I shake my head. “No,” I say quietly. “And now I feel stuck when I try to write Reya’s reaction.” I take a sip of my wine and then continue. “How would Reya react after that? Would she get angry at Cam for kissing her, even though she wanted it? Would she cry because he stormed out? Or would she feel triumphant—like she won?”
Saint tilts his head, his eyes narrowed on me. “That does sound like something you would have to experience before you could really nail the emotions.”
“Exactly,” I say.
We stare at each other for a quiet moment. My heart might be beating faster in this moment than it was when I was woken in the middle of the night to police lights.
Saint pulls his bottom lip in and chews on it for a moment. I want to laugh because that is such a classic move in the novels I write. I wonder if he realizes that.
There’s a sudden, intrusive buzzing sound that makes Saint stand up straight. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and stares down at the screen. He looks directly at me. “It’s my wife,” he says.
I try not to let the disappointment show. I set down my wine glass. “You should probably answer it.”
Saint also sets his wine glass on the counter beside him. “You’re right. I should answer it.”
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he tosses the phone on the counter and then closes the gap between us. He slips a hand behind my head and presses his mouth to mine.
It happens so suddenly and unexpectedly, I suck in a gasp.
His tongue slides into my mouth and it causes instant chills to roll over me. I press myself against him, just as his lips close over mine. He tastes like mint and Merlot, and I immediately know that’s how I’ll describe Cam’s mouth when I describe this kiss in the book.
His phone is still buzzing away on the counter and I love that he chose this kiss over answering her phone call. I was right about that feeling, at least. Reya would feel a little triumphant.
Maybe I was right about all the feelings, because I also feel guilty right now.
The phone stops buzzing, and when it does, the only sound in the cabin is Saint’s mouth on mine and the moan his kiss pulls out of me. He slips a hand to the small of my back, and as soon as I press my palms against the sides of his neck, his phone begins buzzing again.
He pulls away from me and presses his forehead to mine with a sigh. I gasp for air because no kiss has ever left me this breathless. This affected. I open my eyes, but his eyes are still closed.
His phone is still buzzing.
He moves his head to the side of my head so that his mouth is right over my ear.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
He pulls away. Grabs his phone.
Leaves.
The door slams behind him and I have never felt more alone in this cabin than I do right now. He filled me with so many feelings just now, only to rip them away in almost the same moment.
I ache. I don’t know what for. More of that kiss. More of his flirtation. More of that triumphant feeling.
I hear the gravel crunch beneath his tires as he pulls away from the house, and even after he’s been gone several minutes, I’m still standing in the same spot, touching my lips with my fingertips.
The reaction that surprises me the most right now is my smile. If I were to have written Reya and Cam’s first kiss last night, I never would have thought she would smile after he left the way he did.
But I’m smiling.
I walk straight to my computer and open it. For the second night in a row, I write more than I normally write in a week.
FOUR
IT’S BEEN THREE days since Saint kissed me.
The day after the kiss, writing went great. I wrote several chapters, and even rewrote some of the beginning of the book to make Cam more like Saint.
But yesterday was a slow writing day, and it looks like today is going to be another day just like yesterday.
I talked to Candice last night, but I didn’t tell her about the kiss. I’m never telling anyone. That is definitely something I want to keep extremely private. I’ve always been a private person. I write under my real name, but it’s a common name, so I’ve never worried too much about my personal life being revealed to my readers. They know very little about me. I have the version of myself I portray to the readers, but none of them know if I’m dating or married or single or a mother. I don’t put anything out there beyond my writing and I want to keep it that way.
Which is why—as much as I trust Candice—I would never tell her about my kiss with Saint.
But as much as what we did felt like cheating—it also felt like research in a way. Like maybe Saint was merely helping me get over a roadblock.
Obviously, kissing someone else would never be forgiven by a spouse based on the excuse that it’s research, but it sure as hell makes it easier to forgive myself with that excuse. I feel very little guilt. I don’t know what that says about me.
In fact, I feel so little guilt, I’m starting to wonder how far I can take this thing with Saint. Cam and Reya have kissed in the book, but I’m having trouble writing about the relationship they develop because I’ve never had feelings for a married man. I’ve never felt like the other woman. There are so many ways a relationship with a married man would differ from a more traditional relationship. Not only would you not be able to go public with it, even to your closest friends, but you would have to go to great lengths to keep it private.
What would that feel like? To love a man who can only love you part-time?
I’ve been staring at my screen for an hour. Saint’s business card is sitting on the table next to my computer. I’ve been at war with myself over whether or not to call him.
I settle on a compromise with myself.
I’ll text him.
I keep in mind that his wife might see this message, so I keep it professional.
This is Megan. I have a research question if you have time for it.
He doesn’t text me back as quickly as he did the last time I texted him. I watch the phone for a moment…waiting for the dots to appear. They don’t.
I stare at my computer for several minutes, wondering if I shouldn’t have sent the text. I know I shouldn’t have sent the text. But I feel more disappointment that he didn’t answer right away than I do guilt from sending it.
I need to busy myself, so I go to the kitchen to cook dinner and leave my phone on the table. I make a salad and grill a chicken breast. I eat my entire meal while staring pathetically at my phone.
I guess he really does regret that kiss.
I take my plate to the sink and begin rinsing it, but I almost drop it when I hear my phone buzz. I turn off the water and rush to my phone. I can feel a swirl of excitement roll through my entire body when I see it’s a response from Saint.
Are you having writer’s block again? More than happy to help. ;)
Holy shit. He even added a wink.
I wasn’t expecting that. I wasn’t even really expecting him to respond, but that reply proves that we’re both on the same page after that kiss a couple of days ago.
Yeah, I guess you could say that. After you left the other night, I wrote several chapters. But today I’m stuck.
What’s tripping you up?
I’m not sure I know how it feels to be the other woman. I have no idea how to describe things between Cam and Reya because I have no idea how often she would be thinking about his wife or the future of their relationship when they’re together.
Are Cam and Reya in love?
Yes. Very much in love.
So you’re wondering how two people who are in love would navigate a normal night together, when one of those characters is married?
Yes. Exactly that.
It sounds like you would need to experience that firsthand. Research can only go so far, I’m assuming.
Experience has definitely proven helpful in the recent past.
It would be rude of me not to help you. I can be there in
an hour.
I would appreciate that.
I calmly set my phone back down on the table, but my reaction is anything but calm right now. I want to scream. This entire situation is insane. I can’t even believe I’ve gotten myself involved with this guy, but again—it’s for research.
That’s all. Research.
How long can I keep telling myself that?
I only have one hour before he gets here. One hour to shower, dry my hair, brush my teeth, make my bed, and clean up two days’ worth of complete laziness.
I spend the better part of the next hour worrying more about how I look than the state of the cabin. By the time I get the dishes finished, Saint is pulling into the driveway. I down the glass of wine I’ve been nursing for the past hour, and then I wait until I hear his knock before I head to the door.
He’s back in uniform this time, but he’s holding a change of clothes in his hands. I’m staring at the clothes when he says, “I didn’t have time to run back to the station to change. Mind if I change here?”
I shake my head and point behind me. “Bathroom is through that door.”
He doesn’t even wait to be invited inside. He just grins that devilish grin and then steps forward, slipping a hand around my neck. His lips meet mine and I’m greeted with a kiss, as if this kind of greeting is perfectly familiar between us. He keeps his mouth on mine as he backs me up two steps, then he kicks the door shut behind him.
“I can only stay an hour,” he says against my mouth.
I have no idea if he’s in character right now. I’m starting to get confused. He just greeted my like Cam would greet Reya at this point in their relationship. Like a kiss is completely expected. That wasn’t a greeting Saint would give me under normal circumstances—I’m almost positive of that.
He sets his clothes on the counter and walks to my refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of wine. He takes the glass I was just drinking and fills it, then slides it across the island toward me. Then he pulls a glass out of the cabinet and fills it for himself.
“How was your day, Reya?” he asks, using the name of my character rather than my real name. I try to bite back my smile as I realize for certain that he is completely in character right now. I bring the glass to my mouth and grin.
“It was good,” I say. “How was yours, Cam?”
He walks over to me and he’s so tall, I have to tilt my head back when he reaches me. He touches my chin with his finger. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he whispers, right before he brings his mouth down on mine.
Good God. My knees feel like they might buckle under this kiss. When he pulls away, he says, “I’ll be right back.”
He heads for the bathroom to change clothes, and I can do nothing while I wait. I’m actually nervous for this. Does he expect me to pretend I’m in love with him? Is he going to pretend he’s in love with me?
I have no idea what happens next, but I’m full of anticipation. Especially knowing he can only stay for an hour. He’s only been here a few minutes and I already feel like I’ve got enough material to write several more chapters.
When he walks out of the bathroom, he lays his uniform and his gun on my table. I’m staring at it as he walks toward me. He wraps his arms around me and lifts me effortlessly until I’m seated on the island in front of him. He stands between my legs and slides his hands down my arms as he brings his mouth to my neck.
He’s making me dizzy.
I close my eyes and lean my neck to the side when his lips meet my skin. I’m covered in chills and full of curiosity.
Is Saint always this way? This…in control?
Is this how he is with his wife?
I try to push that thought out of my mind because he’s here right now. His mouth is on my neck right now. I focus on that.
I focus on how slowly his tongue slides against my skin.
I focus on his left hand, and how it’s snaking around my thigh as he pulls my leg up around his waist.
“Tell me something,” he whispers.
“Mhmm,” I mutter.
“What kind of guy is Cam?”
I open my eyes, but Saint is still kissing my neck. If he’s asking about Cam...does that mean he’s kissing me as Saint right now?
God, I hope so.
“He’s....” I sigh when Saint’s tongue comes close to my ear. I can barely form a thought with the way he’s making me feel. “He’s good, but rough around the edges. He’s controlling. Jealous. Has a temper.”
Saint pulls back just enough so he can look me in the eyes. “He wouldn’t hurt Reya, would he?”
“Never. He’s madly in love with her. Tries his best to protect her.”
“Tries?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowed. “Does that mean he doesn’t always succeed?”
I shake my head. “Not always.”
Saint rubs his thumb over my bottom lip while he stares at my mouth. I love how he looks at me. I want to get out my laptop and describe it right now. I’m afraid I won’t remember the complete fullness I feel under his gaze if I wait to write it until after he’s gone.
“Does anything bad happen to Reya in your book?”
“Yes,” I whisper. I don’t normally like to ruin the plots of my books, but I doubt Saint is going to read it.
“What happens to her?”
“A man breaks into her house in the middle of the night.”
Saint’s eyes narrow in concern. “Does he hurt Reya?”
“Almost,” I admit. “He pulls her out of bed. Ties her up. She’s terrified because she doesn’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Does she know the man?”
“She doesn’t know. It’s too dark in her house for her to see his features.”
“Why does he break into the house? Is it specifically for Reya?”
“No. Reya is a lawyer. She has evidence at her house that this character is trying to locate.”
Saint runs the backs of his fingers over my cheek as I speak. He seems so interested in my answers, it makes me wonder if he’s planning to act this scene out. Is that why I’m telling him about it? Because part of me hopes he does?
That would be taking things a little too far. I’m not so sure I’m willing to go that deep for research.
“What happens next?” he asks.
“The guy finds the papers. He leaves Reya tied up. But Cam shows up and finds her an hour later.”
Saint leans forward, feathering my lips with his. “This book sounds intriguing.”
“I’m hoping that’s exactly what it turns out to be.”
He grins, and then kisses me. And just like during our first kiss, his phone begins to vibrate. He doesn’t even flinch. He just kisses me even deeper, ignoring the incoming call.
With every vibration of his phone, he pulls me tighter against him as if he’s trying to drown out the noise with my touch.
“You should get that,” I whisper, pulling away.
We both know it’s his wife.
He reluctantly steps away from me and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He carries it to the front door and takes the call outside.
I watch him through the window. He’s gripping the back of his neck as he speaks to whoever is on the other end of that call.
I wonder what her name is. How long they’ve been together. Does he have children?
The call doesn’t last long.
He heads back toward the house, so I walk away from the window. When he’s back inside, his expression is regretful. He walks past me and scoops up his uniform. He doesn’t say a word. He just grips my face with one hand and kisses me, almost possessively.
Then he leaves.
I’m left speechless, standing alone in the kitchen.
I don’t know what just happened, it occurred so fast.
Was that part of his act? I’m getting reality and fiction confused. Was he doing what he thought Cam would do in that situation?
Or did Saint really feel guilty enough after that phone call tha
t he just left without a word?
I have no idea what was going through his head, so all I can do is focus on what’s going through mine. I take my computer to the bedroom with me, full of new ideas and new feelings and new thoughts.
I write until I fall asleep.
FIVE
I FELL ASLEEP with my laptop on my chest. I can feel it when I try to roll over, so I push it away from me, to the other side of the bed.
I pull my pillow to my chest and try to fall back to sleep, but something feels off. The house is too quiet. Too dark.
I open my eyes and my focus is automatically pulled to the bedroom door. There’s a shadow filling the doorway, and as soon as I see it, anxiety weighs down on my chest.
I have never been so terrified. I open my mouth, but it’s like the nightmares where nothing comes out.
I immediately reach for my phone.
The figure lunges forward and I force out a scream as I quickly scramble to the other side of the bed.
I’m not quick enough.
A firm hand wraps around my ankle and pulls. I slide across the bed and lose my grip on my phone.
Tears fill my eyes.
My body is wracked with adrenaline like I’ve never felt before.
I try to recall everything I learned in self-defense class, but I don’t have time to think before I’m being dragged off the bed. A hand wraps around my mouth to cover my screams.
Please be Saint. Please be Saint.
I don’t know why I’m hoping Saint is the one doing this to me. Even if he took our little game too far by showing up here to scare me in the middle of the night—his actions would still be terrifying to me. And completely inexcusable.
I’m kicking my feet against the floor as he drags me, trying to get a grip on something so I can stand up. He’s moving too fast and he’s way too strong for me to pull away.
The house is so dark—darker than normal. I can tell the power has been cut as I’m dragged into the kitchen and can see that none of the appliance lights are illuminated. All the shades have been drawn.
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