Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
T aylor sits with crossed arms, eyeing the bowl of popcorn I have between us on the couch.
“Is this really necessary?”
I toss a kernel in my mouth, smirking as I grab the remote. “You’ll thank me later.”
Taylor shakes his head, sinking into the Havens’ leather sofa. I scroll through Netflix, and it doesn’t take very long to locate the show I’m searching for.
Out of the corner of my eye, Taylor’s brows shoot straight up. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I have paused on a thumbnail of a woman with heaving breasts. A man with long sideburns presses his lips against her throat, both of their faces screwed up in exaggerated pleasure. I grin at my favorite historical drama—the aptly named Her Duke’s Delight . The show is heavy on shirtless Brits and light on historical accuracy. Naturally, it’s the best piece of television ever made.
Taylor’s expression tells me it’s just about his worst nightmare.
“You said you’d trust me,” I remind him.
He turns his head like a possessed doll in a horror film. “You want me to write an episode of Her Duke’s Delight , and you don’t expect me to question what your intentions are?”
I roll my eyes. “Just give it a chance. The show might not be Oscar-worthy, but the characters are interesting. The romance is completely swoon-worthy, and there are even a couple of surprising plot twists. If you want to learn how to write something that will move people, this is a great place to start.”
Taylor swallows his rebuke with a pained expression. “I’ve never even seen this show before. How am I supposed to write an episode for it?”
I wave a hand at the TV. “That’s why I’m putting it on. We’ll watch a handful of episodes tonight and you can get started on a draft tomorrow.” Taylor’s eyes start to widen and I have to cut him off. “Don’t try to tell me this is a waste of time. I watched all kinds of shit at school I didn’t want to. And my teachers were right—I always learned something new by the end of it.”
I toss him a notebook and a pen, giggling when both bounce off his toned chest.
“I want you to take notes. Write down every time you have a visceral response to a scene. Write down things you like and what you don’t. Take note of names and titles and relationships. It will help you when you start your own script.”
Taylor uses his teeth to uncap the pen, his eyes drifting to mine as he lets it fall. “Your word is my command, Teach.”
I rip my gaze away, turning back to the TV. I keep my voice cool so he can’t tell my stomach is doing somersaults when I say, “Pay attention, Hedlund. Who knows, you might even end up enjoying it.”
It takes thirty minutes for the furrow to smooth out between Taylor’s brows, and forty-five for him to crack his first smile. Sure, it’s at the male lead tripping over his own feet, but it’s a start.
When the episode ends with its infamous plot twist—the duke’s long-lost childhood friend being revealed as his courtship’s uptight older sister—Taylor sits a little straighter.
I do my best to smother my grin. “So, what do you think?”
Taylor tears his eyes away from the screen long enough to give me a little shrug. “It’s all right. I don’t see how the duke is going to fall for Miss Hartlocke, though. They can’t stand each other.”
“Enemies to lovers,” I say with a dreamy sigh. “Write that down. It’s everyone’s favorite trope.” My grin grows a little wider when he immediately follows my instructions.
A splashing sound comes from the TV and we both turn to watch the duke dive into a pond, saving Miss Hartlocke in the nick of time. Her screams turn to sighs as he hoists her shivering body into his arms. A slow pan up his torso treats us to rippling abs and a delightful happy trail. If we’re supposed to wonder what happened to all the buttons on his gaping tunic, his clenched jaw and dreamy blue eyes ensure we forget.
The shot cuts to Miss Hartlocke, her cheeks pink and eyes wide. The duke deposits her onto dry land, his voice going all growly as he says, “You would be wise to be more careful next time, Miss.”
I let out a little squeal, kicking up my feet.
Taylor looks confused. “Why is she so flushed? Is it from fear?”
I let out a quiet chuckle as Miss Hartlocke’s maid draws her a bath and helps her remove her waterlogged clothes.
“She just fell into a pond. Wouldn’t she want to get dry?” Taylor asks, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “I don’t get what this scene is trying to…”
His voice trails off as a naked Miss Hartlocke steps into the tub. Her head falls back, one of her hands slipping below the water.
“Is that…?” Taylor glances at me, eyes going wide. “Is she…”
A drawn-out moan answers his question.
I press my lips together, amusement fading as the actress undulates in the tub. The tips of her breasts bob above the water, bubbles obscuring the circular movements of her hand beneath the surface.
My throat grows dry as I try not to blush. I don’t remember this scene being quite so graphic. Frankly, I don’t remember it at all. I played the first season of Her Duke’s Delight whenever I did chores around the house. It’s quite possible I was off folding laundry the first time Miss Hartlocke pleasured herself onscreen.
Taylor’s gone stock-still beside me, his eyes narrowed on the TV as a montage of the duke is timed with little sighs.
Miss Hartlocke traces her swollen breasts and I shift in my seat. Perhaps it’s Taylor’s proximity, his uncanny ability to get under my skin that’s turning me red. I feel him glance in my direction before he slides a pillow on top of his lap, jaw set unnaturally tight as he turns back to the TV.
He takes a breath I feel in my chest when Lady Hartlocke throws her head back, muffling a cry with the back of her hand. Rivulets of water run down her heaving chest and I know Taylor is watching them fall. He’s turned on. The evidence lingers in the fingers he’s flexing on top of the pillow, in the strained way he’s set his stony expression.
I know he’s turned on, because I am, too. Liquid heat has pooled low in my belly, and it’s taking everything in me to resist pressing my thighs together. If I start to squirm, Taylor will know I’m not as unaffected as I seem.
“I still don’t get it,” he says, voice slightly strained. “She told all her friends how much she hated him. So why…” he trails off as his tongue makes a crescent in his cheek.
“Really?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even. “You didn’t feel the chemistry when he saved her? It was written all over their faces.”
Taylor turns to me, throat bobbing with the effort. “What was?”
I shrug. “Desire. When the duke pulled her out of that pond, I guarantee she was thinking about how hard his arms felt wrapped around her. How warm and strong he was. And he would’ve been doing the same—noticing her curves, the softness of her skin as she trembled against him. Beneath all those layers of dislike, there was something else there, too. Is it really so surprising she needed relief after that?”
I meet Taylor’s eyes, only to find they’ve gone dark. Taylor’s looking at me the same way the duke studied Miss Hartlocke. Like he’s stripping me bare, piece by piece. I shiver, not entirely sure he isn’t succeeding.
“You have a way with words, Montes. But aren’t you overthinking it?” This time, I know I’m not mistaken. Taylor’s voice is low, almost husky when he leans in. “The duke is the first man she’s ever touched above the wrist. She doesn’t want him . She just needed a good fuck.”
My lips part and Taylor chuckles. His mouth lifts into that half-smirk as he draws back to survey me.
“And what about him? The duke is basically a rake—he’s seen plenty of scantily-clad maidens. So how do you explain his response to her?
“The duke?” Taylor’s lips twitch. He shrugs. “He got hard when he looked down the front of Miss Hartlocke’s little white dress. What? You don’t think that’s exactly what he was doing? It wasn’t desire. It was lust . I wouldn’t be surprised if the righteous duke went back to his room and stroked himself, pretending it was Miss Hartlocke’s pretty hands making him cum.”
Taylor’s eyes are memorizing my face, drawing an unhurried path around my lips and down my throat. In the low light, I’m tempted to close my eyes. But if I do, if I give in to the impulse, I’m terrified I’ll find myself standing exactly where I had last night. With a fantasy guiding my feverish hands down my body. If I close my eyes, I might convince myself that the rough cadence of Taylor’s voice was caused by me. That he’s picturing the same scene I had—his hands mapping my curves, my fingers dipping into his pants. I’m no better than Miss Hartlocke. But Taylor is not the noble duke.
There’s an awareness in his gaze that sends a shiver down my spine. He’s smirking at me like he’s remembering a secret we share, one where I’m in on the joke. A terrible, fleeting thought wonders if I had been right after all. That Taylor really had been outside my door, listening as I pictured him doing all the filthy things he just described.
Something on my face causes Taylor’s smirk to fall. He clears his throat, breaking our gaze. “Sorry,” he says after a moment. “I guess you were right. This show has a way of…moving you.”
That’s one way to put it. I smooth out my top, banishing my fears to the back of my mind. Taylor doesn’t know about the shower. He can’t. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to sit beside me right now, looking as unaffected as he ever has.
I jump up from my seat, watching my bowl of popcorn spill over the couch cushions. “Watch a few more episodes before bed. Take as many notes as you can, all right?”
When Taylor looks up at me, surprise flashes through his eyes so quick I’m almost sure it was a trick of the light. “You aren’t staying?”
I shrug. “I’ve got my own script to work on.” I’m halfway out of the room when Taylor’s voice calls me back.
“Hold on, when’s my episode due?”
I flash him a sidelong glance. “I’m not actually your teacher, Hedlund. Just give it to me when you’re done, all right?”
I leave before he can reply. Taylor might be able to turn his feelings off at the flip of a switch, but I cannot. And right now, I’m not sure I can survive another hour sitting by his side.
Not when his voice keeps pulling me back to a darkened shower. Not when I’m starting to hope my fantasy might come to life.