A Stitch in Time 01 - A Stitch in Time by Kelley Armstrong

Author:Kelley Armstrong [Armstrong, Kelley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantasy, Contemporary, Romance, Romantic Suspense
ISBN: 9781989046203
Google: lTj-DwAAQBAJ
Publisher: KLA Fricke Inc
Published: 2020-10-13T04:00:00+00:00

I may have read the letter three times, grinning the entire time. Then I pen one of my own. In it, I assure him that I’ll be there at seven his time. I also give details of what I envisioned last night. Details, admittedly, more worthy of a sensual romance than a hot sex scene. There’s no need to rush to the latter. I dwell on the lead-up, on what I imagined doing as I stood over him, the kisses and the caresses, where I wanted to kiss, where I wanted to caress.

When I reread the letter, my cheeks burn. I tapered off before anything explicit, but yearning leaps from the page. I don’t discard it, though. He asked for details, and I delivered.

I fold the note and close my eyes, thinking of William. Then I’m in his room. His empty room, as expected. I tuck the note into his book, in hopes that if Mrs. Shaw cleans his chambers, she won’t move it.

I return to my time and scoop up Enigma, who has been watching the proceedings with confusion . . . and growingly urgent cries for breakfast. We go down and dine on our respective morning meals, and I curl up in the sitting room, reading and luxuriating in a lazy morning.

It’s not until I go up to dress—nearly noon—that I remember the pouch. While it feels mildly mercenary, it’s a decadent pleasure to be sitting cross legged on my bed, running gold coins through my fingers, imagining all the ways I’ll use it, both sensible and indulgent, as William demanded.

Speaking of imaginings . . .

After I’m finished playing with my gold like a comic-book miser, I lean over the bed to peek under the floorboards. There’s a new note. As I snatch it up, I grin.

Of course, the moment I realize I’m grinning with anticipation, my smile freezes. What if my note was too much? What if—

Dearest Bronwyn,

I suppose I have only myself to blame for that. I fairly pleaded for details, and so what did I expect you to provide? Nothing, if I am being quite honest. Perhaps, at most, a teasing note that rapped my knuckles for my impudence. Instead, I received . . .

I did mention that I need to run errands today, did I not? Very, very important errands that cannot be impeded by me sitting on the edge of my bed, reading your letter repeatedly, allowing my imagination to fill in the visual details, like that moving picture you showed me, now playing in my mind, of you standing over me in bed, touching me, kissing me, sliding in beside . . .

Blast you, woman. I have work to do, and now all I can think about is that letter and, worse, imagine if I had been here when you delivered it, if I had returned only a few minutes sooner and caught you tucking it into my book. I could have taken it out and read it, insisting that you remain while I did so, and then having you there with me when I finished reading .

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