Love is a Battlefield: Games of Love, Book 1 by Tamara Morgan Read Free Book Online Page B

rub his hand over her leg to double check how well that footwear was working out. “But nice. Definitely nice.”
    She toyed with the stem of her glass, avoiding his eyes. “Thank you. But I’m not sure what else you want to know. Birthmarks? Employment history?”
    “Good call, Kate,” Jada said from across the table. “Always start with birthmarks.”
    “How about what it is you want Cornwall Park for?” Julian offered. He doubted he was going to get anything about birthmarks out of her. Yet.
    She blushed and played with the edges of her cocktail napkin. “It’s this group I’m part of. A historical preservation society—kind of like your Scottish Games, I guess? We do a big annual event, and we need a place to hold it.”
    “Historical? Like what?”
    “Umm…Regency. Jane Austen type stuff—the nineteenth century. We wear pretty elaborate gowns, and we do lectures.” Her leg tapped a nervous beat, inching closer to his own.
    Julian nodded. An academic he was not, but he knew enough of history and women to know what she was talking about. Waist-cinching underthings. Thigh-high stockings held in place with ribbons and silk.
    A group of women doing Regency playacting—he could get on top of that idea.
    “That sounds interesting,” he managed to say without giving away the sudden loss of blood in his brain, which was coursing hot and thick toward his groin. “But isn’t that all indoor stuff?”
    “Well, we hold balls and tea parties, and those are all inside.” She chose her words carefully and watched after each one for his reaction. “But I’m hoping to recreate this big, elaborate outdoor garden thing. And Cornwall Park is the perfect place for it.”
    “You’re doing this all by yourself?”
    “Sort of. It’s for the whole group, but I’m in charge of this particular event. It’s a long story, but I’m basically being punished for some…er…misbehavior on Jada’s part. I’m excited to do it, though. You probably think it’s silly, but—”
    Her leg brushed against his. He reached over and rested a hand on her knee, stilling her nervous movements. “Don’t do that. It’s not silly at all. Recreating history and honoring the past is important.” He grinned down at her. “I should know. I do it in a skirt.”
    He hadn’t yet let go of her leg, unable to pull the pad of his thumb and fingers away from the soft skin. Like before, her leg was almost cool to the touch.
    “I’m sorry,” she said so softly it was almost a whisper. But her gaze was direct, and she didn’t pull her leg away.
    “For what?”
    “I’m so used to people making fun of the Regency group that I get weirdly defensive. If I’m not stammering about it, I’m usually up on a soapbox preaching the superiority of my ways.”
    He nodded. “I get it. I used to get a lot of flak for the Scottish Games when I was younger, but I don’t anymore.”
    “Of course you don’t. Who would dare?” She cocked her head and raked her gaze over him, appreciation and awe glinting warmly in her eyes. His internal body temperature jumped several degrees.
    She softened her tone and added, “That’s not a fair comparison. You have extreme powers of intimidation. I don’t.”
    Julian finally released his hold on her leg, allowing himself to take in the curve of her thigh where it met the hem of her dress, which fluttered higher as she shifted. All of it—the dress, the skin, the promise of what lay farther up—writhed with silken sensuality.
    “Oh, you have powers too. Believe me.”
    “And how about you?” Jada called from across the table, her voice overloud and wholly unwelcome. Just when things were starting to get interesting.
    “What about me?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and draping one arm casually over the back of Kate’s. It wasn’t an embrace, precisely, but it could easily become one.
    “I was asking Mr. O’Leary here what it is he wears under that kilt of his. Boxers? Briefs? Nothing but what