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Stede stretched out along a low stone wall, watching Ed try and fail to secure them a ride. He had a lazy smile on his face that Ed wanted to smack. Or kiss. Probably both.
“You don’t seem to be having much luck. That’s the fourth car that’s driven by.”
“Third.” Ed paused as a Roadster puttered past without slowing. “Now it’s four.”
“Now it’s five. I guess they didn’t teach you how to count in reporter school?”
“I suppose you think you could do better?”
“I don’t think, I know.”
“Well, you’re half right.”
Stede hopped down and shooed Ed away from the shoulder. “I don’t even need a thumb.” He raised the leg of his flowy turquoise pants, showing off a shapely calf, and Ed’s mouth went dry.
Dammit. Ed was just supposed to deliver the spoiled heir to his family, write up his exclusive, and get his job back. Maybe a better job. One where he could write about important things, not society omegas with more money than sense.
He was not supposed to be catching feelings.
“That how you got Badminton to marry you? Showing a little leg?”
“Are you saying my legs could land a handsome, wealthy alpha?” Stede actually batted his lashes. Ed wanted to scream.
“I’m saying they could land an idiotic fortune-hunter. Congratulations, I guess.”
Stede’s eyes flashed. “Your problem, Mr. Teach, is that your soul lacks romance.”
“And your problem, Mr Bonnet Badminton, is that nobody ever turned you over their knee and spanked you.”
“Are you offering?” Stede smirked, and sirens went off in Ed’s brain.
Before he could reply, a Model A screeched to a stop, and Ed was one step closer to being put out of his misery.
Deliver the heir. Write his exclusive. Move along.
Easy.
Sure.