“The large variety,” he remarked at her reaction, “with teeth. Sharp, sharp teeth.”
Cecilia swallowed. “I—I don’t like dogs.”
“I own three Great Danes, two English Mastiffs, and a very aquatic Newfoundland,” he grinned, folding the paper and setting it to the side. Crossing his legs, he slumped to the window and cocked an elbow on the ledge. “His webbed feet are as big as your pretty little face.”
She swallowed again and looked down at the book on her lap, trying hard to stabilize her trembling hands. “Are those dogs free in the house?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Good god,” she shuddered. “I will not sleep a moment in the house. Are there barricades on the other side of the doors?”
“No.”
“You’ll want to install some,” she instructed.
“And deny you the lovely chance of a loving dog cuddling you at night?” He mocked her by pressing a hand to his chest as if struck through the breastbone. “For shame, Cecilia, have you no heart?”
CHAPTER 6
Cassian knew he was playing with fire while teasing Cecilia, but it was too enjoyable to stop. Seeing the unflappableCecilia Hartwick flustered was not something one saw every day, and to think dogs were the cause.
“You’re a menace,” she murmured while fishing a pencil from her bag.
Shrugging a shoulder, Cassian replied, “In the scope of things, I have been called worse.”
“Yes, I am sure,” she said snidely. “And if the Times had run the article I’d penned for them years ago, they’d have more ammunition against you.”
He blinked, “You wrote them a piece?”
“Many actually,” she replied while drawing a line in the book and then scribbling something in the margin. “None of which werepublished. I do not know why. Do you have an accomplice at the Times?”
“Yes, and I have the printout encased in a folio,” he grinned. “I look at it from time to time to remind myself how much I affect you.”
“You are also insufferable,” she muttered and scribbled something again.
“Hmm. You seem quite intent on getting back to what you were doing. What has you so fascinated, I wonder.” Reaching over, he quickly snagged the book from her hands and flipped the cover over, “Cecilia. Your book is named after you?”
“No, you heathen,” she tried to grab the book back. “I was named after the book. I know you know nothing about the classics, but this is—” she tried to grab it but failed again. “—this is one of—” she tried again, “—those.”
“Ceciliaby Frances Burney,” flipping the book over from where he’d stuck his finger, he read, “to a heart formed for friendship and affection, the charms of solitude are very short-lived.Besides the point of pointing out how self-absorbed you can be, good god, what is this drivel?”
“It is a series of letters written by a man and a woman who fall in love while writing each other,” she huffed. “It is not a simple tale but has layers of ingenuity and—"
“I dream of the moment we meet on the sandy shore as the moon’s rays shine on your divine form. I crave the moment your lips meet mine and I revel in the delicate touch of your lips and the thrum of unspoken promises…”
Her face went beet red. Flipping the pages, his lips lifted, “Is this a Minerva Press novel? It reads like one.”
“No, it’s not— it’s nothing!” She lunged forward and tried to grab the book out of his hold once more, but he simply held it out of her way.
She was far too short to reach for the book, and the only way for her to get it was to clamber on his lap. Cassian knew little Miss Prim-and-proper would not dare do such a thing, as it wassimply scandalous.
Cassian, though, was intensely interested in discovering what exactly she was reading.
Now, realizing it futile, she covered her face with one hand, hiding the heat on her cheeks. “Please, don’t read it.”
“All your protests only make me want to read more,” he sighed in mock compassion as he flipped through the pages to the front.
The pages were worn, and the finger marks in the leaves told him the book was loved. She’d written arguments in the margins and corners, debating with the author.
