Page 65 of Dangerously Tempting

“Then I’ll fuck you until you stop driving me crazy, just so we can start over and do it all again.”

I chuckle, reaching up to hold his wrists in my hands. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Forever,” he says so low that I almost don’t catch it. My heart skips a beat, and my breath stalls in my throat. It’s one thing for him to show me in the sprinklings of my presence in his home, but it’s another entirely for him to say it out loud. He still loves me. Forever.

“Always,” I whisper back.

That’s all the invitation he needs before his lips crash into mine.

36

Amelia

Playlist: "Trampoline," SHAED

A year later

I type the words ‘the end’ hit save, and expel the breath I feel like I’d been holding. It’s the finishing touch, the very last book in the series that I’ve been working on, and probably the project I’m most afraid of so far. It’s dark, and it’s twisty, but it’s healing in all the ways that I needed it to be and in the end, the characters that deserve it end up happy and those that don’t, suffer. A happily ever after all around if you ask me.

I lean back in my chair, gazing out of the window to the trees, as I take a moment to just be. The work isn’t done yet. There’s still a ton of self-edits to do, a cover to buy, and money to spend on getting it professionally edited and formatted unless I bite the bullet and take that additional work on myself. And then the advertising.

Yuck.

That’s the joy of being a writer. The work never ends. As soon as you’re done with one project, another one is there, banging on the door of your mind. And that’s if you’re lucky. More often than not, you’ll be right in the middle of some other project when one comes kicking the door in and sucks you in so deep you just want to quit everything else.

Sometimes I wish I could clone myself so that I could get all the ideas that I have out and onto the screen so that I can go back later and tweak it in the ways that I need to. I’ve tried voice to text, but I just start rambling and picking through the mess to find what it was I was going for takes more time than it’s even worth. So instead, I plant my butt in front of my computer and I slave away for hours a day.

I’m sure my back will have a lot to say about this decision as I get older, but for now it’s something that I enjoy, even though it really is a full-time job. I wouldn’t trade it for anything, because if it wasn’t for books, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

There’s a soft knock on the door before it’s pushed open, and I meet green eyes with my own. A smile pulls at Jameson’s lips as he leans against the doorframe, and I send one right back at him.

“How’d it go?” he asks.

One thing I don’t think I will ever get used to is the genuine interest this man takes in anything that I set my mind to or want to try. He’ll do just as much research as I do into things, just so that he’s able to carry on a conversation with me about it. He wants to understand anything that I take on to the deepest levels that he can, so he can support me in any way that he’s able to.

It’s a trait I do my best to reciprocate. I don’t know shit about woodworking or his job, but I will listen for hours if that’s what he needs me to do, even if it’s simply just to bounce any ideas he might be having off me, or complaining about how his customers don’t understand why something can’t be done the way they want it. That second scenario is probably my favorite because he gets adorably frustrated with them, his brow pinched in a way that makes me want to kiss it away, but refuses to do as they ask and let them figure out why he suggested it differently. He cares too much about his work to let it fail, even if it is the customer’s fault.

“It’s done,” I say with a relieved sigh and he gives me a soft clap that I answer with a dramatic, seated bow. “Now it’s onto the hell that is editing.” I force a grin onto my face and he chuckles.

“One of these days you’ll stop torturing yourself with all that and just send it to the editor as is. It is what they’re being paid for, after all.”

I scoff. “I can’t just… have my baby and then pass it over to someone! I’ve gotta raise it a little bit, instill some values and all that.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “I don’t know if there’s much hope for that to happen, love. Have you even read your own books?” he quirks a brow and I roll my eyes.

“Way too many fucking times, sadly. I think by the time I’ve hit publish with each and every one, I’ve hated it. That eventually transitions back to love, but it’s like spending too much time with someone and needing some time apart.”

We stare at each other for a moment before we laugh. We’ve been there so many times in the last year. It’s not a lack of love, but sometimes things just build up. That annoying thing the other does that normally you ignore starts to drive you absolutely crazy, and soon enough even the sound of their breathing makes you want to scream.

We’ve gotten really good at reading each other, figuring out when the other is getting to that edge, and then stepping away for a bit so we can catch our breath. Then we apologize, talk about what we felt went wrong, and move forward. It gets easier each time, and after that we’re able to go even longer without those little things building up.

There has only been one thing that’s been a big argument, something that we’ve butted heads about and disagreed upon, and I know that’s why he’s here now. I made him a promise, and I plan to stick to it, even though it makes my heart race and my palms sweat.

“Kat is in the living room waiting for you.”

I quirk a brow, staring him down. “You couldn’t even wait for me to call her?”

“Nope. Wasn’t going to let you shy away from doing it. You have a month. Just one month, Amelia. I think you’re underestimating the amount of work that goes into planning a wedding.”

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