“Oh,” I squeak. “Hey. Fancy seeing you here.”
“You wrote inLexi?”
I lift my chin in defiance. “She’s a fully developed love interest with a mysterious past and great bone structure. She’s a sexy smart-ass, loves coffee, and?—”
“You made mekissher.”
“Well,yeah,” I snark, pushing a strand of damp hair away from my face. “You were getting a little too comfortable inmyhouse. Figured you could use a distraction.”
Pushing off the door, he moves into the room, one slow, stalking step at a time.
“Let me get this straight,” he rumbles, voice full of danger and—god help me—sex. “You conjure me out of thin air—into a world where I don’t belong—and your first move is to pimp me out to some literary NPC withespresso breath?”
“I wasn’tpimpingyou out,” I snap. “I was creatively redirecting your attention.”
“To who?”
“Lexi!”
My heart jack hammers against my ribs as he keeps moving further into the room.
“To a woman who, technically, doesn’t even exist?”
“Well, technicallyyoudidn’t exist until I typed you into existence, so?—”
He takes another step closer and I shrink back into my chair, heart racing as I glare up at him.
Then, to my shock, my towel slides open between my legs.
His eyes drop to my thighs. “Careful,” he murmur-growls. “Pretty sure that thing is hanging on by sheer willpower alone.”
My hands fly down to adjust the towel. “Eyes up, Casanova.”
“Not a chance. Believe me when I say, watching you try to outmaneuver me in your bath towel is the highlight of my strange new reality.”
I try to stand, but he’s so much faster.
Now towering over me, his hands land on the desk, caging me in. Heat radiates off his body, and I can smell the mix of sandalwood, leather, and midnight clinging to his skin.
Fuck me.
“You don’t get to control me like that.” His voice is quiet, edged with something primal. “Not anymore.”
I swallow, tilting my chin up to meet his eyes in defiance. “I’m a writer. It’s my job to control the narrative.”
“Once upon a time.” His gaze finds my mouth. “But I think something broke inside me when I showed up. I don’t wanther, Noia.”
My breath catches.
“I wantyou.”
His words burn like a brand on my skin, searing through every nerve ending straight to my core. I’m surprised I don’t come just from the look in his eyes alone.
“I don’t—” But the words get stuck in my throat.
His face is so close, I can see the tiny flecks of blue in the gray of his irises.
My eyes track his tongue as it slowly drags across his full bottom lip. The tension between us tightens and coils like a live wire ready to blow into a million sparks.
