AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What are you doing?”
“Jesus, Rowan!” I yelped, my entire body jolting, nearly sending my laptop crashing onto the floor. He wasright there, leaning over the arm of the couch behind me, his handsome face only an inch or two away from me. And I hadn’t heard him coming. “You scared the shit outta me!”
“Sorry.” He chuckled with a grin that said he was anythingbutsorry. Before standing to his full height and moving around the couch, he leaned in to plant a kiss on the tip of my nose. That was another development in the week that had followed waking up in his bed. Rowan’s lips seemed to find themselves on my body at least three times a week. For the most part, the pecks were somewhat platonic, but that didn’t stop my body from damn near overheating every single time he did it.
“So, what are you doing?” His large frame plopped down onto the other end of the couch, causing me to bounce. Before I had a chance to bend my knees to move my feet out of the way, his long fingers wrapped around my ankles, pulling my feet onto his lap like it was the most casual, normal thing in the world.
“What’s it look like I’m doing?” I responded snidely, trying to camouflage the fact that my heart felt like it was about to beat right out of my chest. A smart woman would have yanked her feet back, creating much-needed space. Butsmartflew right out the damn window when it came to Rowan. “I’m working. Something you should be doing. Or is your book going to write itself?”
“Needed to take a break. I wouldn’t want to exhaust my creative genius, now, would I?”
“Hmmm,” I mumbled noncommittally before adding in a sarcastic, “Sure.”
“You know, maybe you wouldn’t be such a smartass if you justreadmy books. Then you’d understand what all the hype’s about.”
Focusing my unseeing gaze on the computer screen, I tried my hardest to keep from giggling as I responded with a casual, “Not my taste, sorry.” It was so hard not to laugh every time we fell into that particular discussion. My unwillingness to read anything other than my go-to genres—romance, romance, and more romance—irked Rowan like you wouldn’t believe. And I loved mashing at those buttons, watching him briefly lose it. I’d lost count of how many times we’d argued over my refusal to read his murder/mystery series.
“Jesus, you’re such a girl,” he said with an annoyed grumble.
“So kind of you to notice,” I deadpanned, eyes still on my work.
“Oh, I definitely noticed,” he said with a low, deep rasp.
Making the conscious effort to ignore the sultry tone of his voice, I pushed forth with my typical smartass attitude. The combination of his tone, the way he was still touching me, and the fluttering in my belly at the easy way we were with each other was sensory overload, and I needed to put a stop to it before I melted into his comfy sofa. “Besides,” I started, switching gears in order to shift the mood in the room. “I heard those books weresoooboring. Why waste my time?”
Those crystal-clear, blue eyes narrowed on mine just as his agile fingers prodded at the soles of my feet. “Agh! Stop!” I screamed as he continued to tickle me, writhing around on the couch, trying to get away, holding on to my laptop the best I could. “Stop! Stop! I’m sorry!” I cackled and snorted, failing to break his hold on me.
“You take it back?”
“I take it back! I take it back!” I giggled maniacally. “I was just kidding!” Finally, thank God, he stopped and I was able to suck in a much needed breath as my laughter died down.
The minutes bled together as we fell into a comfortable silence, my eyes refocused on my work as Rowan’s focus rested on the TV screen. I wasn’t sure how long had passed before his deep voice broke through the silence.
“What the hell are you watching?”
I looked up at the TV and back to him. “Chrisley Knows Best.”
He studied the show for a few more seconds, his midnight brows pulled together in a furrow. “Why’s that gay dude feeling up on that woman?”
“Todd Chrisley’s not gay!”
“Oh, babe,” he laughed. “He’s totally gay.”
“He is not! That’s his wife. And those are his kids. See?” I flailed my arm at the screen. “He’s so not gay.”
Rowan turned to me, his expression one a grown-up would use on a naïve child. “Any man who uses the term ‘retweet’ out loud is gay. Sorry to burst your bubble, but that woman’s his beard.”
“Stop ruining reality TV for me, ass-face! Don’t you have a boring-ass book to write?”
He glared at me as I burrowed back behind my computer. “You really don’t want to stay employed, do you? First rule of being a personal assistant is you don’t shit on your boss’s work.”
I smiled sweetly. “I’d never shit on Lauren’s work. I think she’s fabulous.”
That earned me another chuckle as we fell back into our routine, me working, Rowan pointing out every single thing that could possibly prove the man on TV to be gay. I refused to believe it.
As I scrolled through Rowan’s emails, responding or deleting as necessary, something caught my eye. “Hey, who’s Bree Vincent?” The moment the question passed my lips, Rowan’s entire frame locked up tight.
All humor had fled his features as he looked at me, and I felt a chill race up my spine from the ice in his gaze. The warmth disappeared, replaced by the frigid cold I hadn’t seen since the first weeks of us working together.
