Since she didn’t want to be bothered—and I was loath to pull her out of her work anyway—I left the bag of food in the kitchen and went upstairs for a quick shower. When I came down topless—since I refused to admit I’d made up the need to air-dry my chest hair to annoy and fluster her on the first day—she was still hunched in the same position, her fingers moving methodically.
“No, you can’t do that,” she said suddenly.
Huh? What did I do?
“What are you talking about? How could you think I did that?” she said. “You knew…”
I crossed my arms and watched, finally understanding. Maybe her hero didn’t perform well enough. The heroine didn’t lose count of the number of orgasms.
“Oh, shut up, Molly. You knew this was coming.”
I leaned my shoulder against the wall and watched Emily. She was cute when she got emotional over her characters and started talking like they were real people.
“Yeah, yeah, bite me. Write your own book, Ryan.” Suddenly, she jumped to her feet. “Ah-ha! I knew it!” Fist pumping in the air, she jumped around in a circle like she’d just won history’s biggest jackpot.
My lips twitched with amusement. She must’ve had a breakthrough.
She stopped abruptly and blinked at me. “You.” The word vibrated with shock and embarrassment.
“Yep.” I smiled, my amusement intensifying at the flush coloring her pretty face. “Me.”
“How long have you been there?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Five minutes?”
Her cheeks turned pinker. “You should’ve said something.”
“Why? It was great watching you. Besides, you told me to be quiet.”
“I did not.”
“The note outside…?”
“I meant for you not to interrupt my flow. I didn’t mean to spy on me.”
“Spy on you?” I laughed. “To what end? You were on your computer the whole time.”
“I know.” Her lips pursed. “Did you, um, notice anything else?”
“You mean like you muttering to yourself?”
She rolled her eyes, but from the way she fidgeted, she was slightly embarrassed. “Don’t act like it’s weird. It helps me think.”
“You think with your mouth?” I said, highly entertained. Being with her took my mind off the failed ice cream shopping and the fact that I couldn’t come up with anything for the band’s next album. She made me focus on the present.
“I think with my brain and mouth. You should try it. Might work better than doing it with your big head”—she pointed at my skull—“and the small one down there.” She gestured at my crotch. Then she frowned a little, like she was slightly annoyed.
Probably because she’d realized how wrong she was. I cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll have you know it’s quite large.”
Her gaze stayed on my eyes. “Not as large as your brain.”
I pretended to consider, setting my features into an expression I’d seen on a neurologist in London who was studying my MRI. Emily kept staring at me like I was being nonsensical. Maybe she shouldn’t have said what she said about my dick. “Large enough, and it has never failed to rise to the occasion. Unlike my brain, which faltered a few times in trig class.”
That got a laugh. I smiled too. As I took her in, in her work environment with her laptop, I grew a little wistful about not being able to drum away. But since she’d gotten a ton of writing done, maybe she’d take mercy on me now. “But you know, I obviously don’t want to overwork my dick. So I usually think with my brain, and drumming really helps.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t even think about backing out on our deal. I can’t write if you’re going to be a noise polluter again.” She put her hands on her hips and leaned forward, a dark scowl forming on her face. “Did the plumber guy call and tell you he could come replace your water heater tomorrow or something?”
Ha. I wish. Not having hot water was a pain in the ass, even if showering wasn’t an issue.
She continued without giving me a chance to answer. “You said you wouldn’t drum for four weeks.”
“I remember. So I’ll take the ‘thinking with my mouth’ method under advisement.” I was mildly disappointed that she didn’t want to give me a break. On the other hand, it had been a long shot. Women, in my experience, were grabby creatures who liked to hang on to things, even if they didn’t need them anymore.
Emily gave me a long look and then finally said, “Okay,” like she was torn between fighting and settling into peace and satisfaction. Probably too much adrenaline. The woman seemed to be full of it.
But I understood. She was in the middle of creating something. She’d slept on the couch and gotten up early because her muse wouldn’t leave her alone. Restless energy and ideas must be swirling in her head like a tornado. You had to be prepared to grab them and get them down on paper, or they vanished as quickly as they’d come.
I envied her for it.
She glanced at her monitor, then looked up suddenly. “Hey, can you help me with something?”
The bright sparks in her eyes lightened her entire demeanor, and I stared at her, mesmerized. She looked like a mischievous pixie.
“With what?” Pixie or not, I was a little wary. She looked entirely too pleased with herself, and that couldn’t be good, could it?
“I’m trying to see if a particular scenario is possible.”
“Sure. Shoot.” I was willing to give her an opinion. Ideally, she’d have a question about sexual positions.
“Awesome.” She smiled happily. “So Molly is sitting here, perched like so.” Emily moved to the back of the couch and leaned her hip on the top, then squirmed around a bit until she seemed satisfied.
I knew Molly was Emily’s book character, but hearing it was still a little jarring. My brain kept bringing up Molly Patterson. And she’d never “perch” on anything. The woman preferred to sit, her butt parked firmly on a flat surface.
“And then she tips over backward. And Ryan has to catch her. Just so you know how it’s set up, he’s about three steps away from her.”
Must. Not. Think about Ryan Johnson. He’d throw his geriatric back out attempting this maneuver.
“Why?” I asked. “You’re going to fall on the sofa.” Which looked incredibly soft and more than capable of keeping her uninjured. Actually, it might be more comfortable and safer for her to fall on it than to rely on some guy catching her.
Emily wagged her index finger. “Because Molly’s not going to fall on the sofa in the book! She’s perched on a wall, trying to escape, and loses her balance when a dog barks and startles her. I want to see if it’s realistic for me to end up on top of you if you catch me and roll over or whatever to keep me safe and all that, like the hero you’re supposed to be, you know?”
Ohh… Her on top of me. If I were a romance hero, how would I have this go?
Would she be straddling me? Most likely. Better balance that way. On my belly…? No, that wouldn’t be comfortable. She should straddle me lower. Nestle against my dick. After all, where else should she be flush against except my cock?