Antonia blinked before bursting into a peal of laughter. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

She wiped the tears from her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re enjoying it...”

“I am enjoying it,” he said defensively. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Antonia was literally crying. “I’ve never met a man who was enthusiastic about historical romance.”

He cleared his throat. “Now that we’ve established that I’m a different breed of man, will you tell me one thing?”

“Yes?”

“Jean Paul isn’t going to die, is he?”

Antonia bit her lip, fighting the urge to laugh. Tears stood out in her eyes as she glanced from him to the book. “Oh god, Aiden.”

“Please,” he said in a calm voice. “They’re perfect for one another, but if the duke tries to eliminate Jean Paul to get to Claudette, I don’t know if I can keep going.”

“I’m not going to tell you the ending; just know that it’s an HEA.”

He frowned. “What’s an HEA?”

“Happily-ever-after.”

Aiden nodded and sighed. “Okay, good. Why are you giving me that look?”

Antonia averted her gaze and went back to her laptop, her grin growing wider as she shook her head. “Nothing, I’m just glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

Aiden was enjoying himself. She had been typing feverishly, only stopping for drinks of coffee or to jot something down in her notebook. Her enthusiasm for her work was a sight to behold. He hadn’t felt excitement about his own writing in years, but he remembered the heady moments of victory from the past. Watching someone else create pages of fiction out of thin air was akin to witnessing alchemy. In his short time knowing Antonia, Aiden felt proud to be beside her while she crafted a story. “I do have another question though.”

Her eyes cut to his with a smirk. “Hm?”

“I notice the author keeps referring to Claudette’s vagina as a quim...”

“Jesus.” Antonia sank in her seat.

“Is this a genre-specific thing?” he asked, holding back a grin. “Are you not supposed to say what you mean?”

She covered her face with one hand as she trained her eyes on her screen. “Of course the author can’t say...vagina,” she whispered. “This is historical romance.”

He was taking the piss, but he couldn’t help himself. The crimson blooming in her cheeks was tantalizing. Aiden leaned forward. “But you’re writing contemporary, right? What will you call it?”

“I haven’t gotten that far,” she said in a curt tone.

“What are you going to call Bryon’s, you know...cock?”

Redness settled onto her face as she shot him a glare. “I don’t know.”

“Well I’ve read, at length, about Jean Paul’s...length. Do you think you might try that?”

“I might?” she squeaked. “I don’t know.”

“The author also calls it a—” Aiden flipped through the book. “A generous rod that would not be spared.”

This made her smile. “I’m trying not to get hung up on the terminology right now.”

“I’m sure it will come to you over time.” He flashed her a smile and thought about kissing her again. Aiden enjoyed surprising her with kisses. Judging by her reaction, she seemed to enjoy it too. He found it difficult to keep his hands off her. Every glance she gave him, every smile, made him ache with want. Her silent dark eyes dropped back to her screen as she let out a tired sigh. “What are you thinking about?”