Chapter 13
It had to be butterflies. The excitement that fluttered in the pit of Chloe’s stomach. Not to mention the sense of euphoria that inflamed her from head to toe.
Dylan Hawke is making me blush.She felt her cheeks grow warm, recounting their ride home. It was the perfect setting for her first time on a motorcycle—the triple-scoop-of-a-yummy-hot-driver of said motorcycle, was just as perfect.
Get it together, Chloe Davenport, you’re acting like a heroine in your Lovestruck series.
And perhaps she was, since in most romance-driven novels, the heroine often falls for the hero faster than what happens inreal life. Allegedly.
Chloe couldn’t help but write stories about falling fast, believing in her heart, love happens whether we’re seeking it or not, providing us little control of what’s meant to be. True, her main characters often fall as soon as their heartthrob hero appears in the story, basicallybreathing;but—who cares? Her books were a means to an escape. A one-way trip to falling in love. Just the reader, the heroine, and the hero.
Tapping her fingers on her jean-covered thighs, Chloe sat on the couch in Dylan’s living room, waiting for him to retrieve her manuscript from off the kitchen counter. She wasn’t expecting to ever see it again since he won the karaoke contest.
Yet, her time in Fortune’s Bay had been full of theunexpected…
“Harper Stone had no doubt the hottie perched on top of the Harley, parked on the street facing her bedroom window, was the man of her dreams.” Dylan let out a chortle as he entered the living room, manuscript in hand.
Chloe wanted to die, silently praying the ground would open up and swallow her, and the couch she was sitting on.He’s reading it. He’s actually reading it.
Cheeks flaming from utter embarrassment, she shot up from the couch, dashed over to him, and snatched Project Sizzle out of his hands. “I can’t believe you read that,” she snapped, heartbeat thundering in her ears.
Sure, while they were at Wilde Pirate, Dylan jokingly said he would read it. Yet, she didn’t think he’dreallydo it.
“That’s about me. The guy on the Harley.”
Chloe wanted to smack the smug look off his face. “No, it’s not.”Liar.
Dylan’s mouth eased into an amusement-laced grin. “Uh, yeah it is. And if I’m the ‘Hottie on the Harley’, does that make you the Harper Stone of the story?”
Maybe. “Don’t flatter yourself.” She brushed past him, headed for the door, eager to flee.
And just as she was about to open it, Dylan reached over her shoulder, his palm propped against the door. “Chloe, wait,” he muttered.
Reluctantly, she spun to face him, her back against the door, too embarrassed to raise a chin up to meet his gaze—even though she could feel his eyes blazing down on her.Don’t look at him, girl.Chloe would do her best to obey that inner-commandment as she stood so, so close to him, barely able to breathe, heart threatening to leap right out of her chest. If she passed out, would he give her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?
Dylan lifted her chin with his fingertip,his touch soft and welcoming. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Their eyes met and Chloe’s breaths quickened at the sight of him licking his lips.
“Apology accepted,” she managed to say, wishing he’d move in a few more inches, claim her mouth with his own. “I just have this crazy demand from my editor and I need to write something sexy. Seeing you on Tamale yesterday, gave me inspiration for Harper and Dax’s story. I knew if you read it, you’d assume it was about you.”
Dylan removed his finger from her chin, his other hand from off the door, and backed up a few feet, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. “Oh. Well, I’m glad I was able to inspire you, at least. I still think it’s about me.” He winked and the two let out an easy laugh.
“I should probably get going.”
“Or you can stay for a bit, have some—”
“Coffee. I’d love a cup of coffee,” she said, eyes widened.
“Sounds good. Follow me into the kitchen.”
Dylan eased onto the stool at the center island, next to Chloe, as she sipped on the newly brewed cup of coffee he gave her.
“I really should be writing.”
“And what’s the hold up? I mean, other than the fact you’re here drinking coffee with me.”
Chloe loved the way he smiled with his eyes. Fresh. Alluring. With a mesmerizing, hypnotic appeal. “It’s my editor—my publishers, actually. They say my readers want me to write sexier books.”
