Page 20 of Gold Digger
“Hmm, well, I don’t know how I’ll keep my temper with him. But you’re right – familyisimportant.”
“You could try what I do,” I blurted out without thinking. He tilted his head to the side.
“And what would that be?”
“Well, when people pee me off, like in the club the other night…” I paused when a murderous look crossed the duke’s face, “I, er, well, I have this little song I sing under my breath. I guess it’s like counting to ten.” His frown was now replaced with a smile.
“Go on then,” he encouraged.
“Oh, I’m not singingyoumy song.” I picked up my knight and moved to engage his bishop on the chessboard.
“Hey, you can’t hint at the secret to dealing with dickheads and then not give the actual deets.” He made a shit move with his rook, leaving his knight exposed; the man was total shiitake mushrooms at chess.
“Nope, not happening,” I said. “Make up your own song.”
“Come on, Lottie,” he wheedled.
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“Pretty please?”
I huffed. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Fine, fine,” I muttered, heat flooding my face. “So it’s:
I won’t punch this d-head in the face,
I’ll just wait till he’s gone.
Cause d-heads be d-heads,
But they always jog on.”
His rich, deep laughter filled the room, and I stared at him in total awe. He was so beautiful it was almost unreal. “That’s catchy,” he said through his amusement. “Tell me, have you used that little rhyme when it comes to me?”
I cleared my throat and looked away. “No, of course not.”
“You’re a shit liar.”
I smiled at him. “Even you have to admit that you sometimes warranted that poem.”
“Oh really, would that include me being concerned that you might break your neck? Or wanting you to go the hospital after you fell ten feet and couldn’t put weight through your leg? Telling you off for standing on a ladder when – and baby, I mean no shade when I say this – you have a fair bit of trouble staying upright when you’re on solid ground? I think my concern was warranted.”
Suppressing the shiver that ran through my body when he called me baby, I rolled my eyes and made another chess move, this time taking his bishop. “You’re bossy,” I told him.
“Yes,” he told me, and I looked up at his face. His eyes captured mine, and we sat there staring at each other with me yet again completely under his spell. “Yes, Lottie. I’mverybossy.”
Okay, so he hadn’t said anything explicit, but it was the way he said it – dark-edged, low and commanding. I had a feeling we weren’t talking about my clumsiness anymore. When I made my next chess move, my fingers were shaking and I knocked over the pawn I was reaching for.
Before I knew what was happening, he’d reached out and enclosed my hand in his. I should have snatched it away. If I’d have had more willpower, I would have. But with his expensive cologne in the air, his strong hand swallowing mine in its warmth, the memory of his low, dark voice in my brain and his blue eyes staring straight at mine as his pupils dilated, there was really no way I could have pulled back. It was physiologically impossible. He stroked my palm with his thumb, and I felt so lightheaded I thought I might pass out sitting up. His touch felt electric, like a living, breathing force flowing into my hand and up my arm.
“Your hand is really small,” he said, his voice still low.
