That’s when he noticed she was rubbing the pinky on her left side.“Let me see that.”Gently, he tugged her one hand free of its viselike grip on her pillow.
“It’s fine.I just jammed it against your…bicep when I was trying to steal back my pillow.”
“Tsk, tsk.That will teach you not to steal.”
She pursed her lips at him in an attempt to chide him.
“You’re holding this like it’s a prized possession.”
“It is.Considering how I’m dressed.I need some protection.Some cover.What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to answer one of your questions and to see you write the letter to Fidelia.”
“Now?”
“Did you have a better time in mind?”
“Daytime.”
“Ah…to be innocent.Nighttime is the best time.All the time.”He winked.He didn’t mean to.It just slipped out.
But her aggravated growl of a response made it worth it.
“You don’t trust me to write the letter?”
“Of course not.”
“My, what poor experiences you must have had with women to be so distrustful.”
“Both.And.”
“Please explain.”She took a seat at her writing desk while clutching the pillow he had hoped might slip a little.
“My experiences with women range from utmost pleasure to downright horror.”
“Oh my…”
“No need to fret.I have no intention of sharing any abominable events with you.”
“I’m not reassured.”
When he caught her eye, he expected to see an acerbic twist to her lips, but instead he found more curiosity.Curiosity that would only lead to vulnerability.Which would only lead to pain.That door was shut.
“What shall you write to Fidelia and how can I be of assistance?”
“You can’t.”
“Surely, I can.”
“How many people do you think it takes to write one letter?”
“That depends.”
“Color me intrigued and paint the lines, please.”
Oh, how he enjoyed her quick wit.He had insisted—to himself—to wait two whole days before approaching her.The two days had been endless torture.
“What about the elderly?Someone who can no longer hold a quill—”
