The Taste of Her Words
Page 31
“Well, as your editor, I can make an exception and give you an extension so long as you’re a good girl and do as I say.” He kissed the dip below my hip bone lightly, his lips dangerously close to winning me over. “Now, lift up those hips of yours and let me inspire you.”
“Dean,” I pleaded as his lips hovered over my center, blowing softly. Tauntingly. “Please. I really…” He planted a kiss, slow and torturous, tongue swirling over the lace fabric. “Dean, I want to…” My thoughts scurried with the flick of his tongue.
I gave in, clutching the back of his head as he took us to the edge we always walked, and then we crashed beneath our covers, spent, my laptop glaring at me from the floor.
“At this rate, I’m never going to finish,” I said, feeling somewhat ashamed for not focusing.
“You’re on the last leg, Andy. One more chapter, and that novel will be ready for beta.”
This was how we spent most of our nights inside his loft. After summer started for Charlie, we took Dean’s offer to move in with him. As a trio, we made the three-hour trek across the state, settling down in Knoxville.
His loft was big enough to house us all, with two rooms and an open-floor plan that we spent so many nights dancing in while dinner cooked. Charlie had found a new passion to obsess over—books. He couldn’t get enough, and Dean had plenty to spare. Charlie’s e-reader was packed with novel after novel that he blew through every few days.
My bookworm heart adored him for it, but my bank account begged to differ.
“Do you think Ms. Violet will like it?” I asked, my nerves getting the best of me. Even though my book of poems did extremely well, I was a little hesitant about how my readers would accept my debut contemporary piece titled Lost Girls. It was different. Closer to home. Inspired by true events I was still living.
Dean looked at me over the rim of his glasses, sexy as ever. “You know she will. She’s been waiting for this novel for nearly six years. Now take those delicate fingers of yours and put them to work.”
He leaned over me, his musky scent and welcomed weight overwhelming my senses, and then picked my laptop up from the floor. Once it was on my lap, he kissed my cheek, and then reached for his own on the bedside table.
I stared at the screen, luck and skill evading me. I didn’t want cliché. Didn’t want predictable. Think, Andy. I tried to clear my mind of everything. Of his fingers padding against the keyboard. The warmth from his body brushing against me. Charlie sleeping across the loft, no doubt with a book splayed across his lap.
I wonder what he was reading tonight. Did Josh mean it when he said he’d be here in a week? If—
“Andy.”
I jolted a little. “What?”
Dean brushed his thumb over my chin, gaze devouring mine. His hair was mussed, dark tendrils covering his forehead, begging for my fingers to lace through them. I could never get enough of him. Being this close, able to reach out and touch him whenever I pleased. Even now, a year later, I still got that jittery, fluttery feeling in my chest when he touched me.
“I can hear those gears grinding in your head,” he said, reading me just as easily as he always had. “What’s wrong?”
I blew out a deep sigh, shoulders buckling forward. “I just… I don’t know how to end it,” I admitted, chewing on the corner of my thumbnail.
“We talked about it. I thought you decided.”
I stared at the screen, at the little cursor line blinking as it waited for my direction. “So much of myself was put into finding this ending. You. Us. The weight of how others will interpret it. Wondering if it’s going to meet its full potential or flop…” I paused, brushing my fingers across the keyboard. “I’ve been chasing this ending for so long that I think it outran me.”
He chuckled and moved the laptop from my lap. Wrapping an arm across me, he forced me to turn to him. “Every story has to end so another can begin, Andy. You can’t move forward until you finish this one, once and for all.”
“And then what?” I asked. “What happens after the end?”
He stared at me for a moment, searching my eyes, and then he lifted my hand, placing his lips against my ring finger. “What would you like to happen?” he asked as heat welled behind my skin.
His lips planted feather-soft kisses down my hand and across my pulse point. Shivers of pleasure spread up my arm.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, focusing on his tongue as it glided over my skin. “Us. I mean, for us to be together in the binding way.”
His eyes flicked to mine. “Marriage?”
It was a word we hadn’t brought up yet. A word I’d dreamed about, and then given up on.
“Would you want that?” I asked as my heart thudded to the beat of his name.
He didn’t hesitate. “Every day. For the rest of my life.” His words were solemn with adoration. “You just have to say yes when the question comes, and it will… soon.”
A knee-jerk smile lifted the corners of my mouth as my heart flew somewhere away from me. I had spent the past decade within a black shadow, unable to find a way out, and then he’d kissed me, good and hard. And he hadn’t given up. He was there, patiently waiting.
Always waiting, until our seconds and our minutes finally collided.
“Well, crap, now I have a new problem,” I said as I playfully huffed.
“What?” he asked, stiffening ever so slightly.
I couldn’t hide my smile. “Who do I make my maid of honor—Cami or Eric?”
T H E E N D.
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A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S
I am overwhelmed with gratitude. So many have helped and inspired this book to become what it is. From the women in my life who have gone through and are continuing to go through the struggle of co-parenting with someone who doesn’t make life easy, to the friends who have taken the time to listen to me cry night after night about my fears and hopes for this story that is so close to my heart.
In no particular order, I’d like to thank:
Cynthia Shepp—my amazing editor: Thank you for helping me shape this story into its strongest form. For putting up with my grammatical errors, and laughing with me.
Sonya Loveday—my bestest: Without you, where would this story be? I can’t thank you enough for the countless days and nights I hogged up your time on the phone to try and mold this story into something I could be proud of.
Adam Trombley—my brother and best friend: Who knew you’d end up loving contemporary romance? Thank you for letting me take my stress out on you, and for driving all the way to my house to pull me from the brink of dumping my computer in the garbage, and offering solid, substantial advice that cured a few scene flaws.
To the two women who were the inspiration behind the story: You’re amazing, strong, and continue to inspire me to be a stronger woman.
My husband who pushes me to reach for my dreams, and my family who’s always there when I need them.
T I T L E S B Y
C A N D A C E K N O E B E L
LEARN MORE AT CANDACEKNOEBEL.COM
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The Taste of Her Words
The Roots of Us… coming win
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A B O U T T H E A U T H O R
Candace Knoebel is a hopeless romantic with an affinity for whiskey and good music. Her love of words began when she met the boy who lived in the cupboard under the stairs, and has found an outlet in over twelve indie-published novels.
With two completed series, her work ranges from paranormal to contemporary, all centered heavily around romance.
Currently she lives in Florida with her husband and two children, and has just completed her thirteenth novel, The Taste of Her Words.
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