Page 54 of Tempt

How wonderful.

How perfectly, delightfully, unexpectedly wonderful.

18

Sam

I’mon my sixth Aibhlin Moon book. But this is the first time I’ve read one while holding the author.

She’s asleep, and I’m up early. I could have crept downstairs and left her sleeping, but the way she confessed to bursting into tears when my train was late—well, I just want to hold her.

It amazes me that this soft, warm woman who has welcomed me into her bed also creates dark, twisted fantasies. It doesn’t surprise me that Hazel is capable of that, of course. She’s smart and observant. I’ve always known that, and noticed that she has no limits when it comes to sex.

But in the last two months, I’ve also fallen desperately in love with her sweetness, her kindness.

A sweet, kind, creative woman, who writes books about people’s deepest, darkest fantasies.

This one is about a woman on the run, who has taken refuge with a dangerous man, and despite the implausible set-up, I’m deeply invested in both characters getting what they want and need.

So deeply invested, I don’t notice Hazel waking up. She doesn’t move, just quietly blinks her eyes open, which I only realize after the fact when she says, in a sleep-laden voice, “Oh, damn, there’s a typo!”

I drop the book in surprise. “Morning,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “And I wasn’t reading it to catch errors. Wouldn’t have noticed it even if you paid me.”

“We do pay people to catch those,” she mutters.

“I won’t be applying for that job. I’m just a fan.”

She buries her face in my shoulder. “Great.”

“It is great.” I haul her on top of me. “I love your words.”

“All the boys say that,” she says, laughing, but I don’t think she’s joking.

I tug her hair and pull her gaze to meet mine. “I’m not a boy.”

“I know that.”

I wait.

She looks away. Then looks back. “Iknowthat. What we have is different. But I’ve built some pretty solid walls around this stuff.”

“Tell me more about that.”

“It’s weird, okay? Dating and being an erotica writer at the same time.”

“Men have been gross about it?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes not at first, but when I’m not exactly the same as…” She scrambles off my lap, putting a bit of distance between us, and gestures to the book. “I like some of the things I write about. But it’s not like…it’s not like that in real life, at least not for me.”

“Tell me more.” There’s an edge to my voice, sharp and urgent, but it’s nothing more than desire. I make eye contact with her. “Please.”

“Have you readFor Her Own Good?” She eyes me nervously.

I can picture it immediately, it has a birdcage on the cover. “Not yet, but I love that cover.”

She waves her hand. “Don’t read it.”

I’m starting as soon as I get back to my apartment. “Why not?”

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