She glanced at the book, then blinked at him in surprise. “Yes. Don’t tell meyoudo?”
He nodded. “My brother got me hooked on them.” Prison afforded a guy a lot of time to read, apparently.
“But…” She shook her head. “They’reromancenovels.”
“And?”
“They’re…well… I thought they were for women.”
“That’s sexist, don’t you think?”
She blushed. “I—I—”
“I’m just giving you shit.” He waved off whatever stuttering response she would’ve made. “I know romance novels are marketed to women, but the truth is, every guy on the planet could benefit from reading them. Some real insider information in there, if you know what I mean.” Again, he wiggled his eyebrows.
Her blush deepened when she realized he was talking about the sex scenes. P.J. Warren wrote top-notch, set-your-eyeballs-and-sheets-on-fire sex scenes. Romeo wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d been known to reenact a few of them.
“There’s so much more to these books thanthat.” Her voice had gone back to its quiet timbre. And she seemed to have found something of incredible interest in the bottom of her cup.
“You’re right.” He took pity on her. “There are angst-ridden vampires, warring werewolf clans, mayhem and mystery and suspense and even some comedic relief thanks to Winifred the Legless Ghost.”
“Oh mygod!” Mia’s gaze jumped to his face. “IloveWinnie! She’s my favorite character. In the third book, when she—”
“Stuffed napkins into the toes of everyone’s shoes!” he said with her and they dissolved into laughter.
“Everyone in Wisteria Manor thought their feet had grown or their shoes had shrunk!” There it was again, that beaming smile that lit her entire face until it shined like a beacon in the night. “You have no idea how I wouldloveto pull that trick at the beach house. Unfortunately, everyone there wears flip-flops or goes barefoot.”
“Mia Ennis.” He tsked. “You’ve had us all fooled for a full month. Here we thought you were this shy, retiring sort when secretly you’re a prankster.”
What had caused her to hide her light under a bushel? To shutter herself away behind a demure demeanor and a silent mouth?
Up until tonight, he’d simply assumed her properness was a result of her upper crust upbringing. Had thought she held herself separate from the rest of the Deep Six crew because they were too proletarian, too loud and foul-mouthed and unrefined.
Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe there was more to it.
Maybe there was more toher.
“Have you read this one?” She held up the hardback with its embossed cover. The title wasIn Darkness and Dreams.The Night Angels books were always titledIn Darkness and…fill in the blank.
“No.” He shook his head. “What number is it?”
“Seven in the series. It might be my favorite yet.”
“I stopped at book six. I didn’t even know seven was out.”
“Oh my god.” She scooted over and patted the mattress beside her. “Come lay down. I have to read the first chapter to you. It’samazing!”
When he hesitated, her smile faded. “No. I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s late. We’ve had a big day and we have another one ahead of us tomorrow.”
She actually assumed his hesitation stemmed from him wanting to go to bed? Alone? In the other room?
Fuck, no. His hesitation stemmed from wanting with every fiber of his being to crawl into bed beside her, to feel the mattress move when she did, and to listen to her read in that film noir voice of hers.
But then what? What happened when shestoppedreading?
He knew what he’dwantto happen. He’d want to turn to her. To touch all that soft, warm skin and—
“I’d love for you to read to me,” he assured her, and then lowered himself to the bed. Reclining back against the pillow, he was careful to keep as much space between them as he could. In fact, if he moved any more toward the edge, he’d fall onto the floor.
