“But I shouldn’t have.”
“But…you did.”
I ticked my head to the side and shrugged.
“We could go around about this for the next hour, and you’re still not going to tell me why you mentioned Christian, are you?” he guessed.
Accurately.
“It’s like you know me,” I quipped.
He pushed up from his chair saying, “Oh yes, I know you. Obstinate and quarrelsome and contrary. Fuck it. Let’s go to the parlor and get a drink.”
I looked at my phone and informed him, “We have a full ten minutes before we’re expected in the parlor.”
“Dolores Umbridge did not make me do lines into my arm that say, ‘I will not appear in the parlor before six thirty.’ We can arrive early.”
He had my hand and was pulling me out of my chair.
He was also being funny.
A new thing for the duke.
And I liked it.
Damn.
“I need to freshen up,” I told him.
He stopped when he had me on my feet and studied me. “Why?”
“Because I’ve been out in the studio all day. I need to floof my hair and refresh my makeup.”
“Floof your hair?”
“You make it sound stupid,” I groused. “Women need to floof before dinner.”
“Your hair is arguably your best asset, after your ass and those fucking freckles on your nose. Also, your eyes. And of course your mouth.”
I stared up at him, stunned.
“Though, oftentimes, not when you’re using it to speak,” he continued.
I glared up at him, annoyed.
“In other words, you look beautiful. So fuck the floofing and come have a drink with me.”
Who could turn down that kind of offer?
Apparently, not me.
(I will point out, he told me I looked beautiful…mm.)
“Oh, all right.”
“Ah, the dulcet acceptance of the fair maiden,” he said as he led me to the door with his hand in mine.
“God, you can be super annoying sometimes,” I bitched.
