Page 54 of Save Me

“Anything I could get my hands on,” she replies. “I loved it all. From fiction to nonfiction. Fantasy, sci-fi, self-help, biographies. All of it caught my attention. I wanted to know everything I could. For many years, I thought I would grow up to be a librarian like my mom.”

“What changed?” I inquire.

“Our family trip.”

“The one around the world?” I ask.

She nods. “I wanted to learn so much more about the people we met. I wanted to know their stories, what makes people do the things they do. You know?”

It’s a rhetorical question but I answer, “I might know something about that.”

I squeeze her hand in mine.

“That’s when my interest in investigative reporting formed,” she continues. “The real stories of people we pass by on the street can be as entertaining as any fictional story written.”

Her smile widens as she turns to me. “I’m going to write a book at some point about the cases I investigate. There’s only so much material I can squeeze in a five-thousand-word article. Some stories need a full-length book.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Have you chosen which case to write your first book on yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Whatever it is, it’ll be a huge success. I’ve read all of your articles. You’re a phenomenal storyteller.”

Yes, I’ve read everything she’s ever written and published. Her writing is compelling and full of heart. Her intrigue, curiosity, and sincerity shine through in each article she writes.

She wrinkles her forehead. “You couldn’t have read all of my articles,” she scoffs.

“Couldn’t I?”

She eyes me quizzically.

“And I’ll be the first in line to buy out the entire store of copies when your book is published.”

She playfully swats my arm and then looks back at the antique bookshelves. A sigh releases from her perfect mouth.

“What was that?”

She turns to me. “Our conversation made me think about my trip to Erika Dalton’s hometown last week. Her mother was so cold, and something is going on with that church. My gut tells me whatever led Erika to Williamsport started in that church.”

She clamps her mouth shut and looks at me through her eyelashes. “I can’t go into more detail.” Her tone is almost apologetic.

I raise her hand to mine, kissing it. “You don’t have to. I just enjoy the sound of your voice. You could read me the phone book, and I’d listen for hours.”

She laughs like I’ve told a joke.

I take the opportunity to steal a kiss. “How did I wait so long to make you mine?” I growl against her mouth.

My patience should be rewarded, and I studied in the classrooms of psych classes because it is a wonder to me.

I pull her in for another kiss before I allow myself to reflect too much. This one is deeper, slower, and more intentional. She lets out a little groan that shoots straight to my cock. Her hand comes up to cup my face, and I wrap my arm around her waist, holding her to me. Not even air is allowed to come between us.

A clearing of a throat from somewhere in the room catches my attention. Reluctantly, I pull away from her enchanting lips, but I don’t release her. I can’t.

“Sir, your viewing is ready,” our guide informs us.

“You can remain down here,” I tell him. “We’ll come down when it’s time.”

He nods in agreement.

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