Take last week for example. We were sitting in his suite at the club, lounging around without doing much. To my surprise, he unfolded the New York Times and pushed a pair of glasses on his nose before starting on the crossword. I gaped before bursting into merry laughter because no way would I ever have believed my handsome alpha was a crossword addict.
“What is it?” he asked drolly, looking at me from over the rims of his glasses. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” I giggled while looking at him from the bed. I was nude from a hot session, my curves still flushed and rosy, but the sight of Trent’s bronzed body bent over the paper made me even rosier. “I never thought of you as a crossword person, that’s all.”
He crooked an eyebrow at me.
“I like a good brainteaser now and then,” he rumbled. “Why, don’t you?”
I bit my lip, raising myself so that I was at least vertical as I looked at him.
“Well, I’ve never been very academic,” was my confession, “so crosswords are kind of out of my expertise.”
He grunted, rolling his eyes a bit.
“Sweetheart, anyone can do these things. It doesn’t take an Einstein.”
But I shook my head.
“No, I can’t,” was my soft reply. “I was a C student at best, and high school was hard to say the least. I managed to get my GED,” I said with a weak smile. “But even that stressed me out. So a crossword would be near impossible for me.”
Trent looked at me carefully, taking in my curvy form before speaking again.
“Kelsey, you’re a smart girl,” he rumbled. “I know that from the way you’ve commented on current events to the way you talk with me about my interests. Why do you think that you wouldn’t be good at a crossword? Academics are just academics, and grades don’t mean much in the real world. Are you really so unsure of yourself?”
I gulped heavily because in fact, I am a little insecure when it comes to intellect. My whole life people have seen me as a mediocre student at best. A girl who knew how to have fun and was a good friend, but not exactly a straight A student. Far from it, in fact.
“I guess so,” I said in a meek voice. “I guess it just had to do with my family situation. There was always so much going on at home,” I confessed slowly, looking down. “My dad was sick for a while, so it was hard to focus, and then when Mom got laid off after that, we didn’t have much. So I got a part-time job, and then there was no time to study. One thing led to another and before you know it, I’d fallen behind. So much so that I ended up dropping out of high school.”
Trent just looked at me again, still wearing those glasses. I swear, if our conversation hadn’t been so heavy I would have thrown myself in his lap and cried, burying my head against that bronzed chest. And like he could read my mind, the man gestured to me, beckoning with one masculine hand.
In a moment, I was curled on his lap, shoulders heaving.
“I’m sorry,” were my sobs. “I don’t mean to sound pathetic but I guess I kind of am. I’m just not very good at many things,” was my whimper. “But I want to be better, I really do.”
Trent merely stroked my curls, his big hands gentle as he pulled me closer to his male warmth. But then he took my shoulders between two big hands and pushed me away slightly to look into my eyes.
“You’re smart,” he said gruffly, eyes fierce. “Don’t listen to the heaters. Sure, life has dealt you some hard blows, but don’t ever doubt that you’re an intelligent woman.”
I sniffled again, smiling at him through my tears.
“Thanks,” was my soft reply as he cradled me against his chest again. “I appreciate it. It’s just been tough, you know? Sometimes on the outside I’m smiling, but on the inside, it’s hard to keep it together.”
I half expected us to begin another torrid session of love-making but instead, Trent pressed a kiss to my temple before picking up the paper again with determination. And to my shock, he started reading.
“One across,” the man growled. “A sports game played in India. Seven letters.”
I squirmed a bit, burying my face farther into that strong, bronzed throat.
“I can’t,” was my muffled plea. “I don’t know things like this.”
But Trent shook his head, picking up the pen from the table.
“Think about popular sports in India. Surely you know one,” he coaxed.
I thought for a moment.
“Cricket?” I asked hopefully, raising my eyes to meet his gaze. “That’s let’s see … seven letters!” I squealed.
He rewarded me with a kiss on the lips, the contact electric, making my heart beat fast.