Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Taking a deep breath, I finally open the door, ready to see where this next chapter takes me. I try to seem collected, determined to maintain some semblance of professionalism. But the moment I see him, all my composure slips away.
I’m shocked to see him out of uniform. Instead of sporting the crisp, authoritative look I’ve come to associate with him, he’s dressed casually, and I do exactly what I told myself I wouldn’t do. I check him out.
My eyes can’t help but scan him from head to toe, taking in every detail. He’s wearing faded jeans, the kind that look soft from years of wear, with a few paint splatters on them that give him an effortlessly rugged look. His T-shirt, snug enough to show off the lean lines of his torso, has a fist up in the air and the word Gonzo printed across it. A Hunter S. Thompson T-shirt. I wonder if that was deliberate, if he’s making some kind of subtle, intellectual nod toward my writing career, or if it’s just a coincidence. Either way, it catches my attention, and I can’t deny that he looks even better out of uniform than I could have imagined.
“Nice shirt,” I say, holding the door open a little wider, trying to sound casual even though my heart is still racing.
He grins, a slow, almost teasing smile, but he doesn’t reveal whether the shirt choice was intentional or not. His grin is infectious, and for a moment, I find myself caught up in the easy confidence he radiates.
Now that I’m seeing him up close in the daylight, his age is easier to pin down than it was last night when shadows distorted his features. He’s definitely older than me, but not by a lot. Maybe four or five years, which would put him in his late thirties. There’s something about him that feels grounded, experienced, but without the weariness you often see in people who’ve lived through too much.
“Did you get any sleep after I left?” he asks, stepping inside the cabin like he’s done it a hundred times before, his presence filling the room.
“Not much, but I’m okay,” I reply, closing the door behind him, my voice a little lighter than I intended. “You?”
“Not any, but I’m okay,” he says, flashing that same slow smile, the one that feels just a little too knowing, a little too intentional. I don’t know if he means for it to come off as seductive, but there’s something about the way he holds my gaze that feels . . . different.
And I don’t know what to do with that. Normally, I can hold my own in moments like this, especially when it comes to flirtation, but the fact that he’s wearing a wedding ring keeps me in check. I don’t flirt with other women’s men. I’ve always drawn a firm line there.
But then again, this isn’t about me. Reya—my character—would flirt with him. That’s how her affair with Cam begins in the book, after all. She latches on to every flirtatious smile he throws her way, turning it into a game, letting it pull her deeper into the affair that eventually consumes her.
As I stand here, watching Detective Saint move through my kitchen, a part of me wonders how much writing I could get done tonight if I let myself slip into Reya’s skin for a little while.
What if I became her, just for a moment?
What if I allowed myself to step out of my own reservations, to lean into the flirtation and see where it takes me? It might inspire me, might help me push past this creative block and meet my deadline.
There’s a strange thrill in the idea of letting go, of becoming my character just long enough to capture her essence on the page.
The detective is making a slow spin in the kitchen, his eyes scanning the high ceilings and the deceivingly modern style of the cabin. “I’ve always wondered what the inside of this place looked like,” he says, his voice filled with genuine admiration. “It wasn’t at all what I expected when I walked in last night. This might be the nicest cabin on the whole lake.”
“I usually stay on the other side of the lake,” I reply, gesturing toward the wide windows that overlook the water. “It has the best sunset views. But this one is really nice.” Too nice.
He nods appreciatively, glancing toward the large windows overlooking the lake. It’s dusk now, so there’s a warm glow being cast over the room. “Is it not two-story? It looks multilevel from the outside.”
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “Just the one. All the rooms have ceilings this high.”
He gives an impressed nod, his eyes still scanning the space as if he’s taking mental notes. And I can’t help but watch him, my mind wandering again to Reya and Cam, and how easily this interaction could slip into something more if I let it. I force myself to stay grounded in the moment, but the line between fiction and reality feels thinner than ever.