From Blood & Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,115
then his lips curved up in a small half-smile. The dimple made an appearance in his right cheek, causing the twisting motion inside me to increase. “How much of this have you read?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Probably not, but I need to know if you got to this part.” He cleared his throat.
Wait.
Was he going to read from it?
No.
Please, no.
“I only read the first chapter,” I said in a rush. “And you look like you’re in the middle of the book, so—”
“Good. Then this will be fresh and new to you. Let me see, where was I?” He dragged a finger over the page and then tapped the center. “Oh, yes. Here. ‘Fulton had promised that when he was done with me that I wouldn’t be able to walk straight for a day, and he was right.’ Huh. Impressive.”
My eyes widened.
“‘The things the man did with his tongue and his fingers had only been surpassed by his shockingly large, decadently pulsing, and wickedly throbbing—’” Hawke chuckled. “This woman has a knack for adverbs, doesn’t she?”
“You can stop now.”
“‘Manhood.’”
“What?” I gasped.
“That’s the end of that sentence,” he explained, and when he glanced up, I immediately knew that whatever was about to come out of his mouth was going to burn me alive. “Oh, you may not know what she means by manhood. I do believe she’s talking about his cock. Prick. Dick. His—”
“Oh, my gods,” I whispered.
“His—apparently—extremely large, throbbing and pulsing—”
“I get it! I completely understand.”
“Just wanted to make sure. Wouldn’t want you to be too embarrassed to ask and think she was referencing his love for her or something.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“And I’m about to stab you,” I warned. “In a very violent manner.”
Concern flickered across his face as he lowered the book. “Now that, I believe.”
“Give me back the journal.”
“But, of course.” He offered it, and I snatched it out of his hand quickly, holding it to my chest. “All you had to do was ask.”
“What?” My mouth dropped open. “I have been asking.”
“Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. “I have selective hearing.”
“You are… You are the worst."
“You got your words wrong.” Striding past me, he patted the top of my head. I lashed out, narrowly missing him. “You meant, I’m the best.”
“I got my words right.”
“Come. I need to get you back before something other than your own foolishness puts you at risk.” He stopped by the door. “And don’t forget your book. I expect a summary of each chapter tomorrow.”
He and I were never going to speak about this diary again.
But I did bring it with me when I followed him to the door. It was only when he reached for the handle that it struck me. “How did you know where I was?”
Hawke looked over his shoulder at me, a faint smile playing at his lips. “I have incredible tracking skills, Princess.”
“I have incredible tracking skills,” I muttered under my breath the following afternoon.
“What?” Tawny turned to me, frowning.
“Nothing. I’m just talking to myself,” I said, taking a deep breath and pushing thoughts of Hawke out of my mind. “You look beautiful.”
And that was true.
Tawny’s hair was twisted up with a few tight curls framing her face. Her lips matched her mask and gown, a deep and vibrant shade of red. The thin, sleeveless dress hugged her lithe form. She wasn’t just beautiful as she walked toward where I stood by the fireplace. She was confident and at ease with her body and herself, and I was in awe of her.
“Thank you.” She straightened the material along her shoulder and then dropped her hand. “You look absolutely stunning, Poppy.”
A flutter erupted in my chest and spread to my belly. “Do I?”
“Gods, yes. Have you not looked at yourself yet?”
I shook my head no.
Tawny stared at me. “So, you put on the dress—this absolutely beautiful, tailor-made dress—and haven’t even looked at yourself? Not only that, you let me do your hair. I could’ve made it look like a nest for birds.”
A nervous giggle left me. “I really hope you didn’t.”
She shook her head. “You are so…weird sometimes.”
I was. Admittedly. But it was hard to explain why I hadn’t looked at myself yet. It was so rare that I saw myself in anything other than white, and even when I dressed differently to sneak out, I didn’t really look at myself. And this was still different because it was allowed. Because some who knew me would see me.