Taming the Beast (The Fairy Tales of New York Book 3) by Lucy King

Author:Lucy King [King, Lucy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Fiction
ISBN: 9781942240877
Publisher: Tule Publishing
Published: 2015-06-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

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The next Saturday Seb rolled off Mercy and flopped back on the pillows, his heart pumping like a steam train and his breathing all over the place in the aftermath of what had to have been the most exhilarating sexual experience of his life – which was saying something given how hard they’d been going at it over the last few weekends – and wished he’d never started with the whole conversation thing, because, apparently, if he gave it an inch it took a mile.

The point he’d made last week had been perfectly valid. He and Mercy had to talk about something while they caught their breath, and the cautious small talk they’d been engaging in up to then had been driving him nuts.

But still.

Why had he told her about his medal? Why had he done that? He hadn’t told anyone. And why, when she’d asked if he ever got lonely had he been tempted to confess that he did, on occasion? The medal was no big deal and of course he wasn’t lonely. There weren’t enough hours in the day for him to do all the things he needed to do as it was. He certainly didn’t have time to be lonely.

It had occurred to him that controlling their conversation was a lot harder than controlling the sex. That was easy because Mercy seemed quite happy to let him take the lead and he was hardly going to object when it so greatly appealed to the alpha male in him.

However, she had a quick, perceptive mind and didn’t miss a trick. With very little effort on her part, she could have him spilling out things he’d really rather not. So he had to take care. Greater care. Although that ought to present little problem since he’d had half a lifetime of taking extremely great care.

“For someone who hasn’t has sex for five years,” he murmured, figuring she’d now be expecting the conversation he’d told her was a good idea and deciding it wouldn’t hurt to emphasize exactly what they were doing here, “you’re very good at it.”

Mercy looked at him, startled, as well she might because perhaps that was a bit personal. And perhaps just a little bit insulting.

“Thanks,” she muttered, levering herself up, leaning back against the headboard of her bed and drawing her knees up. Something flickered in her eyes and her chin came up in a way that never failed to thrill – no, amuse – him. “Before you came along and messed things up, I’d had plenty of practice.”

The amusement faded. Oh. Right. Well. He had asked. “Not all that busy with the vineyard, then.”

“I made time.”

But not now. Not for him. Which was fine. Just the way he wanted it. “How many boyfriends have you had?”

“Three.”

“Any serious?”

“Only one.”

“What happened?” Not that he wanted to know particularly. No. He was merely following the conversational convention of expanding a subject. It was the polite thing to do.

“He had commitment issues,” said Mercy with a sigh. “I thought I could change him but realized after a year that I couldn’t.

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