Page 69 of Bitten & Burned
A real smile this time. One that tugged at both corners of his mouth and made him look… momentarily younger. His gaze dropped to the rabbit. “His name’s Pip.”
“Pip?” I repeated.
He nodded. “Call him what you want… but that’s his name.”
“Then I’ll call him Pip... Can I keep him?”
“Why do you think I gave him to you?”
I shrugged. “I dunno. For a few days. Give him back after?”
“I don’t give things temporarily. If I give you something, it’s yours.”
“Noted,” I replied, my throat tight.
He pushed up to his feet, not moving closer, just wiping his hands on his trousers and scooping up the book to return to the shelf. He moved with practiced precision. As if he wanted everyone to think he was languid and lithe, but under that ran a current of something stronger. He slipped the book back on the shelf and turned back to me, leaning against the shelf.
“You keeping him, then?”
I slid Pip into my pocket. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
We were silent for another long moment before I broke the silence. “The pirate romances are on that shelf right above your head.”
“That’s great information for someone in search of a pirate romance.”
“I figured… if you’re into that kind of thing…To Plunder a Duchessis the one you want.”
He turned, looking at the shelf in question, reaching for and plucking the familiar red volume and opening it to a random page.
“‘He pinned her against the map table, one boot braced on a coil of rope, the other planted between her thighs.’”
Quil’s voice was low, deliberate.
“‘You’ve mapped out every corner of this ship,’ he growled, ‘but now it’s my turn to chart the depths of you.’”
He glanced up.
“Her bodice tore like parchment, her gasp swallowed by the salt-slick kiss of his mouth. The compass spun wildly behind them, as if even the sea herself had lost her bearings.”
“That’s what you like, huh? That get you going,Duchess?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re butchering it with your dry delivery. You have to let the metaphors work for you, not rush through them to get to the good part. Thosearethe good parts.”
“Sounded fine to me.”
“Your delivery leaves much to be desired.”
He laughed again, closing the book and folding his arms. “Enlighten me.”
“You sounded like you were giving a weather report. ‘Chance of heavy petting. Storm-surge expected mid-thrust.’”
He huffed out a laugh—low and warm—but left the thread dangling between us.
The silence settled like a heavy blanket. Smothering the flame.
And I wasn’t about to let it go.
