Page 54 of Haunted Spurs

"No," he answers, shaking his head slightly. "I was just asking what you were doing. Are you a night owl, Selene?"

I dodge his gaze, dropping my eyes back to the half-closed screen.

"I didn't get enough work done today," I state, stiffening my spine. "I have a lot to do."

Silence stretches between us, filled only by the hammering rhythm of the rain against the glass. I can feel him watching me. I can feel Ron's hot, heavy gaze slide down my profile, trailing down the silk strap that slipped off my shoulder.

"Can I help you with any of it?"

The question is genuine, innocent, but my brain shatters anyway.

If he only knew what I actually need help with...

"No," I cut him off, short and categorical.

He doesn't get mad. He doesn't take offense. He just lets out a small, silent sigh. He shifts slightly, and for a second, his thigh brushes against mine.

"Can I suggest, then, that I think you should get some rest?" he murmurs softly.

I clench my jaw, digging my nails into my palms so I don't give in to the urge to lean against him.

"I think I know perfectly well when it's time to rest, Willers," I snap, my voice a little too bitter to mask my fluster. "And I can't afford to right now."

Instead of taking my rejection as a cue to leave, throw in the towel, and go back to sleep, Ron does the exact opposite.

He sits down on the other end of the small cushioned window seat. As he settles down, he moves a leg, and his thigh brushes my feet, which are tucked up on the pillows.

An electric jolt shoots from the tips of my toes, races up my calves, and radiates straight to the center of my chest. It's a shock that steals my breath. I force myself with every ounce of willpower I possess not to jerk my feet away.

"Why can't you afford to?" he whispers. "Having trouble writing?"

I huff, looking away to stare at a drop of water sliding down the glass. "Does the advice to get some rest not apply to you?"

"This is my question," he declares, a note of amusement in his voice. "The dare of the day, remember? We have a deal. You can't not answer."

He crosses his arms over his chest. The movement pulls the fabric of his thin gray t-shirt tight, and my sanity packs its bags.

Dammit.

"I... um... I'm looking for inspiration," I answer reluctantly, almost mumbling.

I don't like talking about myself. Hasn't anyone noticed? Actually, to be fair, I'm not much of a talker regardless.

Ron, on the other hand, obviously holds the exact opposite view. He looks at me like I have his complete, undivided attention.

This level of interest makes me feel terrifyingly uncomfortable. But at the same time, a tiny, desperate part of my brain is flattered by it.

Don't flatter yourself. You aren't special.

I'm sure he does this with everyone.

"You know..." he murmurs, his tone low and reassuring, "it's normal sometimes not to know what to write right away. You've written a ton of books over the last few years, Selene. A crazy pace. You should learn to be a little easier on yourself."

"Are you a writer?" I attack him, my voice coming out way more hostile than I intended.

I know, I don't have the greatest personality in the world. I'm prickly and really easy to irritate. And my irritability skyrockets, especially around a new-cowboy who is taking up way too much space in my head. I don't know what to do with these thoughts about him. I don't want them.

"No, but... I work closely with people who are. Remember?!" he fires back without missing a beat. He keeps staring at me, his blue eyes shining in the dim light, like he sees something hidden beneath my skin that I can't even see myself. It's a terribly annoying talent.