“Hmm.War and Peace? Dostoevsky?”
He chuckled. “It’s Tolstoy, you heathen.”
“Oh, right. Well, either way, I had no idea dead Russian writers got you so excited.”
He snickered. “I won’t be excited for much longer if you keep talking like that.”
“Would you rather I talk about something else?”
“Yeah.” He tugged her closer. “Talk about us. Tell me when I’m going to get to make you mine.”
Heat pooled in her belly. “Soon. The first time we get a night alone.”
“Does it have to be a night?” He angled his face to nuzzle her, ruining her aim. The butterfly ended up stuck to itself and she yanked it off, starting over.
“Stop that,” she said. “I can’t concentrate. And yes, it has to be a night. No one loses their virginity in the daytime. It’s supposed to be sexy and romantic. Preferably in front of the fireplace while it’s pouring rain outside.”
He chuckled, darkly sensual. “You know it’s July, right?”
“Yeah, so? I want rain. And fire. Now hold still.”
He did as she bade. “Rain and fire. Well, whatever my lady demands, my lady—”
The sound of a cleared throat stabbed between them. Aubrey reeled backward and immediately wished she hadn’t. Nick stood beside the still-running sink, shirtless, his left half covered in blood, the butterfly dangling off his eyebrow like a limp flag of surrender. A very obvious erection tented the front of his khaki work pants.
Her heart shrank to a hard, pale speck. Her father filled the kitchen doorway, color splashed across his cheeks, a match for his flaming hair.
“What the hell is this?”
“Umm. Dad. Hi.” Her voice skewed upward. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
“I was. Working. And then I finished working, like always, and then I came home, like always, and why is this person standing in our kitchen, bleeding everywhere and putting his hands all over you?”
Aubrey risked a sideways glance, but Nick’s horrorstruck expression told her he wouldn’t be much help. She snapped off the water and edged in front, hoping to give him time to regroup, at least. “This is my boyfriend. Nick.”
“Nick.” Her father’s tone was stony. “And he’s bleeding because?”
“Because. . .” She trailed off. Shit.
Behind her, Nick sucked in a breath. “I... Um... Got in a fight. Sir.”
Aubrey squeezed her eyes shut. This had to be a nightmare. Any moment, she would wake up. Except when she looked again, nothing had changed.
“It’s, um, nice to meet you,” Nick stammered. “Sir.”
Her father said nothing. He stepped into the room, took Aubrey by the arm, and marched her out to the living room. “You didnottell me he’s the kind of boy who gets in fights.”
She shook off his hand. “Because he’s not. I mean, not without good reason. He only did today because Brent Reinholdt said something awful to me and Nick made him apologize.”
His jaw worked as he processed that. “He... defended you?”
“Yes.”She wanted to grab his lapels and shake. “Which you should appreciate, not judge him for.”
He thought that over, his flush fading. “Okay. But he’s... not what I pictured. Why’s he so skinny?”
She pressed her lips together. “Because his dad is a jerk who doesn’t keep any food in the house.”
“You mean he’s not being raised right?”
