Page 17 of Foreplay on Words

She started to gather our dishes to carry them to the sink. A surge of something electric raced up my palm as I laid my hand on top of hers to stop her.

“I’ve got the dishes. You should probably go before it gets much darker.”

“Are you sure?” she asked quietly. “You cooked. The least I can do is get my hands a little wet.”

“Positive.”

“Okay. So, what time do you want me?”

All the time.

“Tomorrow morning?”

I must have been staring again.

“Oh. I get up between six and six-thirty. Any time after that should be fine,” I told her, and she shook her head.

“Well, I’m not getting up that early, but I could probably make it here after eight.”

“That works for me. I’ll be here.”

Waiting impatiently.

“It was nice to meet you,” she said softly, her lips quirking to the side in a grin.

I smiled back as we reached the door, trying to come up with something witty to say. She paused in the threshold and looked toward me. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, but this has been nice. I’m sorry if I made things weird before by pointing out how you…”

“You didn’t. Clearly, I underestimated your observational skills.” I couldn’t imagine anyone else here in her place, and she would keep me on my toes. “I’m glad I picked you.”

“Me too.” She threw a little wave over her shoulder as she turned toward her car.

I stood in the doorway as she drove away, wishing it was morning already. I didn’t think I’d be getting much sleep tonight, knowing she’d be back here tomorrow.

Chase

Connecticut

Despite being totally flustered as I drove away from Evan’s house, I returned to the B&B without crashing into a ditch. It was so dark. I’d never realized how much light pollution big cities had. It got dark at night, but this was the next level of darkness.

The house was quiet as I walked up the private entrance to my suite. Normally I’d be excited to jump in a big comfy bed and pass out for hours, but I was a little keyed up.

Maybe Isobel was right, my being here and interacting with Evan might help my new book. As I’d waited for him to get cleaned up earlier—and tried fruitlessly not to think about what he looked like naked in that shower—I’d written several pages of dialogue.

It was like the character’s voices needed my head to be quiet to start pouring out of me.

Tomorrow was going to be hard—no pun intended.

Evan and I had gotten along well, not having too many moments of awkward quietness. He was easy to talk to and didn’t seem offended by my teasing. I found flirtatious things coming out of my mouth without even trying. I probably should have tried to be more professional, but I couldn’t stop.

He was attractive. Okay, that may have been an understatement. He was fucking gorgeous, and I’d had a hard time keeping drool from sliding out the corner of my mouth when he opened the door, sweaty and out of breath.

How was I going to survive this?

Writing about sex had never bothered me. Even when I was new to having it, it’d never embarrassed me to talk or think about it. My parents were still disgustingly in love after thirty-six years and they never made me feel like sex was shameful.

They’d been an open book—sometimes too honest—and answered questions for me without pretense or agenda. That was probably why I’d been a little bit of a late bloomer with the actual act. Add the fact I had two fiercely protective older brothers who would have preferred to see me placed in a nunnery rather than a regular high school…and I left high school with little experience.

I’d done my fair share of over-the-clothes fumbling in the back seats of cars and parents’ basements, but my parents taught me to respect myself enough to set my own timeline. My high school dates had only been interested in one thing, and I’d taken great satisfaction from being the one girl they couldn’t manipulate or pressure into doing something I wasn’t ready for.

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