Page 41 of Promise Me Never

“Your hair. It’s curly.”

Her stomach tightened. “Yeah. I’ve always hated it. I straighten it.”

“I love it. You should wear it like that.”

A vision flashed in her mind. The photo of Poppy, her hair tumbling around her face in untamed curls. Savannah’s breath caught.

“I prefer it straight,” she said.

He smiled, almost dreamily. “No. Like this. It’s gorgeous.” He leaned closer, his hand tangling in her damp hair. “It makes you look wild.”

Something in his tone, reverent, hungry, made her skin prickle. Did he mean her, or was he seeing Poppy in front of him?

His mouth was on hers before she could think, urgent and demanding. He pressed her back against the kitchen island, peeling her clothes away as though he couldn’t get to her fast enough.

“I want you so bad,” he whispered against her throat.

She wanted to feel the same way, but the kitchen light was bright, and the counter hard against her back. She felt exposed, staged.

“Tell me how much you want me,” he said.

She was still thinking about Poppy. Imagining Bennett pretending that she was her. She pushed him off her. “Sorry, I’m soaked and uncomfortable. I need to change.”

For a moment his eyes darkened, confusion flickering, maybe anger. “Sure. Go change.”

She went upstairs and put on a pair of jeans and a sweater, then swept her hair back into a ponytail. Screw him and his opinions on her hair. He smiled at her when she walked into the living room as if nothing had happened.

“Shall I give you my notes on your pages?”

She suddenly felt bad for her earlier reaction. “Yes.”

They went into the kitchen and sat at the table. He pushed a folder toward her. “I printed the pages and made some notes. I can see how hard you worked to make Darcy come alive.”

Her spirits soared, and she released a pent-up breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

“But…that’s kind of the problem. I can hear you writing. You know, as the author, you shouldn’t be felt on the page. It needs to be your characters. I couldn’t connect with Darcy.”

Her mood plummeted. “Can you be more specific?”

“There’s a lot of telling. You explain why Darcy feels the need to avenge these women. It needs to be more subtle.” He pointed to the folder. “I made more detailed notes. It still needs a lot of work. I’m sorry to not have better news, but voice is not something that can be taught.”

Her cheeks burned and she swallowed, trying to maintain her composure. “Bennett, don’t sugarcoat it. Are you saying it’s shit?”

He sighed. “No. It’s just…a bit amateurish. I put my time in. Paid my dues. You need to do the same.”

But she had paid her dues. This was the fourth book she’d written. She’d taken countless evening workshops and courses. Spent five years at a literary agency spotting talent. She wasn’t some novice who’d written one draft and expected it to be gold. She opened the folder and glanced at the first page. Red pen everywhere. More notes than the first time he read them.

“Well, I guess I’ll read through your notes tomorrow and digest them.”

“I know it’s hard, sweetheart, but all writers have to accept criticism. It’s part of the job.”

“I know. After I go through them, can we talk again?”

“Savannah, I have to finish my book. You know, the one I’ve been paid to write? I love you, but I don’t have time to hold your hand while you work on your attempt at a novel. I’ve already gone through this two times.”

“My attempt?”

He laughed. “Don’t be so sensitive. I didn’t mean it like that. I have a real deadline. You’re writing this on spec. It can wait.”