The cup of coffee almost slips out of my hand. “That was never... I never actually...” I stammer, shaking my head hard enough to bring back my hangover headache with a vengeance. “I onlythoughtabout writing it. It was just anidea.”
Raising a brow, his beautiful, full mouth twitches up at one corner. “I guess we’re living it now.”
“Okay.” I drag in a shaky breath and wave the spatula in the air between us. “You. This. Me. None of this is really happening.”
Ryder moves to lean one hip against the counter looking like something out of a fucking Calvin Klein ad, watching me unravel with way too much amusement for my liking.
“I mean, this isn’treal. I don’t care how hot you are, you’re fictional. A figment of my overcooked imagination and unresolved emotional trauma.”
“You forgot ‘devastatingly charming,’” he rumbles around a mouthful of crispy pork perfection.
I hold up a finger. “Shut up. Just—shut up and stay right there.”
Carefully setting the mug on the counter, I turn and bolt back upstairs to my bedroom.
Whatever. I’m a woman on a mission—a very panicked, half-dressed woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown—but on a mission nonetheless.
Crashing into my desk chair, I grab my laptop and open the document file faster than a gremlin on Red Bull, fingers flying across the keys.
Suddenly, Ryder Blackwood disappeared, never to be seen again. Poof. Gone. Goodbye forever. Insert explosion sound. The end.
I hit SAVE with dramatic flourish, slam the lid shut, and exhale.
Silence.
I stand up slowly, heart thudding, chest tight, and walk back down to the kitchen, where he’s still standing, effing shirtless, smirking bigger than before.
“What in the actual fuck?” I whisper.
“You know.” He picks up another piece of bacon and points it at me. “You’re underestimating how stubborn I am. It’s how you wrote me, remember?”
Grabbing the spatula off the counter again, I storm over and slap the flat side of the flipper against his chest.
He quirks a sexy eyebrow. Does this guyeverflinch?
“You don’t belong here,” I bite out. “You’re notreal.”
Slowly, he leans in, pushing his chest against the spatula.He smells like... I take a deep breath in. Sandalwood... Another deep breath… Leather.
Holy hell.
“Then why,” he murmurs, “do you look like you can’t decide whether you want to slap the shit outta me or kiss me?”
I swallow. Hard.
“Definitely leaning towardsslap.”
Tilting his head, his gaze drops to my mouth. “You sure ‘bout that?”
I step back, trip over Goonie, who yowls in protest, and nearly topple to the floor before Ryder catches me.
Of course he does. Isn’t that what leading men do?
Warm, rough hands with fingers curling just a little too perfectly around my waist, hold me tight.
I shove at his chest. “Let go of me, you fucked up figment of my imagination.”
He looks down his nose at me, and has the audacity to smirk—again. “You’re the one who brought me into your world,kitten. And the only problem I can see? Is that you’re way too overdressed for this scene.”
