Page 9 of Booked on You
“Well, mine was stellar, so no worries there.”
She smirks. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll bring the mug back in one piece.”
I nod. “You better. Don’t want to have to charge you a fee for stealing it.”
“Oh, please, I’ll find the artist myself and buy my own in my favorite color.”
“Which is?” I ask.
“Purple,” she says with a smile as she opens the door. “Noticed you didn’t have one in that color.”
Just as she steps out, she glances back over her shoulder, eyes dancing over me. “Have a good day.”
“Happy writing, Scarlett. Feel free to join me any time you need some liquid caffeine.”
“Might take you up on that offer,” she says.
The door clicks shut behind her, but I don’t move right away.
The kitchen’s quiet again, but it doesn’t feel the same as before she entered. The smell of her shampoo and body wash fills the air like she’s still standing here.
Willow is sprawled out on the floor now, clearly bored, her tail flicking.
“You’re no help,” I whisper.
I glance out the window toward the cottage, knowing Scarlett Collins is only temporary. Nine more days and she’ll be gone.
However, now I know how she takes her coffee. I know the exact shade of green her eyes are. Somehow, that makes me feel alive.
I bring my mug to my lips and drink, knowing damn well Scarlett Collins will be a problem. And I haven’t had one of those in a long damn time.
CHAPTER 3
SCARLETT
He kisses her softly, brushing his thumb along her cheek. When she releases a hungry, desperate moan, he slides his tongue in deeper. Helena arches her back, and Jordan wraps his arms around her waist, pressing her body tighter against his. She feels his growing erection against her flesh and can no longer resist the temptation to touch him. It’s like she’s been waiting years for this moment with him, even though they just met.
The blinking cursor on my laptop has the nerve to be judgmental.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
I stare at it, fingers hovering over the keys, trying to summon a sentence that doesn’t suck. No such luck. I reread the last paragraph and wonder how I’ll ever write eighty thousand more words. This book will be the biggest struggle of my life if every single syllable I write is like this.
I groan and collapse backward onto the bed, my laptop tilting beside me. The ceiling fan creaks with each slow rotation, likeeven it is tired of my bullshit. I rub my temples, trying to predict if this is the end of my career.
It was a good run. I accomplished a lot.
Writing sex scenes used to be easy for me. I’ve built a career on them, but lately, even the most basic kissing scene reads like a legal deposition. The harder I try, the worse it gets.
“Ugh!” I huff.
I should check in with Hallie, my best friend and personal assistant. She works for several number oneNew York Timesbest-selling, high-profile authors, and then there’s me. Right now, I feel like a fraud, like I’m pretending to be an author even though I’ve released several books over the past decade.
I reach for my phone on the nightstand and reread her last text.
Hallie
Safe travels! You can do this! I believe in you! Remember: starting is the hardest part.
