Page 43 of Words of Love
Chapter 11
Twelve hours ago, he’d woken up to the torturous pleasure of Brooke’s touch. Her hand hadn’t just been resting on his groin, either. No, god help him, her fingers had been curving tentatively around his shaft, practically squeezing—
A groan collected in his chest. He smothered yet another painful surge of lust.
This was such a fucking mistake.
He shuffled the deck of cards again. His physical need for Brooke aside, he was a solitary writer. He didn’t even talk about his process to his editor. And here he’d just agreed to let a reporter help him with a story arc.
A reporter whose light, curious touch was burned into him like a brand. Why was he prolonging the torture by agreeing to let her teach him about “romance”?
Because his deadline was looming like a tsunami, and he’d never been thisstuckbefore. Brooke was throwing him a lifeline. He wasn’t convinced she could pull him out of the quicksand, but he had to let her try.
Tossing the cards aside, he went to stoke the fire. The blanket fort was still in the way, though he saw no good reason to disassemble it yet.
Brooke made them a dinner of microwaved pizza, which she ate at the table and he ate standing in the kitchen. Then she turned to a new page in her notebook and began writing industriously.
ARomance Expert.
What the hell did that mean? Okay, so maybe she was into hearts and flowers and all that kind of stuff—which he admittedly knew nothing about—but what was with her eye-rolling over his sex scenes?
He wasn’t romantic, but he sure as hell knew how to turn up the heat in the bedroom. In fact, sex and writing were the only two things he’d ever been entirely confident about. He just hadn’t done a great job of putting the two together. He’d never had to before now.
When he’d submitted his first Sam Harris manuscript ten years ago, he’d known what his strengths and weaknesses were. He’d written his novels focusing on his strengths—strong characters, solid action scenes, unexpected plot twists.
He’d intended for his protagonist, John Kane, to remain a solitary, crime-fighting, ex-CIA agent with no ties to a specific place or person. Unfortunately, the publishing machine had insisted that change. While Sam could appreciate the challenge for his character, he had little faith in his ability to fix the “weak link” in his writing.
Which meant Brooke might be his only hope.
She looked up, catching his stare. His heart thudded. He jerked his chin toward her notebook. “Article brainstorm?”
“What?” She glanced at her pages. “Oh, no. I was just writing down some ideas for my romance tutorial. If you want to get started, I’m ready when you are.”
Great.
Despite his reluctance, he was curious about what, exactly, she had to “teach him” about romance. He also wanted to try and figure out how she’d managed to hold on to even the idea of love and romance after having been betrayed so badly.
Because she’s Sunny Side Up.
Brooke Castle was probably the only woman in the world—the only woman Sam knew—who could seamlessly put back together the shattered pieces of her romance illusion and still believe in it with her whole heart.
He pulled a chair away from the table and sat across from her, folding his arms.
“Go ahead, then.” He indicated her notebook. “Start.”
“I have your books downloaded onto my tablet.” Brooke reached into a canvas bag beside the table. She took out a small tablet and powered it up, then scrolled through an e-reader app.
Her forehead furrowed with concentration. “Okay, so I really loved the whole arc of the John Kane story and how he infiltrates the mafia to recover the stolen coin…you did such a brilliant job of showing him make the shift from working for himself to helping others. But honestly, that made it so much more disappointing when he texts Patricia to meet him at O’Grady’s Pub.”
Sam frowned. “What’s so disappointing? He wanted to get a beer and be with his girl.”
“Oh my god.” Brooke thunked her palm against her forehead. “Patricia hates O’Grady’s! That’s where she found her shitty ex-boyfriend had been taking the woman he was cheating on her with. John knew that, and not only did he not bother tocall her, he just assumed she’d be okay with meeting him there. Then she actually shows up!”
She compressed her mouth in disapproval. “Really, Sam, Patricia has way too much backbone to just be at John’s beck and call. She’s a Krav Maga expert with a degree in psychology. No way would she not take issue with texting and that dank, smelly O’Grady’s.”
Sam rubbed his chest and sighed. “So what should John have done?”
“He should have called her because he needed to hear her voice, asked if she was busy, and then if she said no, he should have requested permission to come over.”