Page 40 of More Than Words

“Excuse me?” Was he really going to continue to believe this bullshit? To be honest, I was almost certain some of my popular authors had sex lives that rivaled their characters. While I was sure some of it was imagination, there were some writers who were extremely committed to research. I knew Chase was one of them. She’d studied the local kink scene for months before her last book, and while I knew she didn’t have a sexual relationship with her Dom resource, I knew she’d observed some scenes she’d written firsthand.

“Chase is a talented author, and she’s built a following, but I don’t want to read some self-insert fantasies.” He couldn’t even look at me, his shoulders tense as I reached forward and placed my tablet on the table, bringing my leg up onto the couch cushion between us so I could look directly at him.

“Wow. Tell me how you really feel about my work.”

“It’s not about you personally, it’s just…” he heaved a sigh, his posture tense but also a little defeated. I was sensing he realized he’d misspoken, but I wasn’t letting this go that easily.

“Nope. Stop talking. Whatever shady bullshit that is about to come flying out of your mouth can just stay in there.”

“I’m not trying to be offensive, but people write what they know, right? It’d make sense that the romance authors are writing out experiences or fantasies and using their characters to bring it to life.”

“Evan is a detective now?” I asked, willing him to look at me. He had to stop this hypercritical mindset. Both our genres could coexist without it being a constant competition. Because let’s face it, if it came down to a dick measuring contest, the romance genre would win every fucking time.

“Um, no, but—“

“Well, applying the same logic, that’d mean he’s using his novel to write out his fantasy to be a police detective.”

“It’s different for—“ he started, but I wasn’t doing this with him.

“Fuck that, it’s not different,” I argued, my voice rising as my anger started to boil. “Why don’t you pull the stick out of your ass and realize that a romance author can write fictional characters and not be projecting their own fantasies into it?”

“But…”

“Nope,” I interrupted again, watching as his jaw clenched. “Close your mouth. Isn’t it exhausting to be this much of a jackass? Do you even process the words before they come flying out of that big mouth of yours?”

“You seemed to like this big mouth before,” he spat back, finally turning to face me.

“Yeah,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “When it’s full of something and you can’t talk.”

“You can gag me next time,” he shot back, his chest heaving as his intense eyes scanned my face.

“There won’t be a next time.” My hands shook as I scooted back slightly, needing to be further away from him. “What happened in Maine was…”

“Fucking hot.” His voice was harsh as he shifted forward, my eyes widening as he leaned in closer. “And you liked it. All of it. Denying it only makes it look like you’re trying to hide something. Even I’m able to tell when a woman isn’t faking it, Is. And you did not fake it all over my face.”

“And it was a major lapse in judgment. You can enjoy something and still realize it was a mistake.” Placing my hand on his chest, I pushed slightly, but he only shifted closer in response.

“So, if I leaned forward and kissed you right now, it wouldn’t turn you on?”

My heart was beating frantically as I shifted back again, the arm of the couch digging into my back. “That’s not going to happen, so it’s irrelevant.”

“But now you’re thinking about it,” he accused. “Wondering what my lips would feel like pressed against yours. We’ve never kissed before. Not once through the whole thing. Are you really telling me you haven’t thought about it? That you weren’t thinking about it when we were yelling at each other in that stairwell?”

“That doesn’t matter,” I denied weakly. How had he turned the tables on me yet again?

“Doesn’t it?” he questioned, his voice dropping an octave as he reached forward to lean over me, his palms braced on the back of the couch and the arm behind me, boxing me in so I couldn’t escape. “You know there’s chemistry here. Why are you so insistent on denying it? If sex isn’t shameful, why aren’t we acting on this mutual attraction?”

“Because you’re an asshole,” I hissed, pressing my hand against his stomach, intending to push him away, but pausing as I felt his muscles flex through his shirt.

“That’s all you’ve got? Me being an asshole didn’t seem to stop you from practically ripping my pants off before.” He leaned in closer, rising above me, but his eyes were focused entirely on my lips. He was right. We hadn’t kissed before, but now I was thinking about it.

“Well, you weren’t being an asshole then,” I retorted, my voice sounding weak even to my ears.

“I’m going to ask you something that’s been driving me nuts,” he murmured, his eyes capturing my gaze and holding it. “Why then? What changed and made you decide to attack me?”

“I hardly attacked you,” I whispered. “You’re the one who shoved my hand down the front of your boxers.”

“Quit deflecting.”

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