Instead of pushing her away, he pulled her close and worked his hands down her back. She felt good. So natural. He couldn’t help it. His fingers dappled her backside and she let a soft moan escape.
“‘Oh, Ironclaw,’” I said aloud when the character in the show did.
They had changed very little dialogue in this section between the book and show.
“‘Lay me on the bed.’”
That was the reason I couldn’t host these reading sessions when my parents were home. They were a bit more interactive than regular book reading.
I was laying back on a pillow now, book on my lap. I read Valorie’s lines aloud, imagining Ironclaw’s raspy voice in my ear, letting my words mingle with his from the TV, the ambient music serving to cover enough of the actress’s response that I could ignore her presence.
I could never do this with scenes past book three when the main love interest appears, the queen of Landsome. Even in my imagination, I couldn’t compete with her. Then in book five, the character arcs completely broke apart and the romantic scenes dropped off altogether—almost as if book five was written by a different author.
And scenes like this were a big draw of the series.
Even as Ironclaw pushed Valorie onto the bed, taking what he wanted, he was gentle. His body was graceful in a way I never saw in real life—muscled but lean, beard grizzled but kempt. I would do anything to make this my reality, but this read-aloud session was as close as I’d ever get. I would never have a strong warrior take me to bed—I’d never even had a boyfriend longer than a couple of months.
“Do you want me to stop?” Ironclaw asked.
“‘Don’t stop, Ironclaw, or else my heart will burst,’” I echoed the script.
I didn’t notice the ambient music had switched off, the start of the end—myend.
“Dottie?” The voice was tinny. Most definitely not Ironclaw’s.
I froze. It was immediately clear what had happened, though I didn’t know how. My phone had called, or accepted a call, from Sara.
“Dottie, is that you?”
Holy Landsome hells.
I sat up and closed the book quietly, oh so quietly. This couldn’t be happening.
“Hello, this is Dottie,” I said professionally.
“Dottie, I think you butt-dialed me—”
“Sara? Oh my goodness, it looks like my phone called you while I was watching TV. Sorry to bother you,” I said all in a rush. I scrambled to push mute on the remote, but I dropped it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Are you watching that show?
“Oh yeah.” I forced a laugh. “Landsome Roads. You know,” I said lamely, “because I’m reading the series?”
There was a pause.
Oh, great gods of Landsome, please hang up.
Then Sara spoke, “Why did it—”don’t say it...“—why did it sound like you?”
My head spun. I couldn’t breathe. I could barely croak out a lie. “Aww, no one’s ever said I sound like Mara de Guardo,” I said, naming the actress who played Valorie. “I can hear it a little bit now. Well, see you tomorrow—”
“Dottie.” Sara’s voice came cold and cutting. “I don’t know what’s going on or what you were doing, but your...yourobsessionwith this silly show is bizarre.” She paused for a beat, both of us wondering if she was really going to say it. “Did you really call me during aself-care session?”
Oh no. She said it.
“Sara—” I needed to explain as weird and embarrassing as it was, I really was just reading aloud, pretending to be in the scene.
“This is just too much. I’m going to have to report this to HR.”
