Taming London (Warwick Dragons #1) - Milly Taiden Page 0,9

sloppy, at best. Not to mention that your abstract was a mess. But there were still some redeemable qualities to the work. You bring quite a bit of flavor to the historical studies. At least you have that going for you.”

One of London’s eyebrows was hooked up in amusement. “You’ve read my latest paper…”

Shit.

Why in the fuck had she admitted to that?

“Actually,” he went on, “it’s more than that. If you think my work has slipped, that’s because you’ve read my other papers as well. Why?” He was entirely too pleased with himself. The curve of his smile and his arched brow were a clear sign of it. Instead of being pulled in, like she would have been seconds ago, she wanted to kick him in the dick for being such a jerk. Didn’t he know he was wasting his talents by playing the playboy?

“Required reading,” she snapped back.

His chuckle was smooth, but not as smooth as the way the muscles of his body moved as he made his way to her. He stopped when he was mere inches away from her. He bent down his head, making sure their eyes were level. “My latest paper came out a few months ago. I doubt you were doing required reading then.” He winked at her before turning on his heels and disappearing into his bedroom.

The second he was out of sight, Bethany put a hand to her chest. Her heart was thundering like mad. It echoed through her ears, making her blood pulse with excitement. For one wild second, she had been sure he was going to kiss her. His full lips had been right there. His pine scent still lingered on the air from his close proximity.

But he hadn’t kissed her.

Instead, he had goaded her.

She would have to do better at steeling herself against him, and she definitely couldn’t let it slip that she had been following his career for a long time.

Who admitted to reading historical academic papers meant for historians or university-level history students?

Apparently, she did. She could melt into the ground for the shame of it.

London quickly returned with a pair of black dress slacks. His pale blue dress shirt hung open, framing his abs. He made his way to the living room and took a seat on the soft gray sofa. He patted the seat beside him, but there was no way Bethany was getting that close to him again.

She resolved herself to settle on the single armchair. She turned in the overstuffed seat to face him.

“Mr. Warwick,” she began, needing to distance herself from him even more. “I think your mother has made it very clear that we are to work together to fix your image and to make sure you can carry the Warwick legacy into the next generation.” She pulled her tablet from her purse and pulled up her plan of action. “I’ve outlined here a few ideas for benefits we could plan, but one does seem to make more sense. You’ll see that the charity your mother is chairwoman for, Literacy for Girls, requires some funds. I think that we should do something for that association. It would line up well with your latest exhibition at the museum and your latest paper, since both were about literacy in the 16th century. It would not only give the charity desperately needed money, but it would also bring more eyes on your failed exhibit and poorly received paper.”

That last bit had been a jab. Bethany knew it had been, yet she was proud of herself. London finally looked at her, his eyes cutting through her defenses.

“Failed exhibit. Poorly received paper.” He repeated the words like they were full of venom.

They had kind of been, but she wasn’t backing down.

“Yes.” She was resolute, but she also wouldn’t linger. “I think if we aim for next month, it gives us plenty of time to plan something truly great. Not to mention, it gives the exhibit all of the foot traffic it can get while we advertise the event. It might very well salvage your career.” Ha! Take that, Mr. Playboy.

London opened his mouth to interject, but she silenced him by continuing.

“Your mother told me she had received a worried call from your employer. Let’s try to be honest with each other while we work together.”

“Honest,” he repeated the word like it was foreign to him.

“Honest,” she insisted.

“Let me ask you this. Do you know what my family is?”

“Dragon shifters.”

If he was surprised by the fact that