Page 8 of The Love Interest
William Dexter, Duke of Camden, was a gentleman from the moment he was born. So said his mother. His nurse, Mrs. Crawley, would tell you a different story—so long as the Dexters were not within earshot, of course. But even she would always tell that story with a smile upon her stern face because William Dexter made women smile. Ever since the day he was born. It seemed as if he was born to satisfy all that a girl or woman might desire in a boy—by laughing, flattering, entertaining, dazzling, and generally being a pleasant sort of young fellow.
In the years since his boyhood, he had found a number of more interesting ways to satisfy a woman—none of which his mother nor Nurse Crawley knew of, to be certain. By the time he was sixteen, he had grown tired of merely being considered pleasing to the eye. Surely his greatest feature was not the subtle yet enticing waves of his sun-kissed brown hair. Or his tall, lean, yet muscular frame. Or his impossibly cordial come-hither smirk. He had vowed, then, to nurture his intellect and riding skills. By the time he was twenty-five, he had grown bored of any woman who swooned simply by being the subject of his piercing emerald-green gaze. To his great dismay, he had not yet encountered any woman in all of England who could resist him. Now that he was twenty-eight, he vowed to resist all women.
That is, until he met the one woman who could resisthim…
* * *
Oi!
For fuck’s sake, darlin’. Not your best work now, is it, luv? I’m not here for it. You’re not here for it. Bit distracted by that posh fella’s been starin’ at you ever since he strolled in here like Mr. fuckin’ Darcy, eh? Go on. ’Ave a good ole gander at ’im, then—go on. You know you want it. You and me both know that sweet little plan of yours to keep them lovely legs locked at the knees till you got twenty pages ain’t gonna get us nowhere, will it now? Not at this rate. Let’s not keep that bright, happy bird that is your tender young heart locked in a cage any longer. Set that bird free.
Also—does this world really need another book about a fuckin’ duke? Let’s not force my foot into this particular shoe just cos of a cute title. ’Ow ’bout an earl, then? A viscount, even? Do wot you want of course, my queen. Just throwin’ it out there.
But since we’re on the subject— ’Ow ’bout makin’ me a tad less perfect, yeah? Gimme a flaw or two—flaws bein’ sexy as fuck. Gimme somethin’ to overcome for the sake of the girl. Know wot I mean? No offence, but I’m bored out of my fuckin’ skull, and you been workin’ nonstop since you got here.
No need to rush this, now. You’re still young. You’re new in town. That bloke seems up for it. Judgin’ by them raspberry ripples beneath that top of yours, I’d say you’re right up for it. Have a bit of fun, why not eh? Put that pen away, luv. Close this notebook. Get your flirt on, babe. Tits out and off you get for a quick shag, and report back tomorrow, yeah?
Inspiration’s the name of the game.
Cheers.
Off you go, then.
5
FIONA
Shut up, William.
You can shut up too, nipples.
I’m on my grind.
I’m not distracted by the handsome guy. I’m distracted by the glory and wonder of New York City in general. Handsome Guy is just sitting over there staring at the bare wall directly behind me, I think. Repeatedly. With great interest and alarmingly intense blue eyes. And then jotting things down in his little Moleskine notebook.
Plus, there’s a vent overhead that’s blowing cold air down my blouse, so—also not Handsome Guy–related.
He looks familiar though, in the way that all exceptionally attractive people here seem to. Like you must recognize them from TV or magazines. He’s about four thousand times better looking than the Seth Rogan look-alikes I usually settle for, but that just makes me mad. I think. Okay, maybe I’m aroused. Mad and aroused. I’mmaroused. But that’s just because the writing isn’t going well.
Still—how dare he just sit there being handsome and staring in my general direction while I’m trying to write a romance novel. Who does he think he is?
Ohhh, but he’s not wrong, my sweet William.
I do feel my heart fluttering in its cage.
I do feel the electric pulse of this city coursing through my veins and between my legs.
That and caffeine and possiblymarousalfrom being stared at by frowny Handsome Guy, but mostly the electric pulse of the city.
But tonight’s not the night to get my flirt on. I need to nail this prologue and then get to Grand Central by five. That’s the plan.Prologues before bros.That’s my motto.
His face is so fucking pretty though. Jesus.
“Get you anything else?” the waitress asks, barely pausing by my table as she heads back behind the counter with a coffee decanter. Shealmostsmiles at me this time, or maybe she’s just trying to dislodge something between her teeth with her tongue. It’s hard to tell.
“Just another cup of this delicious coffee, please, Ellen.” I offer her my most irresistible West Coast smile. Ellen is around sixty and might be the only person on Earth who hates me, and this is totally unacceptable. I am determined to make this woman love me before I leave here tonight.
“Right.” She refills my cup, sighing because I’m the asshole who ordered a slice of pie and a cup of coffee two hours ago.
