"You're welcome."
His voice was as sinful as chocolate, and her cheeks as red as cherries. She couldn’t look at him. She had no doubt his response was sincere, but too many things happening in such a short span of time had sent her into a panic—and she never panicked. Even if he’d been a temporary knight in shining armor, she was no damsel in distress. But he did help to rescue the computer.
As the small crowd around her zeroed in on the mishap, Sky forced herself to take in a lungful of oxygen even though she struggled to breathe. She didn't like being the center of attention, especially when air seemed to be in short supply. Helplessness didn’t look good on her.
Grasping at mental straws, she made an attempt to regain her composure. She needed to calm the hell down and get ahold of herself. Had to pretend it was no big deal. It was critical she quickly adopt an indifferent air. Call up the few remaining, sentry-like brain cells she possessed and turn them into seasoned soldiers. At least maybe then she could protect what was left of her dignity. She inhaled slowly, taking in a deep, calming breath.
And another.
And still another.
Deliberately, she lifted her chin. The handsome man's gaze hadn't wavered. He was still looking at her, and that strange, fluttery feeling reemerged.
Feeling like an awkward teenager, Sky's stomach flipped. She looked away, feeling like a scared rabbit. Slowly she grounded herself, waltzing words in a melody of thought.
He's judgmental.
He's arrogant.
He's just a guy.
"Are you okay?" The stranger's voice skipped up half a beat as he hitched words to a smile, turning her insides to Jell-O.
"I'm good, thanks." She shrugged, wrapping an arm around her waist to get ahold of herself. It didn't take but a moment to shift the focus of attention away from her. As she collected her things, the people who’d been watching moved on, their attention drifting back to their laptops, books, and phones. She went back to her place, which now felt like the hot seat since Vince and the man changed seats. Now she was sitting directly across from Vince while only one seat separated her from her helpful stranger. She looked from left to right and, when she was confident she was no longer the object of everyone's attention, she attempted a casual conversation so as not to appear rude.
"Now that we've seen my method of researching for a novel, it's your turn. You and Vince were talking about editing." She leaned in his direction, pretending to peer over the empty seat at his laptop to see what was on the screen. "What kind of book are you writing?"
"Me?" He acted surprised as he looked at the content on his screen. "The great American novel, I guess. Isn't everybody?" The sound of his hearty laugh filtered through her, causing a pleasant sensation.
"Sounds like a best seller." She tucked away her earlier assessment of the man. Maybe she’d misjudged him. He seemed kind of . . . normal.
"Right. I’ve been writing this story on and off for years. I’ll probably never publish it. It’s just something I like to do."
She relaxed her shoulders, enjoying yet another mild jolt of electricity that his voice elicited. He didn't seem like an arrogant asshole at all. In fact, his smile made her curious. There was a bit of an edge to it. She couldn't decide if he was just playful or a wild boy.
As she sat back in her seat, he gave her a brief description of his novel. She wasn't listening. Instead, she studied his face—for research, of course. His cheekbones were high and noble, his jaw, square and strong. And then there was his voice. Whether he was a good writer or not, she couldn't tell, but with a voice like that he should have been a singer.
"You never know." Sky smiled. "Yours could be the next literary mega-hit. I mean, c'mon, look what happened to the lady who wrote Fifty Shades of Grey."
On a huff, his eyes closed, and his chin dropped. A minute later, he peered up, directing his attention to the screen of his laptop with a slight wave of his hand.
"What I'm writing has absolutely nothing in common with those kinds of books. Nothing at all. This is literature. Not erotica. It's complex. A period piece. A tale of discovery and grit. There's no kink in my story—or fluff."
Sky bent her resolve, giving him a narrow glance with a playful but deadly message.
"I think Ms. E.L. James might object to her multi-million-dollar babies being referred to as fluff. The only thing fluffy about the figures in her account are the clouds she floats on when she goes to the bank." Light sarcasm tickled her tone. "I guess I should add that the book we're talking about sold over one hundred twenty-five million copies. And that was just the first book. It’s part of a trilogy."
He gave her a knowing look, his smile never leaving his face. "Have I offended you? I'm not trying to. I'm just stating the differences between a romance novel and serious literature. You can't compare War and Peace with Fifty Shades of Grey."
"I can if the sales are there." Her comeback was lightning fast. “Lord of the Flies sold a little more than twenty-five million. To Kill a Mockingbird, a bit more than forty million. And let's not forget the darling of romance, Gone with the Wind. That little gem—thirty million." She quirked a spunky brow. "You, sir, should know your facts and figures before you dismiss something of which you, clearly, have no understanding."
An impish grin wrinkled her forehead. She didn't mind defending her craft. Her bank account was nowhere near as healthy as E.L. James's, but she couldn't complain. Writing romance had proven to be a good career move for her, and no one could say she didn't have peer loyalty. Was he up for the challenge of a debate? Because she could play that game all night. She'd done her research.
The rumbled laugh was robust and thick. Deep and smooth, that luxurious kind of sound came from deep down. She shivered, then chastised herself immediately. She wanted to hear it again, so she asked another question.
"What part of the country are you from?"
He seemed surprised she'd changed the topic from books to places. Oh, well. She was one of those people who researched exciting subject matter for a living. Everything from "where is the best place to bury a body" to "what R&B song are more births attributed to" had been typed into her web browser. Like dandelions in a garden, topics just randomly popped up in her thoughts. It was her experience that, if she didn't immediately take care of the weed, it was determined to grow stronger until she did. If he was going to write a book, he’d have to research a hundred different topics at a time too.
"The Midwest, originally, but I've lived all over the country. Up and down the East Coast, then some time on the West. I've been back and forth, once or twice."
A stab of guilt hit her for having a combative edge in her tone. She wasn't trying to put him on the defensive, just have a conversation. Oh, for God's sake! The only way to fix this was to ease up. "So, where are you on your way to now?"
"Back to Florida. I'm in the middle of a move from Florida to Maryland."
The tactic worked. His expression was a little lazier. Relaxed. But a move to Annapolis from Florida? She didn't understand that logic.
"You're moving from Florida? Why would you want to do that? Winter's coming. Maryland is so unpredictable weather wise." Intrigue swept her expression as she silently questioned the sanity of a man who would choose bipolar temperatures over toasty ones. His shrug was indifferent. "Florida's nice, but, honestly, I'm tired of it. A few years ago, I took some time off. I honestly thought I’d would settle down there. It was only for a short time, I considered it semi-retirement."