“I hate that you’re so cheerful. You’re not a morning person, remember?”
He lowers his chin and narrows his eyes at me. “Oh, I can go all broody and gruff in a matter of seconds, kitten. Just say the word.”
His voice skitters across my skin and shoots straight to my core.
What the fuck?
I push myself up to sit against the headboard and pull the covers up to my chest like a shield. “My dad’s T-shirt is almost too tight.”
He grins, walks over to the bed and hands me a steaming mug. “It works. And it smells nice. Like you.”
The way he says it—all husky and warm—makes me want to dive back under the covers and never come out.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Like, I don’t know, back in the pages of my manuscript?” I grumble, taking a cautious sip. The coffee is perfect—just the right amount of cream and sugar.
Damn him.
“Nope.” He sits on the edge of my bed, making the mattress dip. “I’m all yours today.”
I narrow my eyes at him over the rim of my mug. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means we’re going on another date.”
I choke on my coffee. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” His eyes gleam with mischief. “We made a deal, remember? I help you write, you help me live. And today, we’re going to have some fun.”
“I have work to do,” I protest weakly.
“Yeah, you do. On me.” He winks, and I feel my face flame. “Besides, I’ve been thinking about our story problem.”
“Ourstory problem?”
“You can’t write because you’re blocked. And I think I know why.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re afraid.”
“I am not?—”
“You’re afraid to let yourself feel anything real after what that dickwad did to you.” His voice softens. “So you’re hiding, trying to write about passion and love and happily ever-after’s without actually experiencing any of it for yourself.”
I stare at him, speechless.
“So here’s an amendment to my previous proposal.” He takes the mug from my hands and sets it on the nightstand. “Every day we do something different. Live out the storyline. We do all the things you’ve been afraid to do. We have fun, take risks. And hopefully you can start to feel happy and inspired again.”
“And then what?”
He gives me a slow, devastating smile. “Then, as we already discussed, every night after we get home, you write it all down.”
I want to say no, kick him out of my room and barricade the door. But the challenge in his eyes—warm and alive—makes me hesitate.
“What exactly did you have in mind for today?”
His grin widens. “That’s my girl. Dress in something comfortable and bring a swimsuit.”
“A swimsuit? It’s barely sixty degrees outside!”
“Trust me, kitten,” he says, already heading for the door. You’re going to love what I have planned for us today.”
The door closes behind him with a click, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts and half-empty cup of coffee sitting on my nightstand.
