Broken

by Lisa Edward

  We entered the spacious living room, him leading me in by the hand. It suddenly felt too small as this specimen of masculinity filled the space, taking all the oxygen and converting it into delicious pheromones. I was giddy in a way that was reminiscent of my childhood, when a boy I liked punched me in the arm, and I’d skipped home to tell Mimi that I thought he liked me too.

  Adam took his clothes to my bedroom to finish drying off and get dressed. That thought alone sent me into a tailspin as I pictured the robe dropping to the floor and him toweling himself off. I was in the kitchen, happily imagining the towel reaching all those hard-to-get places with a big goofy grin on my face, when Adam came back out in his low-slung jeans and fitted lightweight black sweater. He looked mouthwateringly good.

  “Penny for them,” he said, noticing my grin.

  I frowned. “A penny for what?”

  “A penny for your thoughts.” He chuckled. “You look like you’re miles away.”

  No, just in the next room.

  “Oh, umm…I was just thinkin’ through my story line.” It was a wonderful excuse. Every time I allowed myself to think of Charles and scowl, it was because of a problem I had with my story. If my mind wandered, as it often did, to Adam and how amazing his body would feel above mine, pressing my back into the mattress, I was just thinking through a scene for my book.

  “So where are you up to?” he asked, coming over with his eye fixed firmly on the coffeepot. He reached around me for a mug as my lower back hit the counter. He seemed to be taking an incredibly long time to get that mug—not that I was complaining. As his chest brushed against mine, my nipples instantly leapt to attention, having not been anywhere near a man in months.

  He paused, still standing lightly pressed against me, one brow cocked questioningly.

  “Wha-what?”

  He smirked, eyeing our closeness and the fact that his chest was still pushed against one of my breasts, making it bulge at the top of my V-neck sweater.

  “Seems your cup is overflowing, Buttercup.”

  I glanced down, realizing a wardrobe malfunction was imminent.

  Chuckling at the flush in my cheeks, he took his sweet time fetching the coffee. “Very nice,” he mumbled, running his free hand up my side until it came to rest only a whisker away from the swell of my breast, then licked his lips.

  I nearly dropped on the spot. Not to my knees—well, okay, the thought had crossed my mind more than once in the last week, but no—rather I nearly fainted from all those darn pheromones surrounding me.

  “So can I read what you have so far?” He stepped away and I slumped, needing to brace myself against the counter, not having realized I’d been standing tensed and not breathing. “Promise I won’t grade your work.”

  It was risky. Apart from the lack of sexy time between the characters, it was just a draft, and he was an English teacher. I knew he’d be reading it with his metaphorical red pen, correcting my work as he went. But it also might be a great opportunity to get a different perspective on the story. Although it was primarily aimed at women, would it hurt to get a male’s point of view?

  I shrugged. “I guess you can read it, sure.” I plonked myself down in the chair by the computer, needing to steady my legs after our chest-to-chest contact. Hesitating, I looked around, trying to figure out the logistics. “You’ll have to read it from the screen, seein’ as I don’t have a printer.”

  I went to stand but he raised his hand to stop me, indicating that I should stay seated.

  “I’ll just lean over your shoulder, if that’s okay with you?”

  Before I had a chance to tell him absolutely it was okay with me, he had placed his coffee on the table beside the laptop and was leaning his forearms on the back of my chair, his hot, coffee-scented breath fanning my neck and cheek.

  Closing my eyes, I took a deep calming breath and counted to four, then exhaled slowly. Nervously, I scrolled to the top of the first page; then, not knowing what to do with myself, I leaned awkwardly to the right to get out of the way.

  “Relax.” His hand rested on my shoulder and squeezed, guiding me back to the center of the chair. I waited for him to remove his hand, but he didn’t. Instead it stayed lightly in place, his long fingers brushing the sensitive skin just below my ear.

  How could anyone relax under these circumstances? I was a big ball of goo and heaving bosoms under his touch.

  As he read softly to himself, I followed the story, scrolling the pages at the appropriate times. At the point where the main character met her suitor, he squeezed my shoulder and brushed his whiskered jaw against my hair. “Hmm, I like that bit,” he commented, pointing to the paragraph he’d just read.

  I relaxed, resting my head back against his broad chest. So far, so good. Then it came into view, the first of many SEX SCENE magenta sections.

  “What’s this?” he queried, indicating to the placeholder that was like a neon sign.

  Risking a glance over my shoulder, I saw his furrowed brow, and sighed. “I ain’t feelin’ some of the scenes, so I’ve tagged ’em for later.” Truth was, I was feeling the chemistry between the characters—I just didn’t know how to express what I was feeling in words that would do any justice to the scenes I wanted to write.

  He grunted, but didn’t offer any advice. Instead he kept reading until the end of what I had written to date.

  “This is really good,” he finally commented, still leaning on the back of my chair. “I particularly liked…” He reached forward and took control of the mouse to find the favored paragraphs, and in the process, completely encompassed me in his arms.

  I felt faint. He was way too much man for me to handle. He smelled too good, all earthy and salty from his swim, and his body was just too hard and, well, perfect. But by God, I was willing to give it a try.

  He found the part he enjoyed the most and read it again. “This part is especially good.”

  Finally he stood, and the space around me felt cold and empty.

  “Don’t sound so surprised. I know my old stories were hilarious.” I threw my hands in the air, mimicking his reaction when he first read them.

  He chuckled. “I’m not surprised at all. I think you have quite a gift for crafting a story.” He pulled out the chair beside me and pivoted it around on one leg so he could straddle it backward. “I am a little disappointed, though, that the main male character is a fireman. I was hoping for a schoolteacher.”

  If that was his only complaint, then I was beyond happy.

  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all the books I’ve been readin’, it’s that the male lead has to be somethin’ that women fantasize about. Someone strong and heroic, who at first may seem unattainable or broody and broken. Women love a man in uniform, too. It’s a universal weakness we have,” I said matter-of-factly. “If I wrote ’bout the guy who stacks shelves at Walmart havin’ a blisterin’ affair with an accountant, no one would be interested.”

  “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 wit
h 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 crooke
d 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.”