Page 61 of The Fast Lane
My mouth dropped open. Theo had been writing this? Oh, my…
I kept reading.
“We shouldn’t,” she whispered. “I’ll be ruined.”
I gasped.
More reading.
He chuckled, low and deep. “Darling, I’m a pirate. Don’t you know I live to plunder and ruin?”
Fanned my face.
“No way.” With a shaky hand, I moved the cursor down and perched on the chair.
His big, powerful hand slid the dress from her shoulders, breath hot on her?—
So engrossed was I in this…this…this that I was reading, I didn’t hear the bathroom door open.
“What are you doing?”
With a shriek, I fell back against the chair and stared up at Theo, my face hot. All of me was hot, if I were being honest. “I didn’t…it was an accident. I mean, I dropped my phone and then the laptop screen woke up and…” I waved a weak hand toward the screen.
Two giant steps later, Theo grabbed the laptop and clicked it shut. He pressed his lips together and glared at me. It wasn’t a look I often saw from Theo, and rarely was it directed toward me.
I swallowed audibly. “I, ah, what, um…”
Sliding his eyes shut, his chest rose and fell with huge, deep breaths. Pink crept up from his neck to his cheeks.
“I’m sorry?”
With a grunt, he grabbed his messenger bag from the floor and stuffed his laptop inside it. I watched incredulously as he grabbed his wallet and room key and marched to the door. He held it open and waved a hand. “Let’s go eat.”
I leapt to my feet. “Theo Goodnight, I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what I just read.”
His scowl could only be described as murderous. A beat passed, then another. Finally, he slammed the door and shoved his hands through his hair, yanking on the ends in anger.
“What was that?” I stared at the place on the desk where the laptop had been.
Theo stalked toward me, stopped a few inches from me. “You were not supposed to see that. No one was.”
I blinked slowly. Angry Theo was super…hot. His chest rose and fell with each furious breath, eyes practically glowing. That kiss I was not supposed to remember began to replay in my head in slow motion.
No, stop that.
“I’m listening.”
His eyes slid shut and I swore I heard him count to ten under his breath. When he opened them, he seemed more resigned than angry. “I write books.”
“Those kinds of books?”
“Yes.” He scowled. “Those kinds of books.”
“I have so many questions. When did you start writing?”
With a sigh, he turned and plopped on a bed. “College. It was an assignment for a creative writing class I was taking. We had to write out of our preferred genre, so I went for it. I wrote a short story, a romance. Didn’t think it was any good, but the professor told me I had talent, and I should consider publishing it. I did it as a joke, I guess. To see if I could. And, well, people bought it and then a lot more people bought it, so I kept writing them. The money helps out and…and…I like writing them, okay? I like it.”
“But romance?”