Page 48 of A Waltz on the Wild Side (The Wild Wynchesters #6)

The next thing Viv knew, her spine pressed against the trunk of a tree, while the front of her body was plastered against an equally strong and hard surface.

If they weren’t standing in full view of anyone peering out the rear windows, she would take this opportunity to run her hands over Jacob’s hot muscled form.

Perhaps indulge in a squeeze or two of his derrière, and pretend she thought that was what he had been asking for.

With regret, she broke the kiss and slipped out of his embrace.

Before he could tempt her into another kiss, she lifted her heavy reticule. “Hold out your hand.”

“I don’t eat mice,” he told her solemnly. “But do you know what I could eat?”

She ignored him and dumped the newest contents of her reticule into his palm.

Two twine-wrapped stacks of freshly cut white cardstock tumbled into his hand.

His brow furrowed. “What’s this?”

“Don’t tell me the great poet forgot how to read,” she teased.

“Are these… calling cards?” He turned over the first stack and read aloud, “ Jacob Wynchester, Poet . Vivian, I told you—”

“Look at the other one.”

He turned over the second stack. “ Jacob Wynchester, Animal Trainer .”

“They’re both you,” she explained. “Two sides of the same man. Use them or not, but be proud of who you are.”

He made a face. “The public may laud Sir Gareth Jallow, but absolutely no one cares what I do in my barn.”

“Your happy clients do,” she reminded him. “But that’s not why you do it, is it?”

He folded his arms over his chest. “This is where you take one glance at me speaking French to a hawk, and suddenly you can decipher all the secrets locked inside my heart?”

“I didn’t need to see the hawk,” she answered.

“You tame the most dangerous animals in the wild and bend them to your will because you can’t do so to the ruling class in the real world.

Dominance over animals, rehabilitating the hurt, training the ignored…

That is how you take back your power and prove to yourself you can control at least part of your world. ”

“That… is a good guess.” He lowered his arms. “I don’t think I’ve ever analyzed my motives before. Now that you’ve put it like that, it’s hard not to read it that way. I’ve always wanted to provide support and shelter to strays like me who wouldn’t otherwise have safe homes.”

“It’s noble.”

“It’s not na?ve?”

“Then we both are,” she told him. “It took a while for me to see how alike we are. We believe that determination and hard work are enough to effect meaningful change. I’m trying to change the world one stage performance at a time, whilst you do it with the aid of your woodland creatures whenever anyone has a problem that needs resolving. ”

“Hidden inside a barn or behind a pseudonym,” he added self-deprecatingly.

She pointed at the calling cards in his hands. “You don’t have to hide if you don’t want to.”

He seemed to consider this, then tucked the still-knotted cards out of sight in his pocket before reaching for her hands. “Would you rather kiss an animal trainer or a poet?”

“I don’t have to choose. I get to have both, every time I kiss Jacob Wynchester.”

He lifted her fingers to his lips. “All I want is to give you everything you dream of.”

“I dream of giving myself whatever I want, through hard work and pure gumption.”

“You could do that,” he agreed, still kissing her fingers. “But you don’t have to. There’s an option called being part of a team, in which both parties can rely on the other.”

“Gasp,” she said blankly. “Never heard of it.”

He nodded. “I made it up myself. I shall call the phenomenon… ‘friendship.’”

“Humph. Do you kiss all your friends’ fingertips?”

“Just Byron’s,” he answered, blinking angelically at her roll of the eyes. He lowered his voice. “I’ve an idea. You and I can share a special title, provisionally called ‘Friendship with kissing and other unmentionable delights.’ I warn you, it is a gateway to ever more decadent highs.”

She raised her brows. “ Un mentionable delights, you say? I thought you were a poet. Never say you lack the words to express yourself.”

“Oh, I can express anything you wish me to express,” he assured her.

“I can express all night long. If you need my ejaculations verbally, I do require three to six working weeks per stanza to properly draft and revise the word choice and rhythm. But if expressing myself with my body counts, I’d be happy to lay you down right here on this grass… Or incline against this tree…”

“I am tempted,” she admitted. “But I cannot think about romance while Quentin is still held hostage somewhere.”

“Could you think about courtship after he’s safe?” Jacob asked. “That is, might I woo you with the intention of something more permanent?”

She closed her mouth. Of course not. It was against her rules. Then again, she was the one who had written that rule. And as he’d pointed out… some words were meant to be edited. Why prevent the possibility of a happy ending?

“Find Quentin,” she said, “and then I will be ready to consider a suitor.”

“Specifically me?” Jacob prompted, brown eyes sparkling.

She kissed him. “Try your best.”