She grinned. But he could be quiet, too, especially in the evenings when they’d watch TV, read, or play video games. It was wonderful he preferred cooperative games rather than competitive ones. The man laughed at disasters—even when his character died.
Saxon’s laugh could fill the world with happiness.
And his touch…
Remembering the previous night, she smiled. He’d been so careful with her. After he’d kissed and nibbled on every uninjured patch of skin, she’d been so aroused he could have fucked the heck out of her, but noooo… He’d been incredibly gentle.
But still in charge. Always in charge. Just the memory sent a surge of heat across her skin.
Slowly, ruthlessly, he’d used his mouth and fingers to bring her to the edge, then backed off, over and over, until when he finally took her, she’d come so hard and long she almost blacked out.
She eyed the computer. Did she have any sex scenes left to write? Because right now, she was sure all roused up.
But no. All the sex scenes were written.
Damn Dom.
Shaking her head, she headed into the kitchen to make coffee so she could get back on task. Her deadline was approaching rapidly. Really, it was a good thing her house was now empty and quiet so she could work.
But she’d never regret getting to know the amazing women who’d come to help her out.
Or how her near-death had brought such a change in her brothers. All week, they’d either called or popped in to check on her. And they’d brought food with them.
Leaning on the counter, she watched her coffee drip into the pot and breathed in the fragrance.
Pa hadn’t returned. Hadn’t called. And she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or sad. “He truly is a manipulative, narcissistic user.”
Yet he was still her father. I love him, dammit. Faults and all. But was he even capable of returning the emotion? Farran and Dugan said they’d rarely seen Pa after moving out. Not until this week when he started calling them again.
Not that he was getting anywhere. Dugan had always been less concerned with image or other people. Working with his hands made him happy. Pa might have dented his self-image, but it just meant Dugan avoided him.
Poor Farran still wanted Pa to love him, but he hated cleaning and cooking and was usually broke.
So Pa had always concentrated his efforts on Murphy—and didn’t that make her feel like a fool? When she’d said that, Saxon had hugged her and said she was a people-pleaser, and kindness ran through her veins.
Just the memory of his low voice and his open appreciation of who she was made her heart happy.
Her phone rang, making her jolt. The ringtone was Nine Inch Nails’ Closer, and she picked it up with a grin. “Hi, Kim.”
“Hey, Murphy. Josie mentioned you wanted people to check your manuscript club scenes for accuracy. If you’re up to going out and you want to bring your manuscript over tonight, I’ll get a few of us here for pizza and drinks—and reading.”
“Yes!” Murphy felt like dancing. “I’m totally up to it. That would be awesome.”
“You made it. Excellent.” Kim beamed at Murphy, then stepped around her to wave at Saxon in his SUV.
Turning, Murphy gave him a wave along with a scowl, and he grinned before driving away. Stubborn man. “He insisted on playing taxi.”
“Raoul does the same thing if I’m going to be drinking. He refuses to let me take an Uber.” Kim waved her inside. “Masters take overprotectiveness to new heights.”
“So it seems.” Inside, Murphy stopped to look around. The decor reminded her of southwestern or Mexican homes. Creamy stucco walls, stone floors, and lots of dark wood made it spacious but welcoming. The huge arched windows framed views of a sandy shore and the ocean. “You have an amazing house.”
“It’s all Raoul’s design. I made some changes for comfort…but I admit, I love the place.” She clicked her tongue at a German shepherd. “Ari, this is a friend, Murphy. Murphy, this is my dog, Ari.”
She bent to stroke his head. The dark-furred dog was huge, but he nudged her hand with a wagging tail to encourage more petting. “Oh, you’re a sweetie, aren’t you?”
“He is, especially with females.” Kim motioned toward the back of the house. “Everyone’s outside on the patio. What would you like to drink? We have a full bar, and Uzuri made a couple of pitchers of strawberry daiquiris that are to die for. And there’s iced tea and soda and water.
Once outside, Murphy saw the house curved around the big expanse of patio that overlooked the private beach. The Gulf waters were dark blue with glints of orange from the setting sun.
Seated in dark red patio chairs were Jessica, Josie, Uzuri, Gabi, and a couple of others.
“Hey, ladies. Our author—Murphy, also known as ML Chaykovsky—is here.” Kim’s announcement got cheers from the women.
Murphy grinned. This was going to be fun. “Hey, Josie, did you make your deadline?”
“I did—with three whole hours to spare.” Josie came over to give her a careful hug. With a book deadline as well as her son, Carson, to keep track of, the writer hadn’t been able to visit Murphy but had called several times. “Those are some impressive bruises you got goin’ on there.”
Murphy gingerly ran a hand over her bruised arm. “I feel like a garish paisley print.”
“Try being a redhead,” Gabi held up a pale freckled arm. “Every little bump shows up.”
“Do you suppose that’s why Marcus loves spanking you so much?” Uzuri held her brown arm against Gabi to show the contrast. “Your skin gives him such prettily visible rewards.”
Jessica grinned at Murphy. “Enjoy the purple and blue. In another few days, they’ll be more of yellow-greenish color.”
“Great.” Murphy wrinkled her nose. “And poor Saxon has to look at me.”
“From what I saw, the man purely enjoys looking at you. Oh, the heat of a new romance.” Gabi fanned herself.
Murphy felt her cheeks heat.
Grinning, Kim rescued her. “Which of us haven’t you met before?”
“Let’s see… I don’t think I’ve met those two?” Murphy motioned toward two pregnant women. Pregnancy and BDSM—how in the world did those things go together?