Page 6 of Hidden & Held

I chuckle at that. Even in full form, Phoenix should not be trusted over an open flame.

Of course. I’ll make that stir-fry you loved so much last time.

Sugar

Sugar

I almost forgot, thank you for the new desk light. Definitely easier on my eyes.

Always

Grabbing my stuff, I practically skip out of the office. I got groceries to buy for my girl.

Hours later, I tell Phoenix to start on the work she has to finish tonight while I put the dishes away. By the time I’m done, she’s curled up on the couch, folders splayed around her as she twirls the highlighter in her fingers. From the tension radiating from her and the frown tugging at her mouth, I know she isn’t making the progress she wants.

An idea strikes when I spot a dog-eared book on the side table. Giving her enough space, I sit on the farther side of the couch and begin to read The Duke’s Forbidden Vow. Minutes later, I know I’ve got her.

“I cannot concentrate with you doing that,” she chastises without looking up.

“Doing what?” I turn the page. “I am merely providing ambiance.”

“You are doing the voice,” she attempts to admonish as she squirms in her seat.

“Oh, did I do that aloud? My bad. I’m simply reading.” I’m the picture of innocence, even as I peer over the edge of the book with a grin.

I set the book down and stand, adopting a posture the duke would be proud of.

“Miss Lane.” I lower my voice, adding a duke’s British accent. Attempting to set the scene of being in a Regency drawing room. Not her living room at eleven at night on a Tuesday. “I find myself quite unable to continue in a professional capacity this evening.”

“Stop,” she says half-heartedly, still not looking up. The highlighter lies forgotten on her leg.

“The propriety of the situation demands I keep my distance.” I close the space between us. “And yet …”

I meet her eyes with a yearning I hope Mr. Darcy would be proud of.

“Jackson,” she says, barely above a whisper.

“And yet,” I continue, undeterred, “I find distance increasingly difficult to maintain in your presence, Miss Lane.”

“No.” She shakes her head, setting her brief aside. “That is not how people talked in the Regency era.”

“No?” I lean back slightly.

“No. Nobody said ‘increasingly difficult to maintain.’ That’s modern syntax.”

I consider her words. “What would the period-accurate version be?”

“Something like ‘I find I cannot keep my distance’ or ‘I am quite unable to remain sensible in your company,’” she enunciates with a spot-on Victorian-era lady-in-waiting impression.

“I am quite unable to remain sensible in your company,” I practice. “Better?”

“Marginally.” She swallows, not looking me in the eye.

“Then allow me to demonstrate.” I move my body over hers, hand at her waist as I guide her to lie back against the cushions. “A technique, I believe, that predates your Regency period by several centuries.”

My hand grazes up her stomach, between her breasts. I brush the back of my fingers over her neck before gently cupping her face. She arches her head toward me, and I kiss her deeply. Slowly.

I pull back, moving to trail kisses down her neck.