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Back at Nicholson Manor, Briar leads the way to the sunroom, where she proofreads the query letter I sent her while I check my email for Zayden’s notes on my manuscript.
“There!” She smacks a button on her keyboard. “It’s perfect. The spreadsheet is finished too. It has twenty agents listed. From what I can tell, they might be good enough to represent you.”
From my seat beside her, I brush a strand of silky hair behind her ear, allowing my fingertips to trace down her neck. Goosebumps prick up along her skin. “Why are you helping me?”
Her throat bobs. “Because S.T. Nicholson deserves someone who really believes in him and his work. And I want more books.”
So this is about my author persona. The anonymous masked man she still insists on separating from my true identity.
“And,” she adds, biting her lip, “you’ve been through enough shit in your life. I want to do something to make your life better the way you’ve done for me.”
A lump forms in my throat. I wasn’t sure this day would ever come. That my muse would want to reciprocate the love and affection I’ve shown her. That she would someday see me as someone other than her enemy. “You owe me nothing.”
“You killed the disgusting predator who was making my life miserable.” Her lips curl in revulsion at the memory of Professor Molester. “The least I can do is get you a great agent and a book deal.”
Even if she’s still guarding her heart, Briar cares about me. That’s all I want.
But if I force her to stay here, if I tie her up and lock her away, she may change her mind.
The thought of parting with her, of allowing her to walk out that door, makes fire singe my veins. Our final days of the writing retreat are upon us. If I can’t convince her to stay now, she’ll leave, and she may never return.
My hand caresses her jaw. “We don’t need to return to Auburn. I can support us financially. You can write and no longer worry about work. You’ll have everything you need. You’ll want for nothing.”
Her eyes flutter briefly shut. As if she wants to bask in those words and believe her dream life can become a reality. “No, I need to go back. I have Mack and Cookie and Mom and a job. I can’t just up and leave.”
Pain twists in my stomach. “You can bring them with you. You saw how many rooms I have.”
“I made a commitment to the university,” she insists. “And I want to do the job.”
I’ve failed. I left Briar alone, exposed and vulnerable, and now she doesn’t want to stay. Too afraid that whoever is out there will return. That I won’t be able to keep her safe. That even the job and life that don’t make her truly happy are better than being here with me. “And if I refuse to let you go?”
Her fiery blue gaze meets mine. “Then I’ll never forgive you. I’d certainly never love you.”
The sharp words find their target, spearing my heart. She knew exactly what to say to retain her free will. “You love it here, don’t you? With me?”
Briar bites her lip, unable to confess to the truth but incapable of denying it either. “I...I do.”
Someday, I’ll hear those words from her at the altar. “You don’t love your job, Briar. You love writing. You love books. But you’ve been guarding your heart your entire life, refusing to go after what you love out of fear.”
“I’m not afraid,” she bites, but we both know she’s lying.
She’s terrified. Terrified of pursuing a career in publishing because she fears how much failure would break her heart. Terrified of loving me, of giving her heart to me for fear of what I’ll do with it.
“Take a leap, Briar. This retreat doesn’t have to end now. This can be the rest of your life.”
A small smile flickers across her lips, and my heart leaps with hope. “I want to at least take my students on the writing retreat and see this next semester through.”
My jaw ticks, but I can’t force her. Not if I want her heart to be mine. “Fine. But after the semester is over, you’ll be back up here with me.”
Briar leans toward me, vibrant blue eyes piercing mine. “Because I want to be, not because you forced me.”
“So you do?” I murmur. “Want to be here with me?”
Her brows lift in surprise at my vulnerability. “Saint, no man has ever whisked me away for a writing retreat. No man has ever even taken an interest in my writing or my books—two of the things I love most in this world. No man has ever sent me a book off my wishlist, let alone every goddamn book. No man has ever watched over me like you or taught me how to protect myself. No man has ever believed in me like you have or...loved me like you have. You’ve killed for me. You’ve risked everything to be with me. So as insane as it makes me...yes. I want to come back and be here. With you.”
Even with a thousand years over a thousand lifetimes, I’d never be able to write sweeter words.
CHAPTER NINE
