Royally Not Ready(91)

His brow raises. “Don’t test me, Lilly.”

“But it’s so fun.”

“I told you, no fooling around today, we have things to get done.”

A loud guffaw pops out of my mouth. “Me, goofing around? Uh, excuse me, sir, but you’re the one who hasn’t let me shut my legs since I woke up.”

“Are you complaining?” he asks in such a rich, threatening tone that I feel a chill run up my back.

“No, just pointing out the obvious.”

“Not needed. Now get over here so I can teach you a lesson in woodworking.”

“Oh yes, teach me, big man.”

“Lilly . . .”

“Ooo, a warning tone.” I settle between his legs and hold my piece of wood out in front of me. “I like it when you use that tone. It makes my nipples hard.”

“Are you trying to make me angry?”

“We haven’t had angry sex yet, so we could go for the trifecta today. Sweet morning sex, shower sex, and angry sex. Talk about being accomplished.”

His arms come around me and his lips fall close to my ear. “Focus, Lilly, or else you’re not going to get what I’ve planned for later.”

“Oh, the quiz? I’m sure that’ll be fun.”

His hand slides under the hem of my shirt and up my side until it reaches my breast. He pulls my nipple between his fingers and gives it a good squeeze.

Fuck . . .

Mouth right on my ear, he says, “Trust me, Lilly, it’s more than a quiz.”

Then he releases me and takes the piece of wood from between my hands.

And he thinks I’m the one teasing him?

“Basswood is the best wood to carve, especially as a beginner,” he says, as if everything is fine and him pinching my nipple didn’t just spur me on once more. “And you want to make sure it’s fully dry. If you feel it’s wet in any area, the wood will be of no use to you because when it dries, it’ll crack leaving your carving broken.”

Okay, I’ll admit it, it’s kind of sexy hearing him talk about this carving stuff.

“And you see the way the grain in the wood is flowing?” He runs his large hand over the wood. “That’s the way you want to carve, with the grain.” He picks up a carving knife, a thin, curved piece of sharp metal on a wooden handle. “See the curve in this knife? This is so you can use both hands to push the blade through the wood. One to guide, one to push. It will offer you better control.”

He adjusts his hands on the piece of wood, presses his thumb to the curve of the blade and, as if he’s carving through butter, he pushes the blade through the wood, taking off a chunk.

“Think you can handle that?”

“I think so,” I say as he hands me the wood and the knife. Looking over my shoulder, arms around me, he helps me get my hands into position, and then with his own, he overlaps mine and helps me make my first cut. Together, we shave a long strip off the end and onto the floor.

“Perfect, Lilly,” he says, his praise settling in my stomach, like a warm drink. “This time, do it on your own.”

He lifts his hands and rests them on my thighs while I take my time, pushing down on the blade and shaving off a piece of wood.

“I did it,” I say, excited.

“Yes, you did. Now, remember that when removing the wood, you have to do it in thin layers. If you go in too deep, you risk taking out a bigger chunk than intended.”

“Okay. Should I keep shaving?”

“Yes, for practice. When I think you have the technique down, we can attempt your first carving.”

I continue to shave layer after layer off the block of wood, collecting a pile of curled wood shavings on the floor while Keller watches, offering instruction and helping me with angles.

“I can see why people enjoy this so much. It’s very soothing. I like the feel of it.”

“My father and I spent nights together carving fish when I was younger.”

“Why fish?” I ask. “Well, besides the fact that you’re all obsessed with cod.”

He leans his chest against my back, his cheek nearly pressing against mine. “We traded them at Torg.”

“Oh, right. Were you and your dad good?”

“Dad was. At the time, I was still learning, so my fish weren’t nearly as smooth as his, but Dad always made sure our trade was a packaged deal. Whoever got his, got mine too.”

“That’s so sweet.” I dig my knife in a little too far and notice that it’s tough to push through. Keller helps me adjust, his warm hands on top of mine. “Do you have any of your fish still?”

“I have one. King Theo gave it to me after the fire. We lost everything in that fire, but King Theo had a fish from my dad, and instead of keeping it for himself, he gave it to me.”

I pause and lean to the side to look him in the eyes. “You’ve never really spoken about the fire, only mentioned it. I didn’t know you lost everything.”

“I keep that pretty close to my chest,” he says and then leans forward, trailing his lips along my cheek. “But you’ve snuck inside my bones, and it doesn’t seem as though I can shake you.”

“Does that mean you trust me?”

He nods. “I do.”

“Would you mind telling me more about your parents, then? I know you don’t like talking about them because it hurts, but it helps me to know that I’m not the only one who has felt alone in this life—at least, that’s what I assume you must have felt losing them at such a young age.”