A week to be wicked, di Tessa Dare

A Week to Be Wicked by Tessa Dare
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Questo secondo volume di Spindle Cove ha tutti i pregi del primo e non ne ha i (pochi) difetti. Due protagonisti adorabili, simpatici, non convenzionali nel genere, dotati di humor ma anche di debolezze e insospettate (anche a loro stessi) profondità. Una storia vivace, mossa, con qualche colpo di scena e rivolgimento intelligente e dei comprimari o figuranti ben delineati. Tanti momenti e dialoghi da ridere di cuore: le balle incredibili di Colin, le frasi spiazzanti di Minerva, tutti i nomi con la M, la cara Francine (orma di dinosauro) e le sue disavventure, la natura nerd-ante-litteram di Minerva, parole scientifiche usate in contesti non proprio ortodossi...E molti momenti di insight commovente.
Un delinearsi naturale e intrigante di una bella storia d'amore. Minerva e Colin riescono alla fine del libro a entrare nel cuore di chi legge con ancora più forza di quella di Susanna e Bram.
Ma che bella serie, davvero! Può rinobilitare egregiamente il genere del romance storico per chi ne pensasse male.

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“Oh no. Oh God. I couldn't possibly be so stupid."
"Don't limit yourself. You can be anything you wish."

**

“Truly? That whole determined, dangerous saunter across the room was for me? In that case, would you mind going back and doing it all over again? Slowly this time, and with feeling.” 

**

“She stared at him, horrified. And thrilled. And horrified at being thrilled.” 

**

“What on earth are you wearing? Did you take orders in a convent since we spoke last? Little Sisters of the Drab and Homely.” 

**

“It’s all right,” she said. “You’re through.”

“Jesus,” he finally managed, pushing water off his face. “Jesus Christ and John the Baptist. For that matter, Matthew, Mark, Luke, John.” Still not enough. He needed to reach back to the Old Testament for this. “Obadiah. Nebuchadnezzar. Methuselah and Job.”

“Be calm,” she said, taking him by the shoulders. “Be calm. And there are women in the Bible, you know.”

“Yes. As I recall it, they were trouble, every last one.” 

**

“He lay on the bed, freshly shaven and washed, legs crossed at the ankles and arms propped behind his head. His posture said, Yes, ladies. I truly am this handsome. And I don't even have to try.” 

**

“This is ideal, you’ll see. We do everything backward. It’s just how we are. We began with an elopement. After that, we made love. Next, we’ll progress to courting. When we’re old and silver-haired, perhaps we’ll finally get around to flirtation. We’ll make fond eyes at each other over our mugs of gruel. We’ll be the envy of couples half our age.” 

**

“She couldn't "heal" him. No woman could. Events that far in the past just couldn't be undone. But perhaps he didn't need a cure, but . . . a lens. Someone who accepted him for the imperfect person he was, and then helped him to see the world clear. Like spectacles did for her.” 

**

“You know,” he said, “this design begins to appeal to me after all. Sea slugs aren’t the least bit arousing, but logarithms . . . I’ve always thought that word sounded splendidly naughty.” He let it roll off his tongue with ribald inflection. “Logarithm.” He gave an exaggerated shiver. “Ooh. Yes and thank you and may I have some more.”

“Lots of mathematical terms sound that way. I think it’s because they were all coined by men. ‘Hypotenuse’ is downright lewd.”

“ ‘Quadrilateral’ brings rather carnal images to mind.”

She was silent for a long time. Then one of her dark eyebrows arched. “Not so many as ‘rhombus.’ ”

Good Lord. That word was wicked. Her pronunciation of it did rather wicked things to him. He had to admire the way she didn’t shrink from a challenge, but came back with a new and surprising retort. One day, she’d make some fortunate man a very creative lover.” 

**

“The words burned on her tongue, but Minerva couldn’t give them voice. What a hopeless coward she was. She could pound on his door at midnight and demand to be respected as an individual. She could travel across the country in hopes of being appreciated for her scholarly achievements. But she still lacked the courage to ask for the one thing she wanted most.
To be loved, just for herself.” 

**

“Anyhow,” she went on, “so long as my mother forced me to embroider, I insisted on choosing a pattern that interested me. I’ve never understood why girls are always made to stitch insipid flowers and ribbons.” “Well, just to hazard a guess . . .” Colin straightened his edge. “Perhaps that’s because sleeping on a bed of flowers and ribbons sounds delightful and romantic. Whereas sharing one’s bed with a primeval sea snail sounds disgusting.” Her jaw firmed. “You’re welcome to sleep on the floor.” “Did I say disgusting? I meant enchanting. I’ve always wanted to go to bed with a primeval sea snail.” 

**

“Sweet heaven.” She swallowed back a lump in her throat. “You must do this all the time. Night after night, you tell women your tale of woe . . .” “Not really. The tale of woe precedes me.” “ . . . and then they just open their arms and lift their skirts for you. ‘Come, you poor, sweet man, let me hold you’ and so forth. Don’t they?” He hedged. “Sometimes.” 

**

“Is that a nautilus?” he asked. “Close, but no. It’s an ammonite.” “An ammonite? What’s an ammonite? Sounds like an Old Testament people overdue for smiting.” “Ammonites are not a biblical people,” she replied in a tone of strained forbearance. “But they have been smited.” “Smote”. 

“With a snap of linen, she shot him a look. “Smote?” “Grammatically speaking, I think the word you want is ‘smote.’ ” “Scientifically speaking, the word I want is ‘extinct.’ Ammonites are extinct. They’re only known to us in fossils.” “And bedsheets, apparently.”“You know . . .” She huffed. 

**

“Perhaps, she thought, people were more like ammonites than one would suppose. Perhaps they too built shells on a consistent, unchanging factor—some quality or circumstance established in their youth. Each chamber in the shell just an enlargement of the previous. Growing year after year, until they spiraled around and locked themselves in place.” 

**

“I always felt that you could see me, somehow. In a way no one else did. That with those fetching little spectacles, you could peer straight through me. And you made no secret of the fact that you despised what you saw, which marked you as far cleverer than most. I couldn’t rid myself of this fascination with you. Your sharp gaze, your enticing mouth, your complete invulnerability to all my charms. If I treated you poorly—and I know I did, to my shame—it was because I always felt rather hopeless around you.” 

**

“I’m a rather useless insomniac viscount, but”—he gestured at Minerva—“my companion here is a brilliant geologist. There’s a symposium, you see. We need to get to Edinburgh by tomorrow, so she can present her findings about giant lizards and possibly alter our understanding of the world’s natural history.”