Page 30 of The Love Interest
“Talk soon.”
“Absolutely. Bye.”
Well, that was interesting and unexpected. After weeks of monotony and creative anguish, I’m on a roll. Must be on the right path.
ME: Hi. Something’s come up for work so I can’t take you to dinner at nine. But I can probably meet you later if you’re free. Around eleven? Late night lactose-free milkshake? Cocktastic photo shoot in Times Square? Name it and I’ll do it.
Fifteen minutes later, I get a reply.
FIONA: I will consult the cock and get back to you.
ME: Me too. Wait. Never mind.
ME: I’m really sorry about this. I will take you to dinner tomorrow if possible.
FIONA: I will try to contain my excitement.
FIONA: Gotta go let table 7 know they 86’d the stuffed eggplant.
ME: Stop sexting me.
12
WILLIAM DEXTER
You Can Viscount on Me by Fiona Walker – Prologue
William Dexter—Viscount Camden and heir to the Earl of Camden—was widely known to be reliable with women in one way only. Women of polite society spoke of it in hushed tones and exclusively from behind a fluttering fan. While there were those who had vowed to keep their hearts and knees locked where Lord Camden was concerned, those who had already benefited from his skills and reliability in bed were resigned to the fact that they’d open any part of themselves to him if only he’d have them.
However, aside from an appreciation of his physical aspects—most notably his captivating aquamarine eyes and pleasing posterior—this was the only good thing any of the women he’d known had to say about him. William was cold and moody, incapable of small talk, and determined to remain blissfully ignorant as to the workings of the female brain. That was not one of the parts of a lady he’d ever been interested in…until now.
Now, he found himself following one woman through a hedge maze after midnight. He was befuddled. Lord Camden was never befuddled. But it was the woman who puzzled him, not the maze. He had been able to find his way to the center of this maze and back out again with his eyes closed ever since he was twelve years old. It was the labyrinth of Lucy’s mind that he was trying to navigate.
Historically, when he set foot on this path, he was leading some woman to its center for a clandestine “romantic” tryst. There was never any challenge, and the rewards for his efforts lasted as long as it took for the perspiration to dry on his brow. Throughout this day alone, he had already encountered innumerable twists, turns, and dead ends with Lucy, but he was determined to find and reach the deepest, innermost sanctum of her own well-trimmed secret garden.
Little did he know, the woman he’d come to know as Miss Lucy Finch had already become well aware of his own secret—he had been hiding a large, foolish, and delicate heart behind a carefully manicured hedge of rude comments and rakish behavior. It was, in fact, his own center that she was leading him to, and when he finally accepted that, she would accept him—fully and completely. She knew no other way to accept anything. She was either all out or all in.
Same as William.
When Lucy hesitated before deciding whether to turn right or left, he managed to grab her arm and pull her into the recess of a nearby alcove. She was his for one breathless starlit moment. Dipping his head down, he circled one arm around her slender waist as he tilted her chin up so his lips could find hers. And find them, they did. Her lips were sweet, soft, receptive, and he considered it one of his highest achievements in life when he felt her go limp as the tip of his tongue teased a certain spot on her neck.
He could feel her melting into him, and he welcomed it. He was already hard for her, but he could be weak for her too, if only she would let him. He would give up all of his secrets to her—all she’d have to do was ask. Suddenly, as if startled awake, she pulled back. She managed to right herself, free herself from his grasp, and run away from him as soon as she was able to confirm that both of her feet were indeed touching the ground.
William had managed to convince himself that his interactions with this woman would be of little consequence to him, all the way up until that afternoon. They had gone for a walk in the gardens, with a large group who had ventured out from the drawing room, and then branched off on their own little promenade. She’d delighted him with tales of taunting her family’s nurse when she was a child, discussed the works of Byron and Keats like a scholar, and playfully chastised him instead of being pouty or offended whenever he was rude to her. There was a hint of melancholy beneath her jubilant surface, and he was surprised by how much he wanted to comfort her, for whatever reason. He simply wanted to make her feel good, in all the ways he could.
“You’re going the wrong way,” he called out to her as she made a left turn.
She reversed direction but sang out, “You assume you know where it is that I’m trying to get to!”
“Oh, I know where you’re headed, darling. We’ve both been headed in that direction ever since we met.”
“I’ll thank you not to speak for me, Lord Camden.” she teased breathlessly.
“You will be thanking me for so many things by sunrise, Lucy dear.”
Even her guffaw was music to his ears.
He slowed his pace because she was about to turn down the path that led to the heart of the maze. He didn’t have his wits about him anymore, but he would need his breath and his stamina for this night to play out the way he intended it to. And itwouldplay out as he intended it to.
