Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
“What’s this?”
He turned and immediately had the breath torn from his lungs. “Bronte.”
She was wearing his shirt from last night and a sleepy expression that had his semi going all in.
“William? What’s this?” she repeated.
She was holding a book in her hand.
“Oh that.” He leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter, casually hiding the massive erection stretching out the front of his sweatpants. “Seeing what your father does for a living, I’m guessing you know what it is and the real question is why.”
She gave him a look.
God help him, he loved that look.
“Jane Eyre,” he added. “I like it better than the other two.”
“Other two?”
“Three sisters right? Hard to believe one family had so much talent in one area. Emily, Charlotte and Anne. I’ve read them all. Anne’s was good. Emily though—she did the world of romance a bit of a disservice.”
“Wait, I think I had something in my ear. You’re saying Emily Bronte ruined romance? You could actually be shot for that in some countries.” She chuckled, glancing down at the book again. “Wuthering Heights?”
He nodded with a grimace. “Don’t shoot me, but that’s the one. Heathcliff was a total arse, Cathy’s husband was a prickless moron and she was a—”
“You don’t have to say it,” she said, a strange expression on her face. “We agree on that part. She definitely was.”
She gestured to the book she was holding. “But you like this better? Rochester’s a wannabe bigamist who openly admits to being an asshole.”
“You’ve read it then?” He made another face. “Stupid question. It felt more realistic, in spite of the crazy lady in the attic. Jane knows what he is and still loves him, but she won’t settle. I can respect that. It made it more satisfying when they got together. Like they were on equal footing.”
“Wow,” Bronte said, eyes wide.
“What?” Now he felt uncomfortable. Had he gotten it wrong? “Not the pillow talk you were expecting from an undereducated pub brawler?”
She stepped closer, frowning. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
He turned back toward the bags of food, avoiding her eyes. “I’ve got other things to put in your mouth instead. And no, that’s not what I meant, though now I’m thinking about it. We got a morning delivery.”
“William.”
He made a racket rustling the bags.
“Hey, punk ass.”
He looked over his shoulder. “What?”
She sighed and shook her head. “You sounded like my dad. The way you were looking at the story? The first time I read it I thought, ‘How original. Another rich, white asshole trying to make time with his governess.’ But you saw more. It was sexier than I expected it to be, so I needed a minute.”
He walked around the counter, grabbing her hips and tugging her against him. “You thought that was sexy?”
“A tough, manly boxer reading Jayne Eyre? Do I have ovaries? Before you ask, the answer is yes. The only way it could have been sexier is if you were reading it out loud.” She was smiling, but her eyes were still uncertain. “Why are you reading the Bronte sisters, William?”
He focused on her lips and shrugged. “Hugo said you were all named for authors that inspired your dad.”
“Except Robert. Our mother named Robert.”
William smirked. “I heard about that, the poor man. Even I know who Nora is.”
“Don’t try to distract me.”
“There’s not much more to it. I was wondering why you’d been given the name.” He gestured toward the walls of his small living room, each corner crowded with books he’d brought home from the bargain bin. “When I can’t sleep, I read. And since I was thinking about you anyway…”
There was something in her eyes he couldn’t decipher. “You keep surprising me.” She took a deep breath. “Are you making coffee?”
He grinned at the yearning tone. “Only if that adds to my sex appeal.”
“Assume it does.”
He let her go to pour her a cup, turning when he heard her behind him.
“He said he named me Bronte when I came out screaming so loud I scared the nurses.”
William looked down in time to catch her self-conscious smile. “Most people would cringe and cover their ears, but he was proud. He said I sounded like a warrior, and the title of a poem sprang to mind. No Coward Soul Is Mine. It was one of Emily’s.”
He leaned back against the counter. “That fits.”
“Not as much as he thinks.” She wrinkled her nose. “To be honest, I was always jealous of Austen. Elizabeth Bennet was spunky and independent, and her guy was the hottest of the brooders as far as I’m concerned. He liked girls who could read.”
He held out her cup. “I love girls who can read and I can brood with the best of them.”
Bronte took it, brown eyes sparkling as she shook her head. “You’re many things, my friend, but brooder isn’t one of them. You enjoy life too much.”