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)
I take another drink of wine, feeling my heart pounding so loud I’m sure Saint can hear it. I’m trying to keep my breathing steady, but it’s difficult.
“How does their affair begin?” he asks, his tone calm but curious, like he’s genuinely interested.
I swallow hard, knowing that the answer to this question will take us even deeper into a hazardous place. “A kiss,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Cam loves his wife, but he’s never felt such a strong physical attraction to anyone like he does to Reya. So one night . . . when he’s at Reya’s house on business . . . he lets his weakness take over. And he kisses her. But in the middle of the kiss, he feels guilty, so he pulls away from her and storms out of the house.”
“Without apologizing?” Saint’s eyebrow rises, and I can tell he’s intrigued by the emotional conflict.
I nod, feeling my pulse race even faster. “Cam is a tortured soul,” I explain.
Saint nods slowly, thinking it over. His eyes stay locked on mine, and then he asks, “And that’s never happened to you? You’ve never been kissed by a man who is married to another woman?”
I shake my head, my voice quiet now. “No,” I say softly. “And now I feel stuck when I try to write Reya’s reaction.” I take another sip of my wine and then continue. “How would Reya react after that? Would she get angry at Cam for kissing her, even though she wanted it? Would she cry because he stormed out without a word? Or would she feel triumphant—like she won?”
Saint tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he considers my question. “That does sound like something you would have to experience before you could really nail the emotions.”
“Exactly,” I say, feeling a surge of validation, even as my heart races.
We stare at each other for a long, quiet moment, and my heart might be pounding louder than when I was woken up by police lights in the middle of the night.
Then, he does something I’m not expecting—he pulls his bottom lip in and chews on it for a moment, a classic move straight out of the novels I write. The sight of it makes me want to laugh, but the tension is too real, too thick, and I wonder if he realizes how perfectly he’s fitting the role of my fictional hero right now.
Is he biting that lip on purpose? Has he read a romance novel?
There’s a sudden intrusive buzzing sound that makes Saint stand up straighter. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and glances down at the screen. His expression changes slightly, and when he looks back at me, his eyes are serious. “It’s my wife,” he says.
The words hit me like a splash of cold water, and I try not to let the disappointment show. I set down my wineglass, my fingers trembling slightly. “You should probably answer it,” I say, trying to sound casual, unaffected.
Saint also sets his wineglass on the counter beside him, his eyes still locked on mine. “You’re right. I should answer it.”
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he tosses the phone onto the counter, and before I can even process what’s happening, he closes the gap between us. In an instant, his hand slips behind my head, and his mouth is on mine.
The kiss happens so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that I gasp. His lips are warm, soft, and when his tongue slides into my mouth, it sends chills rolling down my spine. I press myself against him instinctively, my hands moving up to the sides of his neck as his lips close over mine.
He tastes like mint and merlot, a combination that sends my senses reeling. I know immediately that this is how I’ll describe Cam’s kiss in the book—this taste, this feeling, this moment.
His phone is still buzzing away on the counter, but all I can think about is the way he chose this kiss over answering her call. I was right, at least about that feeling. Reya would feel triumphant, like she’d won something she didn’t even know she was fighting for.
But the triumph comes with a heavy side of guilt, and that feeling starts to creep in almost as quickly. I can’t ignore the fact that his phone is buzzing because his wife is calling.
His literal wife.
And I won’t even allow my mind to start dissecting all the things I should feel guilty for.
The phone finally stops vibrating, and in the silence that follows, the only sounds are the soft, intoxicating hum of his mouth moving against mine and the quiet moan that escapes from me without warning. His hand slides down to the small of my back, pulling me closer, and I press myself into him, lost in the heat of the moment.