Page 41 of Tempt

Sam’s roomis bright when I wake up, and a glance at the bedside clock tells me it’s almost noon. With a squawk, I jump out of bed and pull on clothes.

I find him in the living room, sprawled out on the couch. He’s reading.

And when I realizewhathe’s reading, I skid to a halt.

He looks up, slowly, and gives me a grin. It’s a knowing, filthy grin, and from the roughly even divide of pages read and pages still-to-be-read, he’s at the midpoint of my book. There’s usually sex thereabouts, and that’s fine, I’m proud of my work, but it’s stillweird.“Good morning,” he murmurs.

“Barely,” I whisper, my gaze jerking back to his hands, holding my book open. “I didn’t mean to sleep in.”

“You needed it.” He closes the book and sets it down on the coffee table. To my delight and horror, a strange combination of feelings, I realize the copy ofEntwinedthat I gave him is not the only book of mine he owns. There’s a stack of them. A book of poetry, and a couple of novels.

“Sam?”

He gives me an innocent look. “Yes?”

“Did you…” I gesture at the books, because he clearly did. “Buy my books?”

“I told you, I’m considering becoming a patron of the arts.”

“This feels more like research than an investment.”

“Oh, it’s an investment, all right.” He stands up. “Are you hungry?”

Is that the end of that conversation? But my stomach growls. “Yes.”

“Do you want to cook together, or go out?”

I want him to explain why he’s reading my books.An investment. “You know I am not my books, right?”

“Right.” He crosses to me, brushes his lips against mine, then turns me around and points me to the kitchen. “Cook together it is. Shall we make pancakes?”

“There are pancakes in that book!”

“I noticed.” I can feel his silent laughter against my back as he wraps his arms around me. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

The way he shakes, his body big and hard and also soft, somehow, understanding, tells me he gets the nuances I’ve poured into that single syllable. “Would pancakes make you feel better?”

I smile to myself, glad he can’t see my face. “Yes.”

“My investment is paying off already.” He wraps one arm tight around my waist, holding me in place, and uses his other hand to lift my hair out of the way so he can kiss the back of my neck.

Pancakes. That was the first “secret to Hazel” he took from reading my books. Not the dirty talk, or the spanking—I try to remember all the sex scenes I wrote in that book, but I definitely remember a heavy emphasis on the spanking.

Not for the first time, I picture Sam putting me over his lap.

I squirm against him as he kisses my neck. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs. “She likes pancakes, and neck kisses, and surprises.”

“Surprises?” My voice catches.

“Mm-hmm. Like showing up here a day early. You couldn’t help yourself, and we both liked that surprise. And discovering me reading your books. That was a surprise, and you liked it.”

“I think I clearly displayed my reaction.”

“I saw delighted surprise.”

“Pretty sure it was more of a disquieted uncertainty.”

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