Page 79 of For You & No One Else (Say Everything 3)

“I don’t know…” he said, dragging out the words like he was really debating. “A viscount sounds like a discounted duke. I may need a hero with a higher rank than that, but we’ll see if he can win me over.”

“The viscount is highly insulted, I’ll have you know.” She paused. “You really want me to read to you?”

He nestled back against his pillow, his hand sliding to his stomach, the sound of her voice cozy against his ear. “Only if you’re game.”

Sheets rustled on her end, a softswoosh, swoosh. “Yeah, okay. But I might feel a little weird reading aloud to an empty room.”

“Hold on, how about this?” He grabbed another pillow and arranged it next to him, then he propped up his phone against it and hit another button.

He wasn’t sure if she’d answer, but it was only a second before the screen changed and the video call kicked in. Eliza’s face appeared on the screen, her hair loose and her face clean of makeup, a little shine to it like she’d rubbed cream on it. His gut tightened, the sight of her in bed bringing back visceral memories.

“Well, hi,” she said. “Long time no see.”

He smiled. “Maybe this will make it less awkward? No more empty room.”

“Maybe.” She bit her lip, considering him, and the screen bounced a little. “Hold on.”

She sat up, the video jumping and blurring, and then situated her phone off to the side, probably setting it against a pillow like he had. Now he could see her at an angle in the lamplight of her room.

“Does that work?” she asked. “Can you hear me okay?”

“Yeah, and the view ain’t bad either.”

She was sitting up, propped against her headboard with pillows, her knees pulled up under the covers and a book in her hands. Her T-shirt looked to be a man’s white undershirt, the fabric thin and revealing the shadows of what was beneath.

The front of his boxers twitched. Welp, so much for any hope of him concentrating on the book she was going to read to him.

She gave him a sly smile. “I’m not the one with my shirt off. You’re downright indecent over there.”

“Want me to put a shirt on, Eli?” he teased. “To not offend your delicate sensibilities?”

“Of course not. Romance story-time and a shirtless guy go well together.” She shrugged. “I mean, it’s not a cravat, but…it’ll do.”

He laughed. “Next time I’ll be better prepared.”

“All right. Here we go,” she said, lifting the book and opening it. She cleared her throat. “London, 1820. Sebastian St. Clair had never detested the taste of tea so much. From behind her teacup, the mother of the four unmarried Lancaster sisters stared at him with the predatory smile of a tiger, a tiger fixated on getting all of her young swiftly out of the den and off her hands.

“The woman had prattled on for ten minutes about how skilled the third sister was at the pianoforte, as if musical skill were the missing factor that would send Sebastian rushing to make a proposal. He wished to tell Lady Lancaster that he was there only because his own mother had insisted he accept the invitation and that he had absolutely no intention of wedding any of her offspring. But the gossip that would stir in thetonwould not be worth the headache.”

Beckham settled in, watching Eliza as she read, her voice smooth and soft.

“So he drank tea and ate the offered biscuits. And smiled politely. And tried not to count the minutes. Beatrix, the oldest of the brood, a girl who had once been his childhood friend,had not said more than a few polite words thus far. But the way Bea was looking at him, the little smile that curved her lips, made him think she was thoroughly enjoying his torture. He wanted to throw a biscuit at her.”

Beckham chuckled. “Uh-oh. Biscuit-throwing is definitely foreplay.”

“One hundred percent,” Eliza agreed. “And looks like we’re going to have a feisty heroine on our hands.”

“Excellent. Feisty is hot.”

“As are grumpy viscounts,” she said with a nod.

She went back to reading, and he tucked his arm behind his head, the tight tension he’d been carrying inside him all day loosening. This was…nice. He’d never had a problem sleeping alone. He preferred it that way—liked his space, liked the clear boundaries of parting ways after sex. But lying there with Eliza, even in a virtual way, felt cozy and comfortable andsexy. He wished he could just reach through the phone and pull her next to him, curl her back against his front, let her read while he could feel her pressed against him.

His boxers twitched again, his cock hardening at the thought, the images. He shifted a little to hide the evidence, and a soft grunt escaped him as the fabric brushed across his body. He cleared his throat, trying to cover it.

Eliza stopped reading, too perceptive to miss it. “You okay?”

“I’m good.”

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