She looked down at the duvet. “I’m not sure what to say.”
I leaned over, putting my finger under her chin to tilt it up so she could meet my gaze. “What you should say is that you know you are a damn fine writer. I love your books; they make me want to keep reading because the town you’ve written is delightful, as are all the characters.”
She tried to look away as if she couldn’t take a compliment, but I kept her gaze locked on mine. It occurred to me if she only had one friend that knew she wrote as Jules Jenkins, she wasn’t used to hearing to her face about how her writing impacted other people, so I was doing that for her right here and right now no matter how much I wanted to heat up the sheets with the woman.
“Jules, I’ve been a reader all my life. I think it’s absolutely a gift that we get to disappear into books and be captivated by other people’s stories even when they’re fictional, or maybe especially because of that.” I paused to let that sink in. “I’ve read all genres and don’t discriminate. That being said, the romance genre was new for me, but now I don’t know why I hadn’t read any earlier. The knowledge that the book will work out in the end is comforting. And the sex scenes are, no exaggeration, fun as hell to read.” I squeezed her hand. “I think you’re an excellent writer, and I’m guessing your sales numbers confirmthat, which is why I’m already on book three and have book four downloaded and ready to go.”
Her body relaxed as I spoke. When I paused, I noted that her eyes were a touch watery.
She blinked a few times before she spoke, her voice soft and warm. “First, though I’m a bit mortified to realize you’ve read my writing, thank you.”
“Mortified, why?” I asked, completely confused.
She bit that darn lip again, looking up toward the ceiling. I leaned over and tugged it out. Then, giving in to the urge I’d had every time I’d seen her do that little move, I leaned forward and pressed a light kiss on her lip.
Sitting back, I gave her a smile while picking up her hand closest to me and clasping it in my own. I was attempting, in my own way, to do what she had done for me all week—send her positive energy while she dealt with something difficult for her.
It seemed to work because then she spoke up. “Mortified because in so many ways, writing is like laying my soul bare even when it’s fiction.” She took a breath, then continued. “I feel like there is moremeon the pages of my novels then anyone would ever guess. People who read my books always ask which character is based on me or real people in my life, but what they’re missing is that the characters aren’t formed from real people, but all the books are essentiallywho I am. They encompass my wishes for the world, what type of friends I’d like to have, what I think would be an ideal partner, the types of houses I’d like to live in, et cetera. Like”—she waved her hands around—“it’s all there—my deeply held beliefs. I have no idea if everyone is like that when they write, but I am.”
“So what you’re saying about the scenes you write…” I teased her, knowing she would get where I was going.
She absolutely did as she used her free hand to playfully slap my chest. “Shush, some people online always write to me aboutthe sex scenes—where is the inspiration for them coming from?” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Good Lord. I mean, does Stephen King write the murders in his books from real life?” She raised an eyebrow at me. I figured now wasn’t the time to tell her how sexy she was doing that.
“I’ve had sex, of course.”
I gasped in fake shock just to fuck with her.
She went on like she hadn’t heard me. “And like anything else I have experienced in life, it informs my writing to an extent. But my scenes aren’t written from life, and I would put money on most romance writers being the same way.” She gave me an impervious look before finishing. “Because look at the number of heroines in hetero romance books having an orgasmevery single timethey have sex, much less from penetrative sex? I mean, do you know the average of that in real life? It’s abysmally low, so clearly there is fiction at work here, and that doesn’t even begin to touch the multiple orgasms or the speed of which any of that happens.” The smug expression she wore combined with amusement dancing in her eyes made me want to kiss her repeatedly. “Or”—she lowered her voice—“the size of the heroes, and I don’t mean height.”
“Is that so, Ms. Jenkins?” I waggled my eyebrows at her.
She laughed at the use of her pen name. “It is.”
“I think I might have to give you some new data points,” I said, tugging her down to lie in the bed and then joining her on my side.
She placed a hand on my chest, and I froze. Maybe I’d read her wrong.
“Noah,” she said, her tone serious. “I know we escalated things the other day on the patio, but you’ve had a lot going on this week. If you aren’t ready for this step, that’s totally fine. We can wait.”
I relaxed, realizing she was indeed at the same place I was, she was just trying to protect me once again. While I appreciated it, I also wanted her to look out for her own desires. I had a feeling that Jules had spent a lot of time putting her own needs last.
Instead of addressing that with words, I decided to answer her with action. Leaning forward, I bypassed her lips and found her neck. Jules immediately arched into me, tilting her head to give me better access.
“Hey, Jules,” I whispered between kisses.
“Yeah?” she replied breathlessly.
“If I’m ready for more, are you?” I asked because I had to check.
She huffed out a small laugh. “Hell, yeah.” Her fingers entwined in my hair, holding my mouth to the crook of her neck.
I pulled back. “Then please lose the shirt, kitten.”
She looked up with a challenge evident in her gaze. “How about you help with that?”
I tugged her shirt, scratch that—my shirt, up and over her head and tossed it on the floor just as I had fantasized. I was right—it was the perfect spot for it. Then I kicked my joggers off, noting the delight in her expression when she noted that I was commando. “Game on, babe.”
Chapter 19
