I don't know why I'm sitting martyr-straight against the headboard. I guess I'm pretending to be a statue, with a lot of cleavage. Which I'm actively trying to hide by crossing my arms. Which—physics—only make worse.
My gaze drifts to his bedside table to look for a watch, and see how long I've been here, but there's only hand cream, which sends my mind somewhere it shouldn't. Because it's a hand cream, and I'm picturing... other uses.
At least Ben's having a good time.
He's sprawling beside me with that usual ease, one arm behind his head, the other flicking my knee exactly where it jumps.
Until I've had enough, so I move it away with a groan.
He looks up at me, eyes falling right where they shouldn't, and he bites his cheek. "Relax, Emma. The bed won't eat you, and neither will I—" His hand squeezes my knee again. "Unless you ask nicely."
I roll my eyes like he's annoying the heck out of me, which he sort of is and sort of isn't, and manage to unclench myself. My muscles instantly thank me.
"So? What's your next book about?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious.
"I'm not telling you."
He arches a brow. "Seriously? I should own like thirtypercent of your royalties. For an emotional support fee."
"Thirty percent?!Please. You're doing just fine without my trauma money."
"It's not about fine. It's aboutfair. I was your first fan. So?"
"This one's different," I say, shaking my head. "No idea where it's going yet. I'll tell you when I have something."
He sits up. The bed's technically a queen, but he chooses the space right next to me, elbow grazing mine.
"Is it about me again?" he asks.
Somehow, I manage to not blink, not give anything away. "Where'd you get that idea? You're not the only heart-breaker in the world, you know."
He watches me, intrigued. "Was I? Your heart-breaker?"
I shoot him a look. "You're annoying, you know that?"
Instead of answering he tips his face to the ceiling and his voice comes out low and sturdy: "There are moments that split your life in two. This—this is one of them."
I whip my head to him. "That's mine."
He nods. "I've read all your books."
Wait? My two flops? Do I celebrate or die of embarrassment?
"So you do read?" I ask suspiciously. "Didn't take you for a romance reader."
He pulls a face. "Hell no. I stand by what I said. After medicine, I'll never touch another book." He taps on my temple. "But I readyou."
I meet his eyes, completely thrown. "But... why?"
The mood in his face goes from playful to thoughtful in asecond.
"Maybe because I couldn't reach you and wanted to see how you're doing. If you sleep better," he says then.
I blink at him. This man.This man, who swore to never read anything again, read a thousand pages of mine as a way to reach me since I've shut him out.
Maybe... maybe that's the kindest thing anyone's ever done for me.
"I liked all of them," he adds. "The reviews for your last one were wrong."
