Page 103 of The Trouble with Anna

He needed it.

Anna was a goddamned hurricane.

His goddamned hurricane.

His.

She squirmed deeper into his chest, burying her face in it.

“Hiding from me?”

“No!”

He smiled into her hair. “I’ll wait you out. You’ll need to breathe at some point.”

She laughed and shook her head.

“Ah! You intend to stay like this?” He pulled her closer. “Very sensible. I’ll give up my jackets and wear you.”

She bit him, and he could feel her smile when he yelped. His hand played gently in her hair as he gave himself over to thinking. She clearly needed shackles, in the form of a large and glaring ring. She was devious and needed watching, so he’d move her into Ramsay House as soon as possible. In fact, he’d move her straight into his room and make her pay all night long and twice in the mornings.

She made an odd little squeak. “Was that… how it’s meant to go?”

His smile broadened. He hadn’t thought it could. “Lightning, I love your euphemisms. The blandest words for the most cataclysmic events.”

Her hand fisted against his side. “Don’t tease! Not about this.”

Real distress. He gathered up her hair in a rope and pulled on it gently, insistently, until her head came slowly off his chest and she was forced to look at him.

“I’m not teasing,” Julian said solemnly. “I’m dumb with happiness, and grateful. So goddamned grateful.”

It sounded like a prayer.

Anna searched his face, and whatever she saw made her look quite pleased. “I suppose I will accept grateful.”

“Goddamned grateful,” he corrected.

“Blasphemous gratitude,” she agreed primly.

Julian rolled her up in his arms as he laughed.

She was his, at least until dawn.

And then forever, as fast as he could manage it.

CHAPTER40

ANNA PRESSED HER HANDS AGAINSTher cheeks. They were flaming, just as she suspected. Every part of her was warm or sore or oddly bendy, as if her body had gone lazy.

She snuggled deeper into the bed—her bed, unfortunately—and squashed a pillow over her head.

Go to sleep!

She certainly hadn’t slept last night, not after the first time. Or the slow and aching second time. Definitely not after the frantic third time, pulling off the clothes they’d just pulled on, racing against the rising sun.

Sleep! Sleep! SLEEP!

Light streamed in the room, even through the thick damask curtains. The pillow was no help. She needed something stronger, a mallet to whack her thoughts away.

---