11 #2
Elle was assuming things about me, though.
I should have shown her how wrong she was, but instead of coming up with a witty remark, I could not muster one.
I let myself dwell on something else. How her luscious lips moved as she spoke.
They demanded to be kissed. A kiss would shut her up.
One move and I could kiss her, I thought.
Then we would stop talking about that damn interview.
"Am I right or am I wrong?" she said.
Wrong. Say it. Say the word. For some reason, I could not lie to her.
"When I was a kid, I used to spend a lot of time in places like this.
" I gestured at the library we were in. "I loved reading.
I loved escaping into worlds beyond my own.
I also liked learning about people who lived before me.
The things they did. That's how I ended up interested in history.
So when I got older, I got more and more interested in the Plantagenets.
A fascinating, dysfunctional family, not unlike my own. "
Elle nodded. She knew what I was talking about. At least partially.
"And as time went on, I became interested in their downfall, the Wars of the Roses in particular. A character I came to love was Margaret Beaufort."
"A formidable and fierce woman," she added.
"Exactly. Married at thirteen. Child rape, if you ask me.
Had a child so young that it probably ruined her for life.
Widowed at a young age. She was at most a bystander when the war started.
She had everything taken away from her. But she rose from the ashes and took the crown for her son.
I like warriors. As a child, I enjoyed reading about Richard the Lionheart, Henry the Fifth, and Edward the Fourth.
Yet, the warrior who truly changed my view of the medieval world and our own was Margaret Beaufort.
She fought not with a sword, but with her head and won. "
A small smile twitched on her lips. "I can see why you like her."
"When the mainstream attacked her name to protect a tyrant, I wanted to change the story. I wanted to tell the actual truth."
"And that's why you wrote your second book."
I nodded. "I enjoyed writing it. More than I did the historical fiction, actually."
She took a step forward. "I can tell."
I frowned. "I thought you said you didn't like it?"
She shrugged. "You shouldn't trust what I say when I'm drunk."
I took a cautious step forward, closing the little space between us. Her breath hitched in her throat. "What about what you do when you're drunk?"
She licked her lips, and my groin tightened. "W-what did I do?"
"You tried to seduce me."
"Liar. You're the one who tried to kiss me."
"You're the one who stood on your tiptoes and rubbed her petite body against mine."
"Liar." She had dilated pupils. Desire flamed in her eyes.
"Am I?" I didn't have to lean down. She reached for my collar, pulled me down, and kissed me.
I didn't even think that I was right. I was too preoccupied by the way her kiss tasted.
I wanted her so much; I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe.
Nothing else was on my mind except this.
This kiss. Us. Her. The way her supple body felt against mine.
The way her breasts brushed against my chest lit my body on fire.
A thousand alarm bells that should have been ringing were quiet.
I was her boss. I had promised myself not to touch her.
Not to kiss her. But all that was inconsequential compared to how she felt in my arms.
My hands encircled her waist, and I kissed her deeper. Our tongues danced and clashed as she rubbed her body against mine. I pressed her closer to me. She moaned when she felt my erection. But it wasn't enough. I wanted to be inside her. To feel her naked skin against mine. I wanted—
"Levi. I knew you'd be in here."
My mother's voice pierced through the bubble of desire like a poisoned dart. Elle and I broke apart, disappointment filling me when I could no longer feel her lips against mine. Leave it to my mother to be a cockblocker.
"Mom."
She waltzed in as though she were here the entire time.
Her face had undergone several upgrades since the last time I saw her.
The few wrinkles that fought through the previous Botox had disappeared, and her hair was a darker shade of brunette.
She did not have her signature tan, which was a first. The jeans and silk camisole she had on made her look younger than the Botox that filled her face.
Gliding over to us in strappy heels, her face bright with the curiosity of a mother too excited to meet her son's friends, she said, "And who is this?"
"I thought you were in the Caribbean."
She captured me in a strangling hug. "That trip was canceled on account of my boyfriend being the stupidest cheater in the world."
"Hi darling," she said to Elvira. "I have never met any of Levi's girlfriends. I was starting to think my son is gay."
Elle's gaze darted between my mother and me. "I'm not—"
"Shouldn't you be in London, then?" I said.
"Your boyfriend doesn't like it when his mother ruins the date," Mom said in a conspiratorial tone to Elvira.
"It’s not a date," I said, taking Elvira's hand. "I wanted to give her a book and then leave this dastardly place."
"Leave?" Her eyes widened in horror. "And not have dinner with your poor mother?"
"Yes, leave. We can't stay too long."
"Why not? Aren't schools closed in America? It's not like you have classes to teach."
"Mother, there's more to academia than just teaching."
"And academia will be fine without you for a few more hours. Plus, I want to get to know your girlfriend."