Page 74 of Ruining His Smirk

His hand stilled.

“I thought you were sorry about sleeping with me.” I tilted my head slightly, though I could not see much of his expression. “If that wasn’t it, what were you apologizing for?”

Garrett exhaled through his nose. “The conference.”

I waited.

“I didn’t introduce you right. Left you standing there to do it yourself because I was too caught up in everything going on between us to remember my manners.”

For a moment, I genuinely could not remember what he meant. Then the image returned: the crowded screen, the captain’s comment, Garrett staring at me as if he had momentarily forgotten there were other human beings in the room.

“Oh. I barely registered that.”

“It was still wrong.”

Perhaps it was. More importantly, he was saying sorry. In my experience, most people had trouble admitting to their faults. There was courage in humility, and damn, how it made him even more attractive. I reached up and found his cheek in the darkness, guiding his face down far enough to press a kiss against it. “There,” I murmured. “You’re forgiven.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

I settled back with my cheek against his chest. I liked how simple it was with him. He spoke plainly and truthfully. I didn’t realize how much of a breath of fresh air that was. I didn’t have to mine for hidden meanings or twist myself up wondering what he was hiding from me. The peace he brought was priceless, and somehow that made me horny.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

My heart did a little dance every time he called me that. “So about your note… Do you still want a duel? Because I have ideas.” I grinned into his chest.

“Don’t need another duel.”

“What about dueling with different swords?”

“I thought you trained in fencing.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting the smirk threatening to escape. “No,” I said, drawing the word out. “The otherswords. The ones we’ve already established we wield rather harmoniously.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll even keep your original promise.”

“Original promise?”

“Fight until death.” My grin couldn’t be contained. “La petite mort.”

“La… what?” Garrett’s voice caught between confusion and mirth. “Is that another extra rule in fencing?”

The question shattered what remained of my composure. Laughter broke out of me, bright and uncontrollable.

“I hope not,” I managed. “It’s French.”

I shifted and climbed on him, straddling him properly, one leg on either side of him.

“That ain’t helping.”

That only made me cackle harder. Garrett held me, looking up into my face, his smile wide and open.

“It means ‘the little death,’” I said between giggles. “It’s an old euphemism.”

I could see his eyebrow rise.