The Bromance Book Club (Bromance Book Club, #1)(11)

Mack winked. “The sex scenes are also really fucking hot.”

Gavin dropped the book.

Mack and Wilson laughed and high-fived. “I loved that one,” Wilson said. “At least a BB Four.”

“Do I want to know what that means?” Gavin shuddered.

“It’s our rating system for how much sex is in it,” Wilson said.

“But what does BB stand for?”

The whole table spoke at once. “Book Boner.”

Gavin shot to his feet again. “This is ridiculous. My w-w-wife isn’t going to take me back because of some stupid books.” But what was even more ridiculous was that he was actually starting to consider it. It’s not like he could fuck things up any worse than they were.

“The books are just part of it,” Del said, picking up His Naked Countess or whatever it was called. “We’ve all been through it and came out on the other end better men, better husbands, and better lovers.”

Gavin stopped and looked up at that. “What do you mean?”

“Well, that got his attention.” Mack snorted. “Is that the problem, dude? Trouble in the bedroom?”

A heat rash broke out on Gavin’s neck. “No,” he growled.

“Because you know that problems in the bedroom stem from problems outside the bedroom. You can’t fix one without the other.”

Orgasms are the least of their problems.

Gavin jerked a thumb in Mack’s direction but spoke directly to Del. “Why is this dickweed part of the club? He’s not even married.”

“I’m here for the dirty parts,” Mack said, winking as he chomped into a slice of pizza, devouring half of it in one big bite.

Yan stood and approached him. “Look, I thought these guys were fucking with me too. I didn’t even look at the book they gave me for a month. But I’m telling you—we’re all telling you—we can help you. Book club isn’t just about books.”

Malcolm nodded solemnly. “It’s a brotherhood, man.”

“A way of life,” one of the city officials said.

Mack slung an arm over Wilson’s shoulder. “An emotional fucking journey.”

Gavin backed up. “I don’t like emotional journeys.”

“Just trust us,” Del said. “We’ll come up with a plan for saving your marriage every step of the way.”

“Are you sure you’re not just screwing with me?”

“You’re one of my best friends,” Del said. “Do you really think I’d make a joke out of you and Thea breaking up?”

“No.” Gavin sighed. But it seemed too easy. Read some books and, voilà? Thea would take him back with open arms? Was he really that desperate?

He pictured life without Thea.

Yes, he was really that desperate.

Gavin studied the cover again. “Why this one?”

Mack smirked. “Because it’s about an idiot who screws up his marriage and has to win back his wife. Sound familiar?”

He swallowed against his rising humiliation. “What do I have to do?”

“Simple,” Malcolm said. “Listen to us and read the book.”

“Yeah.” Del snorted. “And for fuck’s sake, do not kiss your wife again until I tell you to.”





Courting the Countess





The seventh Earl of Latford had seen many a woman in various stages of undress in his nine and twenty years, but that had not prepared the man for the first breathtaking sight of his wife on their wedding night, looking like an angel in a sheer dressing gown.

Especially since her eyes conveyed the rather clear message that she’d just as soon bathe herself in a pig trough than feel his hands upon her skin.

Bloody inconvenient, that. Because for the first time in his life, Benedict Charles Arthur Seymour was good and truly in love.

“I will do my duty, my lord,” his new wife said, her voice flat and hands trembling as she untied the sash at her waist. Her gown floated to the floor in a pool of white silk, leaving her before him in a simple shift that robbed him of speech and thought.

Benedict ordered his feet to remove themselves from their roots in the doorframe separating his bedchamber from hers. As he drew closer to her, his heart shattered with every sign of her discomfort. The clenched fists at her sides. The shaky rise and fall of her chest. The defiant gaze that refused to look away from his.

He had done this. It was his fault.

“You may rest easy,” Benedict rasped, bending to retrieve the silky garment from the floor. Her blessedly bare feet were suddenly the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. Standing, he held the robe open for her. “I am not here for that.”

Confusion replaced anger for a brief moment in her gaze. She allowed him to hold the gown as she threaded her arms through the silk openings once again. She blushed a pale pink as he tied the sash at her waist, a liberty he should not have taken but could not resist. Dear God, just being close to her was going to destroy every shred of coherent thought in his brain.

“May I ask, then, why you are in my bedchamber?” she asked, stepping back from him.

“I have a gift for you.” Benedict pulled the small package from the pocket of his own robe.

Her eyes fell upon the plain brown paper. “I do not require a wedding present, my lord.”