Page 21 of Love Everlasting

“Backpack?” he finished for her, pouncing on a number of papers that went flying before the wind could carry them away. He added them back to a packet of sheets he picked up, all fanned out on the ground, then extended a hand to help her up. “Sorry, but this is just another reason you should say yes, because now we’ll have matching bruises.”

Ignoring his hand, she popped up a lot quicker than he had the night she’d kicked him out of her car, a hint of her Irish temper flaring for the very first time. “No-no-no-no!” she said in a near hiss, emphasizing each word with a hasty pluck of papers, one batch at a time. “Don’t force me to get a restraining order, Cunningham, because I will.”

She took a stab at grabbing the final bunch in his hand, but he snatched it away, his mouth dropping open when he realized what it was.

Love Everlasting

A novel.

“Oh my gosh,” he said with a chuckle, speed-reading the first page, “you’re writing a romance novel?”

“Give-me-that-now!” she said, her words clipped while she jump-shot in the air, trying to snatch the papers he held over her head.

“‘True Love. An oxymoron if ever there was,’” he read in a sappy voice, continuing on with a chuckle while she clobbered his chest. “‘Olivia Brighton issued a rare grunt as she stormed up the stairs to her apartment, desperate to get inside before anymore tears leaked from her eyes.’”

Shannon whacked him hard, leaving an impression of her fist to match the holes from her heels. “Give-me-those-papers-right-now-or-so-help-me-I will-knee-you …”

He backed away a healthy distance, laughing as he waved the papers. “I’ll tell you what, Angel Eyes, for the sweet and shy twin, you sure are feisty.” He rifled through a few more pages, his grin growing with every line. “Whoa … and sexy, too, you little vamp! Who knew?”

That apparently did it. Hurling her backseat door open, she yanked out a bat, chasing him around the car till his sides ached from laughter. “Your knee caps are in trouble, mister, if you don’t give that back right now.”

“Okay, okay,” he said with a grin, taking great precaution in handing the manuscript over. “But I sure never figured you for writing a …” He paused, face in a scrunch as he tried to remember what Jazz called the racy books she read with bare-chested men on the covers. He snapped his fingers. “A bodice ripper, that’s it.”

“It is not a bodice ripper,” she muttered, stuffing the papers back into her backpack. “It’s a sweet romance where people are fully clothed. And it’s not mine.”

He squinted at her, hands low on his hips. “You didn’t write it?”

Her mouth compressed.

“Ah-ha! You did write it, but you don’t want anybody to know, do you?”

She expelled way too big of a sigh for such a little girl. “I’m a ghost writer, okay? But I signed a secrecy clause and nobody knows, so you can’t breathe a word.”

A grin inched across his face. “Nobody?”

She tossed the backpack into her back seat and closed her back door, peering up with a plea in her baby blues. “My family knows I freelance as an editor for a publisher friend of mine. But they don’t know I’m actually writing a romance novel for one of my publisher’s most important authors who has run into some health issues. So you have to promise not to say a word.”

He gave a lazy shrug, butting a hip to her car. “No prob, Shan. After all—what are friends for?”

Her pretty pink biker tank rose and fell in relief before she slid into her car, the tension in her face easing into a weary smile. “Thanks, Sam, I really appreciate it.”

“Sure thing, kiddo, mum’s the word.” He closed her door and leaned in, arms folded on the open window. “Glad we sealed the deal.”

Her hand froze on the gear shift. “What deal? We don’t have a deal.”

He traced a finger down her arm to rile a little fire in her. “Sure we do, Angel Eyes—my silence for your coaching.”

She slapped his hand away as her eyes narrowed. “Blackmailer on top of a stalker and player? Gee, Doc, you get better by the moment.”

“I know.” He tapped on her door with a waggle of brows. “Just imagine how good I’ll be after you’re done?”

She groaned and dropped her head on the wheel.

“Cutter’s Point, Wednesday at four.” He pushed away from the car and gave her a dazzling smile. “I need you, Shan,” he said, hands over his chest in true drama, befitting his nickname. “My heart’s sick over Jazz, so I’m in a really bad way.”

“I know, me too.” She jerked the car into gear, and he jumped back for safety while she glanced in the rearview mirror. Broiling him with a look, she gunned the accelerator and tore out of the lot, her final words making him grin. “Only mine’s indigestion.”

Chapter Twelve