. James may be the sure thing, but he himself says he doesn’t understand this world. That he doesn’t fit. Even if he doesn’t love Lady Cecily, how happy would he be in a place where he doesn’t belong?
I square my shoulders. “Stick to the plan. Outside of Sunday, do not see me unless with the group.”
“As you command.” His reply is hard-edged. “We’ll play your game, my lady.”
