Page 67 of Someone Exactly Like Me (Wounded Hearts 1)
“I like the way you write, it’s very expressive. The characters feel real, like I’m getting to know them through your words. And the way you describe things around them, I feel like I’m in the room with them.”
“That’s something I work hard on.”
“You do it well. I also like how each of the main characters has something to learn or change about themselves to become who they want to be, a better version of themselves. And then you also have them grow together by helping each other. The way you intertwine their journeys strengthens their relationship in such a powerful way.”
Knowing how he likes getting inside the mind of the characters he plays, I appreciate him recognizing this in my writing. “Thank you. That’s one of my goals as I create my characters and their love story.”
“And the sex scenes weren’t what I expected.”
I grip the steering wheel as my heart races.
“Oh.” I know he read Sunflowers for Sarah, but I don’t know what else he read. I didn’t ask. I don’t want to know. I can’t bear knowing.
“Your words and descriptions are very sensual. Even the way you describe a kiss. The intimacy, the passion. It made me want to feel what you describe.”
A tingle sweeps between my legs and I shift in my seat. It’s impossible tonotwant his lips on mine this instant. I’m trying to breathe normally as my heart pounds beneath my ribs.
“You must feelsomethingsimilar when you kiss women.”
“I told you, I don’t kiss women on the lips.”
“You did. But why?” Will he tell me? Will he let me in?
“I just don’t,” he says, his words icy.
Nope, he’s not budging.
“We all have our boundaries, I suppose. I don’t kiss men who smoke.” Which, I continue to remind myself, he does. So, I really need to stop thinking about him kissing me, wanting him to kiss me, and fantasizing about him kissing me. Ugh, I’m pathetic. But, now it’s out there. Maybe he’ll stop torturing me and lingering sexily in front of my face like he wants to devour me, when I know he doesn’t.
He releases a low, wicked chuckle as he looks at me. “But you like kissing.” It’s more of a statement than a question.
“Well, a kiss is intimate, intense, vulnerable. Some might say kissing is more powerful than sex.” Deep breath. Stop talking. We’ve moved from kissing to sex. I can’t breathe. My knuckles are white with my suffocating grasp on the steering wheel.
“The sex you write is pretty damn hot.”
Only knowing what he could’ve read, I’m stripped of my guards, completely exposed. I focus on the road, trying not to lose my grip with my sweaty hands. “It’s, uh, well, I’m good at my research.”
“Yes, you are.” That low timbre of his voice rattles through me. I feel his eyes on me and stare straight ahead.
Oh God. Change the subject,now.“What’s the next step for you with Vance?”
Thankfully, he drops the subject of my books, and sex, and tells me about his next moves with Vance and the agency.
We arrive in good timing at the theater to find a spot and get some food. I grab the blanket from the back of my car and put it between us. During the movie, I catch him stealing glances at me. Thankfully, the movie is fun and lighthearted. I love listening to him laugh.
About halfway through the movie, he touches my arm.
“You’re cold.”
I hadn’t noticed until he said it, but I was starting to get cold. When I look at him, he quickly looks from my breasts to the blanket. Ugh, my nipples must be hard. They’re so damn sensitive. Opening the blanket, he drapes it across me, tucking it in as best as he can.
“Better?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
As soon as the movie is over, I drive us back home, kind of tired from the day.
“What do you want to do at Ranch Inn? I need to know what to pack.”
