Broken (6 page)

“So schoolteachers aren't sexy enough?” he challenged.

My eyes swept over Adam.
Oh, some schoolteachers were too sexy for words.

“The teachers at my school weren't sexy, but it seems teacher/student stories are popular. Readers eat 'em up.”

He screwed up his face. “I'm sorry, but that would be totally unethical and just damn wrong.”

I laughed. “I mean college-aged students fallin' for the hot English teacher.” This was out of my mouth before I had time to remember that Adam taught English.

He smiled playfully. “So English teachers are hot?”

“Only if they teach students over the age of eighteen.”

“Maybe I need to change schools,” he pondered.

He was hot regardless of the age of his students. In any profession, at any time of day, Adam was sexy and smart and funny, and did I mention sexy? I'd seen enough of his body to know that it was flawless. His chest was defined, and his shoulders broad and muscular. He had muscles in his arms that popped and bulged with the slightest movement and his abdominals were crazy. Were schoolteachers sexy? Hell yeah, this one certainly was.

My eyes had been sweeping over Adam's body and eventually made their way back to his face, where a knowing grin graced his perfectly bowed lips.

“Maybe my next book can have a schoolteacher?”

“And an author,” he added. His strong bearded jaw clenched, and his vivid blue eyes grew dark. “Would that be sexy enough for you? A teacher and a writer getting all hot and sweaty together?” He sucked his bottom lip in while his eyes darkened.

Heat rose in my cheeks as his intense gaze swept over my body.

His chin rested on his forearms that were crossed on the back of the chair. “I think it would be extremely hot.”

My lady bits clenched at the thought and I let out an involuntary whimper. I was in way over my head with this conversation and needed to back out, pronto.

“So, are there any suggestions you can make that would improve the manuscript thus far?” That was better. Back to business and on even footing.

“Yes, you can stop saying ‘thus far,'” he teased. “It's good for a draft, but I'd like some sex now.”

Oh, me too…

“So I think we need to work on you getting into character and feeling what you need to feel as the female reporter in your story when she initially sees the fireman.”

Okay, this was good—a bit of role-playing to picture myself in the scene as the reporter and, of course, Adam as the fireman to draw on my emotions. I could write it easily enough if I was to revert back to my old ways. Her moist clam would feel heated with desire at the sight of his fire hose. His chiseled cheekbones coated in black soot from the raging fire he had just extinguished. But how did I put that into the twenty-first century? I reached for my lists, one for acceptable words for penis, the other of substitute words for vagina. Maybe I could come up with something that wasn't going to have Adam rolling on the floor in fits of laughter.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, sitting up straighter in his seat so he could see the lists over my shoulder.

I was still scanning my options, tapping my chin, deep in thought. “I'm thinkin' ya like pussy, right? And I'm quite partial to
rigid length
. Maybe they could go together?”

He didn't answer. Maybe he didn't hear me? I raised my eyes to see if he was pondering what I'd just suggested.

Deep blue eyes were fixed on me as his mouth parted and the tip of his tongue wet his bottom lip.

“Whatcha think?” I asked again, excited that maybe these sex scenes weren't going to be the challenge I had first thought. “I mean, if she's turned on by a first glance of her man in uniform, then I could write somethin' 'bout her pussy becomin' wet and a warmth radiatin' through her body at the thought of his rigid length penetratin' her.” I stopped, not quite happy with how that sounded. “Oh, I know, not rigid length, maybe his hard-on inside her?”

Adam's head tilted to one side, but his examination of my face continued. “Tell me, how does a girl so innocent and pure have a head full of smut and not even realize it?”

My face flushed as I looked anywhere but at Adam. “Makin' up stories was somethin' I always did when I was growin' up. After my parents were killed and I went to live with Mimi, makin' up stories was what got me through some of the tough times when I felt so alone.”

“I'm so sorry. I didn't know.” Adam's eyes were full of sorrow and I appreciated it, but I didn't want his pity.

Shrugging it off, I continued. “It was a long time ago. I was only seven when it happened.” I fidgeted nervously. I hated talking about my childhood. “So anyways, makin' up stories became writin' stories; then in college my best friends and I started writin' erotica. At first it was just for a laugh, but people actually wanted to read it, so I kept goin'.”

“You must have had a pretty…active social life in college?” he said with a mischievous wink.

I rolled my eyes. “I just tried to write what people wanted to read. It doesn't mean I wrote from experience. Charles and I never…we didn't…until we were married.” My hands fidgeted again in my lap and I dropped my gaze to watch them.

“You mean you were a virgin when you married the monk?”

I nodded, but didn't raise my eyes. “I know, pretty lame, huh? I bet you were at all the frat parties, sowin' your English wild oats like nobody's business.”

A low deep rumbling from his chest erupted into laughter. “I had some fun at college, can't deny that. There were some oats sown.”

“What about now? Do you still have lots of
fun
?” It was definitely none of my business, but I wanted to know if he was a love 'em and leave 'em kind of guy, especially since he'd had his heart broken by that bitch Annabel.

His warm hand wrapped under my jaw, lifting my face so I was looking into his eyes. “I get my fair share of offers, but I'm very,
very
fussy about whom my throbbing sword parties with.”

Now I was laughing at his throbbing sword reference. “Well, bein' here with me must be a huge shock to your system, then.”

“It is, but in a good way. You are a rare find indeed, my dear Evie.”

Christmas was in two days' time, and I was planning on letting it slip right by without so much as a blip on my radar.

After my chat with Adam about the elusive sex scenes in my novel, I had decided to give it a try and immerse myself in the characters, trying to feel what they were feeling and then articulate it well enough to touch people in the heart or gut or slightly lower, depending on the mood I was trying to evoke.

Sitting at the dining table, tapping away at the laptop had become extremely comfortable to me, and I was flying through another chapter when my phone buzzed. I'd had limited contact with the outside world, other than Adam and a few locals since I'd arrived, the idea of living like a hermit becoming more and more appealing as the days went by.

“Hiya, Ang, how ya doin'?” I asked as I answered the call.

“I'm great, hon. More importantly, how are
you
doin'?” There was an edge in her voice and I knew why. She had stuck her neck out for me and if I failed to deliver something on time and worth pitching, it would look bad for both of us.

“Things are goin' well, don't worry. I even have a rather delicious helper.” My eyes wandered to Adam as they quite often did, his tall, lean figure outside on my deck dressed in his old paint-splattered, torn jeans and ragged T-shirt, painting to his heart's content.

“No, really?” she gasped. “Tell me everythin'. I need to know who's helpin' you with those smutty scenes and if you're writin' from experience now.” She burst out laughing, her husky tone making me laugh right along with her as it always did.

Adam must have sensed my eyes burning into the back of his head. He turned and a beaming smile lit up his gorgeous face when he saw me staring at him. He gave me a wave and I waved back, pointing to the phone at my ear before reluctantly tearing my gaze from his smile and turning my back to him so as not to be distracted.

“No, there's no action goin' on here, Ang. A little flirtin' maybe, but nothin's happened. Maybe I need to write a book where the heroine is desperate and dateless, droolin' over a hot guy who isn't interested in her. I could write that one from current experience.”

“Ahem…”

I squeezed my eyes closed, not wanting to see the man who had obviously slipped through the door quietly and was now standing behind me.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath, and he chuckled lightly as he went to the fridge and pulled out a jug of sweet tea.

I needed to see his face so I could gauge from his expression how much he had actually heard. From the swagger in his step as he moved around the kitchen as if he owned the place, he'd heard enough to know I was getting hot and flustered every time he was near me. He leaned back against the counter, ankles crossed casually as he sipped his tea, watching me with that damn sexy crooked smile.

“Ya still there?” Angie asked. Reminding me I was in the middle of a call.

“Yes, sorry. Adam just came in and distracted me for a second.” I removed my glasses and pinched the bridge of my nose, a splitting headache taking hold.

Strong hands were on my shoulders before I knew Adam had moved from the kitchen. He teased the knots from my neck, then ran his fingers to my temples, massaging in a circular motion that made the pain ease.

I closed my eyes and moaned softly as the tension melted away.

“Are you moanin'? Was that a moan I just heard?” Angie asked. “What's goin' on over there?” Delight raised the pitch of her voice at the thought that anything at all was going on.

Smiling, I answered, “Adam's just massagin' my temples.”

His hands moved back down my neck.

“Hmm, now he's rubbin' my shoulders,” I said dreamily.

He was chuckling behind me but I didn't care. It felt heavenly just to be touched by a strong, vibrant man, regardless of how many layers of clothing I had on.

“Okay, well, I just wanted to check in with you and wish you a merry Christmas, in case I don't get time on the day. I'll let ya get back to whatever it is you're doin'. Remember there's a deadline, so do try to get a little bit of writin' done in between the moanin' while you're there.”

She was gone before I had a chance to correct the image her dirty mind had conjured up.

I could have sat in the chair with Adam rubbing my shoulders for all eternity. His hands were so strong, the pressure just right, and he seemed to know where every knot was hiding and cast it out within seconds.

I sighed. “That feels wonderful. Keep doin' that. Ah, right there. Don't stop.”

Hot breath tickled my ear as he bent down and whispered, “You need to write down what you just said and use it for one of your sex scenes.”

My eyes bugged open. “Whatcha mean?” I hadn't realized I'd said anything remotely sexy.

“Evie, you're a beautiful, sensual woman. You just haven't realized it yet.” He paused before adding quietly, “But you will.”

“I'm cooking you dinner tonight. What do you fancy?”

Raising my eyes from my manuscript, I watched Adam move around the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards. The way he made himself at home here, rather than spending his time two doors down, made me feel as if we had set up house without realizing it. He looked in the fridge, then gave up and closed the door again.

“Woman, you have no food in this house again. If I wasn't here to look after you, you would wither away and die sitting in front of that laptop.”

I removed my glasses and stretched out the kinks in my neck. He was right. I'd never known anything else that could keep my butt glued to a chair for hours on end like writing did. I forgot to eat, I forgot to sleep, and there were days when I realized I hadn't peed. If not for Adam's presence, I probably wouldn't have showered and changed out of my sweatpants and buttercup-yellow sweater, but knowing he would be coming over had my personal grooming high on the list of priorities.

“You don't have to cook for me,” I said, smiling. “We can get pizza from Nick and Toni's.”

He shook his head, and came toward me, his hands once again resting on my shoulders to rub out the tension. “I want to cook for you. It's been a long time since I've had someone to cook for, and I find it relaxing.”

My head flopped forward as his hands worked their magic.

“Besides, I feel like in some small way I'm contributing to what I know will be a bestseller.”

“Well, you'll certainly get a big mention in the acknowledgements.” I groaned as he worked on a particularly stubborn knot.

His hands stopped. “Will I? Huh, how about that?”

I could tell by his tone that he was delighted, and it made me happy to think that I'd done something to make him smile.

“Of course you will.” I turned in my seat to face him, holding his hands in mine. “I wouldn't have gotten this far without your patience and tutelage.”

His eyes glazed over as he realized I was being sincere. “I'm going to have my name in a book.” He leaned down and gave me a quick peck on the top of the head. “That calls for celebration. Now I'm definitely cooking dinner.”

Half an hour passed before Adam returned with a bag of groceries and a cheery whistle. Max had been sleeping by the fire but jumped up and gave a halfhearted growl when he heard the key in the door.

“Come here, boy,” I said, calling him over with a pat on my thigh. “It's just your dad coming home.”

Boy that sounded strange, and comforting. Strangely comforting…and extremely scary.

“What are you growling at, Max?” Adam said with a smile. “Are you protecting the lady of the house?” He scruffed Max's head. “I thought you were supposed to be my dog.”