A Rivalry of Hearts

Memories are like broken glass," I say. "They only hurt if you touch them.

I’ve never been fond of propriety, especially when it primarily seeks to control and repress women without placing nearly as many restrictions on men.

I’ve always maintained that a woman in possession of a vast imagination would want for nothing in life. She’d be superior to those with such fleeting virtues as wit, beauty, or accomplishment. The richest woman in the world, if only in her mind.

For all the Anne Shirleys whose imaginations run wild and tempers run wilder. Keep that fire ablaze.

Edwina worries her lip as I face her. She arches a brow in a silent question. You really think you can do this? I step in close and hold her gaze, my unspoken answer written in the wicked curve of my lips. My beautiful bespectacled hellion. I’ll make you pay for doubting me.

How the hell did flirting with Edwina end in a bet where I’m supposed to sleep with someone who isn’t her? Did she not understand that when I dared her to seduce someone tonight, I meant me? I made it so obvious. Didn’t I?

How does she draw out this side of me? The side that dares her to be bold, only to raise the stakes and act bolder myself. The side that competes with her again and again, not to crush her, but to watch her clash against me.

Memories are like broken glass,” I say. “They only hurt if you touch them.

What if someone comes?” He brushes his mouth over the corner of my jaw. “What if you come?

Take the lead. Show me what you like. Show me where you want me to kiss you.

Those are my fucking lips.

Out loud, I say, “Tell me, dearest, how would you like me to make love to you tonight?

I’ve always handled sex differently than I assume other people do, and William saw a hint of that in the north wing. Yet it doesn’t mean I’m devoid of desire. I felt it, hot and heavy with him, and it’s still there.