anymore.
When that wasn’t enough, I’d gone to my office, picked up my pen, and started writing. It wasn’t surprising that a sex scene had emerged. That sometimes happened when I had a lot of pent up ... sexual energy.
That had been five hours ago, yet I was wide awake and ready to start the day as I made my way around the corner to the coffee shop. I’d thought about waiting for Presley, but decided not to make her feel rushed. I figured I’d order her coffee and wait for her instead.
Kim was inside wiping down one of the tables when I arrived, smiling at me when I stepped inside.
“Wow. You’re here early. Problems sleeping?”
I followed her toward the counter, inhaling the scent of fresh pastries and coffee.
“Something like that,” I told her. More like I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about a particular gray-eyed woman who’d made my blood pressure soar to dangerous levels.
“The usual?” Kim asked, her eyes sliding past me toward the door, a knowing grin forming on her face.
I turned in time to see Presley coming in. I smiled at her and she gifted me with a sweet smile in return.
“Yeah,” I told Kim. “Plus a sugar-free vanilla soy latte.”
“Coming right up,” Kim announced after greeting Presley and taking my credit card.
Once I’d paid, I turned to see Presley standing beside me.
She was wearing dark skinny jeans and Uggs this morning, along with a white cashmere sweater that set off her eyes and hair. Gone was the hood, which allowed me to once again see how incredibly beautiful she was.
“Morning,” I greeted.
“Hi.”
Kim passed over the drinks, then told me she’d bring my scone. I took both cups, then nodded toward one of the tables.
“Get any writing done last night?” Presley asked, her cheeks pink.
“As a matter of fact, I did,” I told her honestly. “I had to do something to keep from thinking about … well, you know.” I laughed when the blush on her cheeks deepened and her eyes slid over to Kim. “What about you?” I asked. “Any inspiration?”
“Yes.” Presley’s husky voice held a teasing note. “But not to draw.”
God, I wanted to get my hands on this girl again. And I was pretty sure she knew that.
“Did the roommate keep it down?”
“Eventually,” she said, smiling up at Kim when the woman delivered my scone. When Presley’s eyes met mine again, she seemed to relax somewhat.
“Is Gavin that loud?”
Presley shook her head. “No, thank God. But what’s even better, Gav doesn’t have overnight guests. He either goes to their place or sends them home before he goes to sleep.”
I definitely wasn’t about to tell her that I could relate. Asking a woman to stay the night only invited trouble, though I’d done it on more than one occasion.
“So, tell me about the book you’re writing.”
“What do you want to know?”
She shrugged.
“Okay.” I sipped my coffee. “Let’s see. It’s about this woman and this man.”
Her eyes lit up. “You don’t say.”
“I know, right? Unexpected.”
Presley laughed. “Is that how you came up with the title?”
“Actually, no,” I admitted, my gaze dropping to my coffee, then slowly lifting back to her. “I hadn’t even given any thought to it. When that anchor asked me about it, it just came to me.”
“How?” She looked genuinely curious.
Putting myself out there wasn’t usually how I handled things, but for some reason I knew I needed to. “I thought about you,” I told her honestly, pausing to gauge her reaction.
Her eyes widened, as though she didn’t believe me. “Seriously? Don’t fuck with me.”
A rough laugh escaped me. “No fucking, I promise.”
It was the truth. I’d thought about Presley and how her appearance in my world had been unexpected. As though the timing had been perfect, which, coincidentally was the same thing that had happened to Kora and Donovan.
“So, is it hot?” Her cheeks reddened again.
I leaned in. “What do you think?”
“I think you don’t know any other way to write.”
“You’re probably right about that.”
“What made you want to be an author?” she questioned, sipping her coffee and leaning back in her chair.
Though this was the same question I’d received a million times, I didn’t quite know how to answer it. The bottled response didn’t seem appropriate. “I’ve always had this thing for writing,” I told her. “Since I was a kid, I’ve had this crazy vivid imagination. I think it started when I was a teenager. I started off by writing stories about my life.”
“Fiction?”
I nodded. “I would spend hours