The Bromance Book Club (Bromance Book Club, #1)(52)

“Wh-what does this have to do with the G-spot?”

Malcolm smiled broadly. “You’re going to find and stroke her emotional one.”

“Every woman has one,” Del said. “A place somewhere deep inside her that only the right man can reach.”

Del’s voice trembled. He paused to press his hand to his mouth. Mack patted him on the shoulder. “It’s cool, man. Let it out.”

“We all have a void,” Del said a moment later. “Something that’s missing in us. Something we need but don’t want to admit or don’t even know we’re missing until we find it in that other person. If you want to fix this thing with Thea, figure out what she’s missing inside. Stroke that broken part of her until it doesn’t hurt anymore. That’s how to say I love you to Thea.”

“That’s really all it is, Gavin,” Malcolm said. “Your wife has a void. A hole. Find it and fill it.”

Malcolm’s words were greeted with an uncomfortable silence, like the kind when a middle school teacher accidentally says the word erect in front of twenty twelve-year-old boys. Everyone wants to laugh, but no one is brave enough to do it first.

Mack finally came through. “Gavin hasn’t filled Thea’s hole in a while.”

“Someday I’m going to hurt you when no one is looking.”

Del grunted in frustration. “Look, it’s great that she agreed to a date. That’s progress. But don’t go into it thinking it’s going to be easy. She’s going to be skittish. She might even try to pick a fight with you tomorrow night.”

Yan nodded. “Don’t forget that she’s in full resistance mode. You just have to keep calm, keep cool, and be patient.”

Calm. Cool. Patient. He could do that.

Mack shoved the phone in his pocket. “And I swear, you’ll never notice me tomorrow night.”

“Now,” Del said. “Let’s talk about the book. How far are you?”

“About halfway.”

“Perfect,” Malcolm said.

“Why is that perfect?”

“Because,” Mack said, “shit’s about to get real.”





Courting the Countess





The one redeemable quality to the entire farcical evening, if there could be one at all, was that Irena would finally get to look upon her husband’s face and utter the words every woman longed to say to a man who had for too long been convinced by society, his family, and the church itself that he was always right.

Folding her hands primly in her lap, she stared at Benedict on the seat opposite her in their carriage and tried her best not to smile. “I told you so.”

Benedict managed to look chagrined as he tugged at his cravat. But he suddenly pounded a fist against his thigh. “The audacity of that woman.”

“To which woman do you refer? There were so many.”

“The duchess.”

“Ah. Of course.” The Duchess of Marbury had been succinctly malicious in her rejection of Irena at the ball. Whereas other, less powerful women in the room had taken to loud gossip and serene looks of disdain from across the room, the duchess had mastered the most effective insult of all. She simply refused to speak or look at Irena upon their introduction.

“I don’t care what title the woman possesses. No one gives my wife the cut direct. No one.”

“Don’t think too harshly of her, my lord. We women must steal our power where we can, and in the world of the ton, that power is sadly limited to the reduction of other women.”

“If she were a man, I would call her out.”

A bubble of laughter burst forth from her chest, as uplifting as it was unexpected. Benedict met her eyes with a surprised gaze. “Are you laughing at me?”

“I’m sorry,” Irena said, holding her fingers to her lips. “I just . . . that is an image I will never forget.”

“Be careful, my dear. Your laughter is such a welcome sound, I may be driven to homicide yet.”

“How very romantic.”

“I did say I would do anything to prove my love.”

“Perhaps it’s a good thing, then, that you will be gone the next few days,” she mused. Benedict had to travel to his estate to deal with some matters there. Irena would never admit it to him, but she was not looking forward to his leaving tomorrow.

The carriage bumped uncomfortably across a rut in the muddy road. Irena winced as the bones of her stays dug into her rib cage.

“Are you unwell?” Benedict asked.

“I will be fine as soon as I can remove this bloody monstrosity of a gown.”

He cocked a half smile. “I don’t suppose now would be an appropriate time to tell you that I find it exceedingly arousing when you speak like that.”

“No, it would not.”

“Still, if you should find yourself in need of assistance in removing said gown, I am at your service.”

Heat stole across her skin, pooling in places that cared little that her dignity demanded self-righteous indignation. Her dignity, however, had fallen under his spell as much as every other part of her body. Especially when they’d danced tonight. He’d held her unfashionably close, even for a husband and wife in a waltz. His hand upon her back had burned straight through the silk of her gown and left an imprint upon her skin. The spinning sensation had continued long after the music had ended.