Page 58 of Forbidden Bond

“Not the best of circumstances. Maybe next time just give me a call.”

“Tried that and Evander picked up.”

The door opened, and a silhouette appeared. “Macushla.”

“Sorry, yes.” Leaping up, she kissed Strat’s cheek and scooped up her laptop. “Sleep, friend. Breakfast’s on me; I’ll cook something great. Eggs?”

“Think I’d rather not wake up, Scamp.”

Earning the pet name, she scurried to her guy. “Glad to know your sense of humor wasn’t injured.”

“Only my ego.” Strat slid back down, happy to return to rest. “Night, kids.”

Conn put an arm around her to draw her out and close the door. “You leave me to go to another man’s bed?”

“I didn’t want him to wake up alone.” Going into their dark bedroom, she held her computer aloft. “And I was finishing my assignment.”

As he took the computer, she stripped out of his shirt and climbed back under their covers. Sitting in the middle of the bed, knees drawn up, she watched Conn as he read her words, his face lit by the dim glow of the screen.

TWENTY

DID HE LIKE IT? Didn’t he?

She’d been in the publishing industry all her adult life, some of her teen years too. Sure, back at the start, she’d been green. Almost every writer suffered imposter syndrome once in a while. For her, it hit more prominently around her time of the month. But sitting there, watching him read, the true fear was disappointing him. He’d never disappointed her; he went above and beyond for her. In this one thing, her trade, she could be useful to him. If she did it right.

He went to the side unit to set the computer down. With a few clicks and swipes, he…? What was he doing? Adding his own flair?

“You got notes?”

“I sent it,” he said and closed the lid.

“You sen—to Steeple?”

“Signed by the family, it’ll make the presses.”

With his name at the end, yeah, she didn’t doubt that.

“Did you change—”

“Didn’t change a word, baby. You got it right first time.”

However many drafts later, but he didn’t need to know how the sausage was made. The outcome counted; the process was her responsibility. She’d been happy with it, as much as anyone could be happy with writing an obituary for someone still breathing.

“Thank you for saving Strat, for caring for him, for the doc fixing him up. Don’t let him get up and out too early, he has to recover. If we let him, he’ll overwork himself. He has to take this slowly.”

She’d bet Conn wasn’t the best patient either. In their sanctuary, they didn’t need to talk about his pain, his fury, his panic.

He came to join her in bed. “I didn’t have luck with that tack and you.”

“Well, you know, he’s more afraid of you than I am.”

Lunging over, he scooped her under him into sheer, consuming bliss. “You’re not afraid of me, Miss McLeod?”

“I’m a little bit afraid when you use that voice.” Except her smile stayed strong. “‘Cause my panties evaporate.”

“You kept the panties on,” he said like it was an affront. “Worried for your modesty?”

This time, when she laughed, her head dug deeper into the pillow. “My modesty never held up in your presence. Did you forget?”

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