Page 55 of Billionaire Protector

Sarah closed and opened her eyes. They were giving the wrong, albeit honest, message. “We’re coming,” she called. “Look, you really don’t have to go in there.”

He shrugged. “That’s okay. I don’t have anything big planned for today.”

If he heard what she wrote… She tried again. “I don’t want to usurp any more of your day. I’m not far from home. I’m sure someone will give me a ride after the meeting.”

He leaned back. “Is there some reason you don’t want me here?”

Um, yes. Obviously. Bingo!“Of course not. I just thought you’d be bored listening to a bunch of people read their unfinished novels.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

She cringed at the interest in his voice. “It’s no big deal.” She started toward the entrance. If she waited any longer, they’d come out to see what was holding them up. “Just something I do to relieve stress. When I was a kid, there wasn’t a lot of fun–” She stopped. What was it about Cole that made her overshare? “When I was a kid, I was busy with other things.”

“I don’t have a clue about those things, do I?” he murmured, holding the door open for her. “There’s a lot I don’t know about the real Sarah Sloan.”

She turned sharply, but several women approached them, signaling the end of their private time. He followed closely behind, touching her back as they walked through the space. Did he even realize it?

Did he know how much she liked it?

“It’s lucky we brought your submission in case you could make it.” Jessica, a friend since grade school, gave a catlike grin. “I read it, by the way. It’s hot.”

Cole suddenly lookedveryinterested. His eyes sparkled. “Exactly what type of books do you write?”

“Oh, we write everything,” Sarah waved her hand before someone revealed the specific booksshewrote. “Harmony Creek is too small to have more than one writer’s group. Some write children’s books, others write nonfiction, some mystery.”

“And what do you write, Sarah?”

“Fiction,” she answered vaguely. “Oh look, there’s a seat.” She dove into one of the red cushioned chairs that had been put into a circle, conveniently one that had people sitting on either side. It was puerile and it was obvious, but at least it provided an escape.

By the challenge in his eyes, it would betermporary.

Cole turned to the other seats. As soon as the women saw him looking, a symphony chimed:

“Hey, Cole, sit near me!”

“There’s an empty seat here, Cole!”

“Come and catch up, Cole!”

In ten seconds, more than a dozen women offered him a seat, and he finally settled for a prime spot nestled among four eligible women, half of whom weren’t even in the writing club. In fact, they had to bring in extra chairs for all the women Colemanaged to attract. Not that it annoyed or frustrated her, and it definitely didn’t make her think about turning everyone into bunnies during the werewolf dinner.

“Don’t worry.” Mrs. Carmichael, who was sitting next to her, smiled brightly. “He only has eyes for you.”

Her cheeks flamed. “You have the wrong idea. We’re not together.”

Across the room, Cole had the audacity to wink. She scowled and looked away. All the women could enjoy his company. She didn’t care. Not even the teeniest little bit.

“Don’t be silly, girl.” Mrs. Carmichael, the same woman who called 911 to retrieve a monkey from a tree, chided her. “It’s quite obvious.”

“It is? I mean, no, it’s not, because there’s nothing.” She frowned as the object of their conversation cozied up to the entire female population of Harmony Creek. Why was Betty Summers whispering into his ear? And why was he smiling like a satisfied cat?

She was saved from having to protest further by the aptly named Harmony Lee, descendent of the town’s founders and leader of the writing group. “Hi everyone! We’re so glad you could make it. Looks like we have some guests.” She gave a bright wave to Cole and the thousand or so women who’d positioned themselves next to him. “If you didn’t turn in your submission already, you can just talk about something you’re working on. As a reminder, each person gave a sample of their work, and the rest will critique it. Who wants to go first?”

Sarah slunk lower in her seat as several hands shot up. She relaxed as one woman read the beginning of her mystery, a twisting and turning tale about a big city murder. Next Mrs. Carmichael shared a story that sounded suspiciously like Curious George, and another read from her memoirs. Each time the moderator asked for a volunteer, Sarah found another placeto look, which typically brought her back to Cole. And although there were always women whispering to him, somehow she could feel him watching her, considering her. Did he realize she wasn’t a criminal, that she’dneverbeen one?

“Sarah, have you gone yet?”

Sarah started, turned toward the moderator. Said most eloquently, “Ummm…”

---