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“You’re so arrogant. I have half a mind to die just to prove you wrong.”
For, if there was anything in the world King enjoyed, it was kissing. He adored the privacy of it. The magnificent way it tested and teased and tempted and ultimately told, foreshadowing a greater, more intense act.
“Happiness. That’s what books smell like. Happiness. That’s why I always wanted to have a bookshop. What better life than to trade in happiness?”
Vaguely, it occurred to her that other people found love to be a pleasurable experience, filled with roses and doves and sweets and whatever else. Those people were obviously cabbageheads. Because she loved the Marquess of Eversley quite desperately, and there wasn’t anything remotely pleasurable about it.
“It’s you who don’t see. I only ever wished you to be the man you are.”
