We each turned our attention back to the show. We watched for several minutes in silence, but I could tell Miles was restless. He kept inching closer and looking my way. No wonder he never watched TV; he couldn’t sit still and enjoyit. I finally paused the show and turned toward him. “Would you rather talk?”
“I thought you would never ask.” He scooted closer.
I had nowhere else to go so I shifted the pillow to be between us. This didn’t go unnoticed. His eyes were laughing at me.
“Do you have something on your mind?” I asked.
He nodded slowly and deliberately. Yeah, that was kind of sexy. We really needed to turn a light on. Or maybe Henry could wake up and need me. Anything to save me from entangling.
“Your mother said something in her report aboutSilent Stonesthat bothered me.”
Great. I knew I should have wrestled that thing away from her. “What did she say?” I grimaced.
“She said my kissing scenes were pathetic.”
I rubbed my lips together, trying not to smile. “Well . . .”
He sat up straight with his jaw dropped. “You agree with her, don’t you? My biggest fan thinks I can’t write a bloody kissing scene.”
“When did I become your biggest fan?”
“Don’t try and change the subject,” he teased. “Tell me why you think that? Better yet, tell me how to fix it.”
“I don’t know that I’m qualified to do that. You’re the writer.” And surely the man had more experience than me in that department. By his own admission, he was a generous lover. I believed him.
“I write thrillers, darling, not romance.”
“Given my life situation, I haven’t read a lot of romance novels either. And the only romance I’ve experienced in the last several years has come from watching every periodromance the BBC and Masterpiece Theater has ever produced.”
He ripped the pillow away from me. “That’s excellent material. Show me what you’ve learned.”
“What?” I spluttered.
“Show me what I’m doing wrong.”
“Don’t you meantellyou?”
“No, Aspen.” He moistened his lips.
My palms got sweaty and I began to shake. “I can’t. We can’t.” I reached for the remote. “Let’s watch one.”
Miles took the remote from me. “I’m a hands-on learner, and writers are supposed to show, not tell.” He leaned in, evaporating the little space that was between us. “Besides I don’t want to plagiarize another person’s work. I need to know what Isabella would want, and who better to show me than you? Think of it as research.” Seductive undertones ran through his words.
My heart was in a panic. Half of it was beating erratically, wanting desperately for me to agree. It was tired of being locked up. The other half beat double-time, begging me not to unearth the key it had worked so hard to bury, especially for a man I couldn’t have.
“Research?” I swallowed hard.
“Nothing more. Nothing less.” He made it sound so easy and sterile.
“I haven’t kissed anyone in years,” I confessed.
His brows hit his hairline. “Are you in earnest?”
“Yes. I’m sure I would be awful at it.”
“I highly doubt that.” He brushed some hair away from my face. “But I don’t want you to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.”
“Thank you. You are probably the first man who I’ve ever believed when he said that.”
