A queen.
Courtney turned to me. “And I know this is gauche, but I hope you don’t mind. I brought my books, hoping you’d sign them for me?”
I leaned toward her and stage-whispered, “I’ll share a secret. Authors like to be asked to sign their books maybe more than readers like them signed.”
She smiled in relief.
Wishing us all to sleep well, they took off.
Chastity whispered some words of goodnight and melted from the room after them.
“I think I’m for bed too,” I announced while setting aside my cognac glass and standing. “I want to get an early start tomorrow so I might be able to dive into some reading.”
Battle stood too, stating, “I’ll walk you.”
I froze.
Prue shined a smile at us.
Tempie cast a smile into her glass of port.
“I’ll walk with you,” Chelsea said, rising.
Prue frowned at Chelsea.
Tempie glared at her.
“Shall we?” Chelsea asked.
Pointedly, Battle took my hand, rested it in the crook of his elbow and walked me out.
Chelsea trailed us.
He walked so fast, I wasn’t sure I could keep up with him in my heels.
As he intended, Chelsea had the same problem. What she didn’t have was him to hold her up.
I managed it, though he was holding me so close, my fluttering chiffon skirt wisped around the legs of his slacks in a manner that was bizarrely, but intensely, titillating.
When we made my room, Battle did no more than glance over his shoulder and say, “Until cocktails tomorrow, Chels.”
And then he pulled me right into my room, closing the door behind us directly in her stunned, irritated face.
I opened my mouth.
He put his finger to it.
I said nothing.
He listened.
From a distance, probably/maybe we heard a door close.
He took his finger from my mouth.
“What the—?” I began.
“Thank you for taking the girls to Glastonbury.”
