Page 163 of Safe Word

She tilted her head, a faint smirk playing on her lips. ‘Well, apparently, I’m a woman with kinks who writes horror romance and sleeps with a gun under her pillow. Doesn’t exactly scream marriage material, does it?’

I laughed – loud and rough.

‘Fair point,’ I admitted jokingly. ‘But if you want to scare a man properly, you should aim the barrel a little lower next time.’

Now she laughed, soft and genuine, but it faded quickly.

I was never going to let her off the hook for that one.

Shifting in her seat, her playful smirk gave way to something more contemplative.

‘Still,’ she said. ‘I agree with what you said earlier. The dark… it’s too much for most people. And if they stick around long enough, it changes them. And sometimes… makes them want more of it.’

The latter came out in a quiet breath, as though she couldn’t help but say it, yet didn’t want me to hear it. Her words settled over us like a shroud.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked, though I had a pretty good idea what the answer was.

She turned her chin to look at me, taking the sunglasses off, her gaze steady and unreadable, that fucking purple stain at her temple making me grip the wheel a little tighter.

‘The dark… it doesn’t just pull you in. It seduces you. Like a drug. It makes you crave things you didn’t even know you wanted. And once you’ve had a taste, you need more. There’s no going back from that.’

The way she said it… calm, certain, like a confession. It did something to me.

‘Why do I feel like we’re not talking about Travis and my dad any more?’ I asked, matching the rhythm of the past. I couldn’t resist the next question. ‘What other kind of darkness did you try?’

Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.

‘I write horror romance for a reason, D’Angelo. The best stories are the ones we survive.’

The words felt like a challenge, one laced with layers of meaning I wasn’t sure I could unpack. The scenes she’d written suddenly flooded my mind – scenes that spoke of control and punishment and surrender, of boundaries blurred and willingly crossed. Her writing had felt raw, real, as if pulled from something deeper than sheer imagination.

And just like that, need coiled low in my gut – raw, unwanted, and with a fucked-up timing.

‘You think it’s worth it?’ I glanced at her, meeting her eyes directly. ‘Wallowing in the dark?’

She tilted her head, her gaze flicking to my hands on the steering wheel before meeting mine again. I eased my grip on it, realising the leather was already protesting against the force of my fingers.

‘Only with the right person.’

It cleaved through me. Stirred something right and wrong and damning all the same.

The atmosphere in the car grew heavier, the space between us charged with an energy that felt both dangerous and magnetic.

The more time I spent with Paula – a woman who wasn’t performing a role, someone with real issues, and someone I could connect with on a deeper level – I realised Scarlett had all but evaporated from my thoughts.

I felt guilty for it. But I rationalised it to myself that Scarlett had simply been there for release. And though I wouldn’t mind Paula taking her place, she’d actually become something more. And the recognition cracked through me like lightning splitting stone: I was fucking falling for her.

The hospice loomed in the distance, breaking the tension like a sudden splash of cold water. The sterile, clinical building mocked the weight of the conversation, pulling us back into reality.

‘You ready?’ she asked as I cut the engine.

I exhaled sharply, gripping the steering wheel tighter for a moment longer before finally letting go.

‘Not really,’ I admitted.

She unbuckled her seatbelt. ‘Good. Let’s kick ass, then.’

Her words carried a strength I wasn’t sure I deserved, but one I desperately needed. I huffed out a breath, stepping out of the car and letting her presence moor me as we walked towards the building together.