Page 86 of A Not So Merry Rescue
Which isn’t at all conducive to writing books.
“Got it. No lingerie. Fancy candy? The candy shop in town sells imported chocolates. I’ll pick some up and see what you get done. If you earn any. Otherwise, I’ll have to eat them myself.”
I open my eyes. “Bet you’d enjoy that,” I mumble, crossing my arms over my chest.
He mimics my position, though his biceps are more attractive to look at. A smirk catches on his lips. “Yep. Though I’d rather share it with you.” Sincerity laces each word.
How is he so perfect? So single? Granted, our current living situation is unconventional and temporary, but what could be so particular that other women might fault him for?
“I’ll do my best,” I promise. It’s a loose promise, but one I can attempt. For his sake. Heck, for my sake. For the sake of my readers and everyone waiting for the next installment of the Hidden Clues Club.
“I’ll be back.” He turns around, and I ogle his ass as he walks away. “Words, Willa,” comes his stern directive.
“Too bad I don’t write romance,” I lament. “I’d have lots of fodder and inspiration.”
With nothing else to do, I untuck myself from under thecovers and push out of bed. I look up at the ceiling. “Any help is much appreciated.”
The back door opening startles me. My fingers freeze on the keyboard, the “mys” of mystery interrupted. Beckett materializes, beads of sweat on his brow and under his nose. His hair is tousled and damp spots dot his shirt.
My time shouldn’t be wasted on writing when this hot specimen is available for the taking. If I only get several days with him, why am I wasting it writing a book? I can do that when I get home. I should take advantage of this well-abled man and get my fill of orgasms.
If only that were a real possibility.
“How was your workout?”
“Demanding. Quiet, yet loud. I had to blast music to drown out my thoughts.”
It’s a nod to our conversation earlier. Wonder if he’ll tell me what the thoughts were.
Before I can ask, he interrogates, “Get some words?”
I can’t keep the smile off my face. Because I did. Not a love letter to my dead boyfriend, but a rough outline of the next AJ Hart book.
I squint at the screen. “Just shy of one thousand. Holy shit.” I look at Beckett. “Ho-ly shit. That’s the most I’ve written in two years.” I stare at the number, convinced it has to be wrong. Nope. 995. Wow.
His broad smile is not a reaction to my enthusiasm. His is genuine pride for my accomplishment. “That’s amazing, Willa.” In socked feet, he trudges to the fridge, removing two bottles of water. He places one in front of me. “Drink.”
The one-word blasts me to the past, a vivid memory of Elias placing a cup of water in my hand, forcing me to take sips. “Drink,” he’d command, knowing I tended to go long periods without hydrating.
I blink back to the present, Beckett sitting across the table. He drains half the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What?”
“No-nothing.” But it’s not nothing. It’s so muchnotnothing. “How did you know?” I blurt.
Confusion furrows his brows. “Know what?”
“I needed water.” I unscrew the top, taking a healthy sip, invigorating my body for the next round. Excitement rattles through me at the possibility of another round of words.
He shrugs, finishing his water. “You looked thirsty. I’m sorry?”
“No, don’t be. It’s just . . . it’s what Elias would do. Put water in front of me and tell me to drink. It’s like you knew but you didn’t know. Eerie.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, blowing out a breath, his eyes darting around the room, not focusing on any one spot. “I’m gonna hit the shower. Almost time to head out for the parade.” Sorrowfills his tone. I hate I’m the cause of it.
“Where would one go to watch the parade? If one had free time and wanted to check it out. For research,” I tack on.
His brows quirk, but that’s his only tell. His stoicism doesn’t falter. “For research purposes, park in the lower lot of the high school and walk to the front lawn. For the best view, though? I’d suggest the driveway of the Fernwood Fables B and B. Fewer people. Better snacks.”
I nod, soaking up his advice. “What time did you say the roads close?”
