Sugar on the Edge (9 page)

“Maybe,” I hedge, because I’m not so sure. I was so drained after finishing
Killing the Tides
, that I wanted to do nothing but crawl inside of a bottle and drink myself away.

Which is exactly what I did.

“What’s the next book about?” she asks. “Without spoiling anything for me.”

Chuckling, I get up from the counter and head to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water that Savannah was kind enough to stock for me. “Much of the same… my hero Max will have a new problem to quell in the streets of New York. And he’ll fuck his way through a bevy of beauties while he’s at it.”

“Of course he will,” she says drily. “Any other hints?”

I stare at her a moment, and it hits me hard that she is really quite gorgeous. While she’s a little too saccharine for my proclivities, I can’t deny that she’s actually pretty fucking hot. She’s a little too thin and probably would bruise easily, but her dark hair and amber eyes, along with her smooth skin, begs my attention. Unfortunately, she’d probably break too easy under my rough ministrations so I dismiss the thought of fucking her, even though my cock seems to sigh in frustration over said banishment.

“I wrote a new character into my book yesterday,” I tell her. “I’m basing her off you.”

Savannah’s eyebrows shoot sky high, and she gives me a lopsided grin. “You mean I’m going to be a heroine in your book?”

“Sadly, no. You’re more like an anti-heroine,” I tell her truthfully.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s like an important figure in the book, but they don’t possess the conventional heroine traits.”

“Oh,” she says matter-of-factly. “So, no red cape and superhuman powers to help Max battle evil?”

“Sorry, babe,” I tell her as I walk back over to my seat. “You just don’t have what it takes. In fact, I think you’re going to meet quite the gruesome ending.”

“Bummer,” she says while toying with her food.

“If it’s any consolation, Max is going to give you a few great orgasms before you meet your demise.”

“Well, that’s something, I guess,” she says, and then sets her fork down. “So, exactly how did you paint me in your novel?”

I scoop up a bite of rice and vegetables, pop it in my mouth, and chew. After I swallow, I set my fork back down. “No offense, but you’re kind of timid. You’re the type of woman that takes whatever is handed to her, and tries to make the best of it. You’re not very proactive, with no real gumption to take your fate into your own hands. That’s how I’m developing the character. I mean, she’ll have the best of intentions, but she’s always going to wait for Max to save her, rather than try to save herself.”

She just stares at me. Her face is impassive at first, but then I see a kernel of heat start to glow. “That is so not me,” she huffs.

“Yes, it is. You’re a passive woman.”

Savannah grips the edge of the counter. “You don’t know me at all.”

“I know enough.”

“Give me one example,” she dares me.

“Okay… earlier today, when I told you that you were making too much noise with the hoover, and then I told you to use the broom, you just took it from me. You didn’t lay into me for manhandling you, you apologized even though I was the ass, and you just accepted what I told you to do. And I may appear to be a slob, but even I know that you can’t use a broom on the area rugs. You have to use the hoover to clean those. Yet, you never stood up for yourself.”

Savannah’s mouth falls open. She starts to say something, and then snaps it shut while her gaze darts down to her plate. Pushing her stool backward from the counter, she raises her gaze to mine again. “I was just trying to be a good employee,” she argues.

“A good employee would have shown a little gumption and told me what you really needed to clean properly. See… you’re passive.”

“I called you an asshole,” she points out.

I can’t help myself but throw my head back and laugh. “Ah, yes, you did. But you wouldn’t have done that had you not had a flash of temper run through you. That was all involuntary. You’d never have the guts to stand up for yourself like that in calmer times.”

“Okay… that caught me off guard, but that’s just one example,” she says.

“I could give you dozens, Savannah. How about when you showed up at my house last week. You were so intimidated by me being in my boxers that you would have given up this job you say you so desperately need. You got intimidated when I asked you about your feelings for Brody the other night. Now, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with being that way… I’m just saying you have anti-heroine traits that I’m going to exploit in my book.”

Her eyes narrow at me, and I can tell she’s pissed. I’m betting she’s going to push out of her shell again with me in three, two, one…

“You really are an asshole,” she exclaims hotly, and then takes a deep breath that she lets out in a rush. “And yes, I realize I’m calling you that in another bout of anger, but I vow to you… I’m going to call you that one day without any provocation. Mark my words.”

I can’t help but grin at her.

Savannah scoots the stool back further and steps away from the counter, leaving the rest of her meal uneaten. She turns and heads for the door.

“Running away?” I taunt her. “So very anti-heroine.” I’m not sure why I’m goading her, but I’m enjoying this moment.

“Not at all,” she replies smoothly as she picks up her purse. Her voice is even and without anger. “As it so happens, I have a job to get to that starts in about half an hour. Thank you for dinner. It was… enlightening.”

“What job are you going to?” I ask curiously, because all of a sudden, I kind of don’t want her to leave.

“I work part time for a photographer as an assistant,” she says as she turns to look back at me.

“Have an interest in photography?”

“That’s actually my main job. I have a BA from Carnegie Mellon with a minor in photography and digital imaging. Unfortunately, I just got laid off from my job as the photographer for the local newspaper, so I’m taking whatever kind of work I can find right now.”

“You’re kidding?” I ask, absolutely surprised for some reason.

“What… blowing your image of the passive, little house cleaner? Didn’t think someone of my mettle could finish college? Have a real career?”

“No, that’s not what I think at all,” I tell her, although… if I’m honest, I probably assumed she didn’t have much ambition.

“Well… sorry if that puts a kink in the anti-heroine character you’re writing. If it’s any help to you, I haven’t started looking for another photography job yet. That should keep me firmly in your narrow little box you have formed around me for the time being.”

Okay, I deserved that.

“Why haven’t you looked?” I ask, because I’m stalling so she’ll stay for maybe just a moment more and continue to fascinate me. “Clearly, you didn’t go to college to clean houses or be someone’s assistant?”

“Because… I’m probably going to have to relocate to find something, and I haven’t decided where I want to go yet. So, I’m just surviving right now.”

It seems sweet Savannah, who is definitely still on the shy and timid side, may have a bit more to her than I originally suspected. Before I can say anything though, she turns to the door. “I need to go, so I’m not late. Thanks again for dinner, and if you don’t mind rinsing the plates when you’re done, that would make my job a little easier on Friday.”

She’s out the door before I can even say goodbye.

I finish my meal, ruminating on our conversation. It hits me hard that it was probably the longest conversation, sober anyway, that I’ve had with someone in a long time. I didn’t think Savannah Shepherd held much for interest me, but I’m finding she has layers that I had overlooked.

Maybe she’s not quite the Milquetoast I thought she was.

This, of course, does not bode well for the character I just introduced. My muse apparently has a bit more resolve than I originally thought, and my mind starts spinning on how I can work this into my story.

I fumble putting the key in Gavin’s front doorknob, blinking my eyes to clear my vision. I’m so exhausted I’m practically asleep on my feet, and I’m not sure the last time I ate. I’m going to have to sneak a few veggies out of his fridge or something just to stop the rumbling of my stomach.

I’ve gone twenty-six hours now with no sleep. Yesterday, I cleaned two houses, and then hit the road for a contract assignment for the newspaper. It was in Charlotte for the opening of a new restaurant by an Outer Banks local who has a sister restaurant in Nags Head. That turned into a twelve-hour trip, ten of which was driving in one day. I got back to the Outer Banks less than thirty minutes ago and headed straight here to clean Gavin’s house. When I’m done with his cleaning, I’m going home, where I’m going to collapse into a coma and sleep until tomorrow morning when I’m scheduled to volunteer at The Haven.

Finally, the key slides home and I open the front door. I can hear Gavin moving around in the kitchen. When I walk in, he’s pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge. As he straightens and closes the door, my stomach gives a little flip because holy hell, he’s standing there without his shirt on and his chest is just as magnificent as I remembered it. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of track pants and silver and black running shoes. His chest and face are covered with sweat, his hair plastered to his head, and it’s clear he just worked out or something.

Twisting the cap off the water bottle, he gives me a smile and says, “Good morning.”

“You’re an asshole,” I tell him with a straight face, fulfilling my promise to call him that without any provocation. I stifle the yawn that wants to burst out of my mouth, which would totally dilute the power of my message.

He smirks at me briefly, and then starts drinking his water. The way his throat moves is freakin’ sexy as hell, and I use the opportunity to stare at him unnoticed.

When he finishes the entire bottle, he sets it on the counter. “I just got done with my run, and I’m going to hit the shower before I start writing. Can you go ahead and start with the vacuuming so it doesn’t interfere with me later?”

I roll my eyes at his thoughtful gesture and walk to the counter to pick up his empty water bottle. Pulling open one of the bottom cupboards, I toss it in the recycle bin. “Sure. Anything else special today?”

“Um… maybe a sandwich at lunch?” he asks.

“Be glad to,” I say as I notice that the sink is full of dishes again, but at least they all appear to have been rinsed off. Geez… why can’t he just put the damn things in the dishwasher?

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks.

I jerk in surprise. “No, why would you think that? Because I called you an asshole?”

“No,” he says chuckling. “You gave me fair warning you were going to do that. Bonus points for that, by the way. It’s just… you seem kind of quiet today.”

Cocking an eyebrow at him, I grab my vacuum cleaner and head for the staircase. “Just trying to stay within the bounds of your stereotype of me,” I quip, but truthfully, I’m too freakin’ tired to muster up the brainpower to hold conversation.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I feel a pull on the vacuum cleaner. I turn to see Gavin pulling it out of my hands. “I’ll carry that up for you.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, not quite sure how to handle this nicer, more gentlemanly Gavin Cooke.

“My pleasure, Sweet,” he says and then bounds up the steps ahead of me.