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But he wanted to know why Sophie had moved to Laguna alone. Why she seemed so reluctant to go out with him when the chemistry between them crackled. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t let it go, but until he got to know her, focusing on anything else was going to be tough. Tomorrow night couldn’t come too soon.
CHAPTER3
Evaporated.
Vanished.
Talent, even talent that lay dormant and underutilized for years, still existed. It didn’t just disappear, did it?
Computer up and running, check. Fresh glass of water with lemon, check. Comfortable clothes, meant to make it easy to sit at said computer for several hours uninterrupted, check. Zack curled up on her lap to lend moral support, check. Organized notes, ready to reference, check.
For the fiftieth time, she lifted her gaze to the window and soaked up the beautiful view. She wasn’t procrastinating. She was just getting acclimated. Keep telling yourself that, lazy girl.
Why was this so much more challenging than writing an article for the magazine? Was she one of those people who just talked about writing? If only she had the time, she could pop out a novel, a witty tale of love and adventure?
For the first time in her adult life, endless hours dawned in front of her with no distractions, just time to write. No excuses. As a child, she’d written countless stories. They’d been so good she’d been published in a collection when she was twelve.
No longer the carefree confident girl who didn’t worry about her audience, now she was paralyzed with journalistic training and relentless editing. And apparently she’d developed an innate talent for procrastination along the way.
Well, here went nothing.
She began to type.
When her alarm buzzed, she jolted. Looking at the timer on her phone, she realized she’d been writing for over three hours. Grinning like a loon, she jumped up and danced around the room. Maybe she could be a writer.
But creating the next hit novel would have to wait a little longer. For some reason, she’d agreed to dinner with Mr. Sex-on-a-Stick, and it was time to dive into the shower.
Thirty minutes later she glared at her closet. How could she have nothing to wear? She didn’t have anyone to impress, so why couldn’t she simply throw something on? It was a casual dinner, right? She rolled her eyes––the light gleaming in Nick’s green eyes had been anything but casual. And she couldn’t deny feeling the waves of chemistry sparking between them. What were the odds she chose celibacy and her landlord was the hottest guy she’d ever met?
Little black dress? Negative, too obvious, trying too hard. Sundress? No, too much skin. Her favorite high-necked top with black pants? Forget it, too businesslike. What could she wear that would scream she didn’t want to date him but still feel attractive? What was wrong with her?
Thirty minutes in the closet was absurd. Imagine if she did want to impress him on their date? Oops, not date, “just dinner.” Not having gone on a first date in more than four years, she no longer had a go-to, first-date ensemble. Or a go-to “just dinner” ensemble, for that matter.
She settled on her fallback outfit: a fitted V-neck black top, paired with her favorite dark jeans and wedged sandals. She spent longer than she’d ever admit on her makeup, taking the time to play up her eyes. Just for herself, of course.Keep telling yourself that, Sophie.
When Nick arrived, she opened the door and that silly flutter appeared in her belly. Again. What was she Scarlett O’Hara now, fluttering at Rhett? And, really, what was fluttering?
He looked smoking hot, with his hair still damp and a casual black shirt tucked into dark jeans. Warmth bloomed in her cheeks, and she prayed her ivory skin didn’t betray her.
He flashed a grin. “We match.”
“Should I change?” Her lips twitched.
His heated gaze raked over her. “Definitely not. You’re stunning. Ready?”
He opened the passenger door to his black BMW––okay so he had manners. They zoomed down the hill toward the lights of Laguna proper, and she settled into the buttery-soft leather seat. Keeping her gaze on the scenery outside helped distract her from his magnetic presence.
And his hands. Those strong, masculine hands. When she’d first noticed them, she’d pictured them stroking along her skin. Large, square-palmed, and well-shaped. Golden hair glistened on his forearms, which rippled with sinewy muscle as he gripped the steering wheel.
Yes, she was in trouble. Big trouble. Focus on the scenery. Don’t drool over his fascinating arms. Nothing like the smooth white hands of her ex, Doug. Time to distract herself from staring at his powerful hands.
“Is Marino’s a regular haunt for you?” Dumb question. His presence seemed to relegate her intelligence to the back of the room.
“Yes, it’s owned by old family friends. I love it. You’ll see why.”
Suddenly, a car screeched out in front of them. Nick slammed on the brakes, simultaneously reaching over to press her back against the seat.
Her nipples tightened, and goosebumps prickled on her skin. How could he elicit such a reaction with only the pressure of his arm? How annoying and unfair.
