“Well… um…”
Mom wouldn’t mind if I brought him right through the front door. But I’d rather not go about advertising my sex life to my mother. Or maybe I’m not as evolved as I thought I was. Maybe I’m still holding on to some shame I really should let go of.
Or maybe there’s just something exciting about sneaking a man into my room. I’ve never done it before. Why did I suggest this?
“Actually, I like this idea,” he whispers, kissing the tip of my nose. “Climbing through a woman’s bedroom window is another thing on my romance novel bucket list.”
My laugh is light. “Really?”
“Yeah, I guess I’ve read just a few too many dark romances.” Cosmos shrugs and squeezes my ass.
I swallow thickly, certain that my panties are thoroughly soaked. “Um… Okay, give me ten minutes to make sure my mom’s okay, and then…” I don’t finish thesentence. He doesn’t need me to. He’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland. I feel a bit like I’m in Wonderland myself, knowing that this incredible man wants me.
“Ten minutes. I promise.”
He kisses me again, hungrily, like he’s not sure he can wait that long. Then he sets me down, puts both his hands in his pockets and casually starts whistling as he walks away. Just before he reaches the corner of the house, he looks over his shoulder, his expression practically giddy. Our eyes lock, and time stops.
“Don’t be long,” he says before sauntering out of sight.
Chapter Thirty-Two
When I enter the house, all my insecurity comes rushing back. What the hell am I doing? I shouldn’t have made him climb through the window. Crap, what if it’s not actually open, and he ends up waiting out in the cold? Or what if he doesn’t wait at all? I’m just about to rush back to my bedroom to check when I hear a noise from down the hall. It sounds like he made it inside.
Mom is on the couch, and the noise startles her awake. The television is still on, playing the final scene fromTitanic.
“Everything okay?” Mom asks, voice coarse.
“Yeah, fine,” I reply. “Let’s get you to bed. Did you take your meds?”
She yawns and shakes her head. “Don’t need ‘em.” She coughs into her sleeve.
Yeah, she definitely needs them. I quickly grab a glass of water and the pain meds, then force her totake them. When I try to get her to move to bed, she argues that she’s too uncomfortable and wants to keep watching the movie. I’m too worked up to fight her on it, and she’ll be less likely to hear Cosmos and me from out here, so I drape a blanket over her and kiss her goodnight.
Then I rushed through my normal nighttime routine, checking all the doors and windows twice to make sure everything’s locked, quickly using the restroom and brushing my teeth. I make it to my bedroom door twelve minutes after I left Cosmos on the front porch.
Even though I was the one who suggested this, I suddenly feel incredibly nervous. My hand is clammy as I reach for the doorknob, my throat dry. I open the door and find him stretched out on my bed. My thoughts are so jumbled it takes me a second to realize what he’s holding. Loose pages of printer paper. Oh, no.
“This is good, Hazel. Really good.”
And now I’m nervous for a whole different reason. “You shouldn’t be reading that. It’s not for reading.”
His eyebrows lift, and his dimples deepen. “A book that’s not for reading?”
“Well, it’s not for other people to read!” I never planned on anyone reading my romance novel. Ever.
I grab at the pages, but he pulls them away. This is becoming a habit of his I really don’t like. When I reach for the manuscript again, he uses my momentum to pull me down on top of him, locking his arms around me to keep me in place.
“I believe you told me I could act out the beach scene,” he says, “which requires reading, doesn’t it?”
“It doesn’t require reading the whole thing.” I sound huffy and obstinate. Shit, he’s not gonna like this side of me. “I mean, it’s only a first draft.” I try to soften my tone. “You should wait for the final product.”
If it ever exists.
“I plan on reading all your first drafts, Hazel. Every word you write, at every stage. I’m gonna be your biggest fan, remember?” He kisses my forehead, my nose, my cheek, moving slowly down my neck. The dress I’m wearing has little round iridescent buttons up the front, and he slowly undoes the top one. “I’m going to read the hell out of all of your first drafts.”
Is that why he likes me? I write romance, so he thinks I’m some kind of expert, some vixen in bed, some sex goddess that’s going to blow his mind. If that’s what he thinks, this relationship could end tonight.
I push off his chest, sitting up so I’m straddling him. “This is the only romance novel I plan to write.”
