Rewritten (The Bound Series Book 7)

by Bronwyn Green

  She was sure his friends were nice. She couldn’t imagine him hanging out with people who weren’t. But meeting new people almost always made her feel like vomiting. It was one thing to go to a con and disappear into the crowd if she had to. It was much harder to vanish if she was in a meeting or seated around a table.

  Even over five years later, the worry that someone would recognize her—like that asshole on the plane—was hard to shake. Clammy, chilled sweat rose on her back and shoulders at the thought of that happening in front of Angus and his friends.

  Angus’ warm hand closed over hers, and she startled, glancing at him then at the parking lot out the window beyond him and back to his face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What? Nothing.” She forced a smile, but she was afraid it looked more like a grimace. His frown pretty much confirmed that fear.

  “You haven’t responded to anything I’ve asked you for the last ten minutes, and you’ve been worrying your skirt so much I’ll be surprised if you haven’t rubbed a big hole in it.”

  She looked down. Angus’ hand had slid to her thigh. Her skirt was pinched between her thumb and forefinger, and she’d been sliding it back and forth. It had been an unfortunate habit she’d developed in the aftermath of her internet debut. Her therapist had called it a self-soothing behavior.

  “In case you were confused, those aren’t the actions of someone who’s relaxed and comfortable.”

  She smiled ruefully. “Sometimes, my anxiety spikes when I meet new people.”

  He laced his fingers through hers. “I don’t recall you fidgeting holes in your clothes when we met.”

  She lifted their hands and kissed the back of his. “That’s because you immediately pissed me off. I was too annoyed to be nervous for long.”

  His laugh wrapped around her, cocooning her in warmth. “We can go home. If you’re not up to meeting them, you don’t have to.”

  She shook her head. “They’re your friends. You probably haven’t seen them in a while. At least, not for the last month or so.”

  “Doesn’t matter. They’ll understand if it needs to be a few more weeks.”

  “No.” She straightened her spine and swallowed, despite the slightly queasy sensation in her gut. “I just need to get over myself,” she said, noticing that she’d begun fiddling with her skirt again. “I’m being ridiculous.”

  He cupped her cheek with his free hand and angled her face toward his. “Anxiety doesn’t make you ridiculous.”

  She snorted. “You’ve never seen me at a mall.”

  “To be fair, malls are actually centers of convergence for demonic energy, so I’m not sure that’s the best example.” His eyes shimmered, and he seemed to be fighting a smile.

  “Oh, so that’s why I start shaking and feel like vomiting whenever I’m in one?”

  “You’re probably just responding to the local event planning for the apocalypse. I’ve heard they use the mall offices for that.”

  Surprised laughter burst from her. “You know, for someone who comes off as a brooding, pompous jerk, you’re incredibly sweet.” She leaned forward and brushed her lips across his, sighing happily as he took control and deepened the kiss.

  When he lifted his head, she added, “Also, you make my panties wet on the regular.” She shifted in her seat. “Well, metaphorical panties, anyway.”

  He groaned and flopped back against his seat and ground the heel of his hand against his suddenly burgeoning erection. “You just had to remind me, didn’t you?”

  She watched his motion, her mouth going dry. They either needed to go inside or go back to his house. If they stayed here, she was going to get arrested for hiking up her skirt and climbing on his lap to fuck him. As much as she’d prefer going home, she wanted him to be able to see his friends. And she really did need to get used to meeting new people.

  “Okay, I think I’m ready.”

  He scowled at her. “Sure, you’re ready to go inside when I’ve got an obvious stauner.”

  She tried to hold it in, but a giggle broke free as she unbuckled and opened her door. “Just keep brooding. It’ll go away.”

  Angus climbed stiffly from the car then walked around to the passenger side and wasted no time pulling her into his arms. “I’ll show you brooding, lass.”

  He paused, and a slow dawning of understanding crawled across his features like a sunrise spreading over the horizon. “Darcy,” he muttered more to himself than her. “Did you pick that because you think I’m a pompous arsehole?”

  “Don’t forget brooding.” She bit her lip, trying to hold back another giggle, and the heat singeing her cheeks was unmistakable. “And you were only pompous when we first met. Besides, your accent is way hotter than his.”

  He caught her around the waist and pulled her closer and murmured in her ear, “You realize you’re talking about a real accent versus a fictional character’s accent.”

  “Whatever. He’s meant to have a posh English accent. People can hear that in their heads when they read. I’m just saying yours is hotter.”

  He nuzzled her neck. “I’m revising my earlier idea. I think I need to read Austen to you while I’m caning you.”

  “Only if you promise to scowl a lot while you do it.”

  “You’re such a mouthy brat.” He frowned as he said it, but there was no missing the warmth in his tone. He gazed down at her and shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

  “I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” she whispered, her stomach full of butterflies the size of carrier pigeons.

  His amusement morphed into something else as he stared at her. She couldn’t begin to guess what he was thinking, but the intensity between them grew.

  Finally, he took a deep breath and dropped his forehead to hers. “We should probably go inside. I know how you feel about exhibitionism, and I’m absolutely respecting that. But you should know, that if you gave me the slightest encouragement, you’d be flat against the nearest wall, crammed full of my cock.”

  Her pussy clenched emptily, and a tremor of need vibrated through her body. His slowly growing smile told her he’d felt her reaction.

  She drew a shaky breath. “You’re right. We should go find your friends.”

  He released her and slid his hand into hers as he turned and headed for the door of the pub. It was dim and a bit loud inside, but Tansy spotted them immediately. She stood up from her seat at a large circular table and waved her arms.

  Eliza smiled when she saw Tansy, but her nerves strung tight as soon as she saw four other faces peering toward them.

  Angus squeezed her hand. “You’ll be fine.” She glanced at him, and he added. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

  “I’m holding you to that.”

  Angus led her through the maze of tables to his friends. They all called their greetings, and several of them leapt out of their chairs to hug him. After he’d said hello, he slipped his arm around her waist and tugged her forward.

  Before he could speak, Tansy jumped in and announced, “This is Eliza, Angus’ girl.”

  Eliza flushed, not daring to look at him to see his reaction to Tansy’s descriptor.

  Angus pointed at a red-haired man to her left, “This is Ross,” then to the slightly younger looking black man next to him, “and his husband, Charlie, and you’ve already met Tansy.”

  Eliza murmured greetings to each of them as Angus continued with the introductions.

  “That’s Petra,” he said, nodding to a woman with electric blue hair, “and next to Petra is my cousin, Donal.”

  Eliza could see a slight family resemblance. Donal had a similar build and equally unruly curls. His eyes were a bright, almost icy blue, but his smile was warm and definitely reminded her of Angus.

  Angus rested his hands on her shoulders and said, “And I’d like you all to meet the woman responsible for saving my career.”

  “No pressure,” Eliza choked out as she sank into an empty ch
air next to Ross.

  Everyone laughed as Angus sat next to her. It was impossible to ignore the prickling sensation of him studying her profile. She smiled wanly at him then turned her focus to Donal when he said, “So, you’re some kind of miracle worker, then?”

  “Shut it, ya reprobate,” Tansy muttered. Then, to Eliza, she added, “So, what exactly is it that you do?”

  She forced herself to relax—or to at least feign relaxation—as she tried to formulate an answer. “Technically, my title is assistant editor, but what I do depends on what an author needs. Sometimes, I coordinate an author’s schedule and assist with various events. I also do research, or help with plotting or brainstorming. I spend a lot of time editing and story doctoring.”

  “So, you’re a writer, too?” Petra asked.

  Eliza laughed and shook her head. “Oh, god, no—I leave that to the professionals.”

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed Angus’ slight frown.

  “She’s selling herself short,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

  “How’s the library coming along?” Ross asked, as their food was delivered.

  “It’s getting there.” Angus took a sip of his beer. “The remodeling’s done, and the computers are set up. Waiting on delivery of a few more shipments of books and tablets.”

  Ross nodded. “Good, good. I think Ewan would be proud.”

  Charlie shook his head with a smile. “More like pure raging that there’s a fuss about it.”

  Angus and his friends laughed, and Tansy looked at Eliza. “Are you coming to the dedication?”

  Her brow furrowed, and Tansy added, “For the library Angus is donating to the center that treated Ewan.”

  “I’m not sure when it is.” Actually, she hadn’t even known about it. She had a momentary twinge of disappointment that Angus hadn’t told her, but she shook it off. She had no reason to be butthurt because he hadn’t mentioned every little thing in his life. “I’m only here for two weeks.”

  “The dedication is in three. You’ll just have to stay longer,” Petra said.

  Eliza smiled, hoping she didn’t look as uncomfortable as she felt. Who knew—Angus might be more than ready for her to leave after her two weeks were up.

  He slid his arm around her and tugged her close. “Get that idea right out of your head,” he murmured against her ear. “I’d love it if you could stay.”

  Apparently, he continued to be as good as ever at reading her.

  As the evening went on, Eliza slowly let down her guard. There was nothing to fear from Angus’ friends. They were all lovely, and not a single one of them stared at her like they were trying to place her. And no one uttered the dreaded words: “You look familiar.” The muscles that had knotted her shoulders uncoiled in increments, and she relaxed enough to chat freely with them while they ate. Maybe it had actually been long enough that she no longer needed to worry. After all, as much as it turned her stomach to consider it, it was likely that the photos and video Nigel had posted had been buried by thousands of revenge porn images other assholes had uploaded.

  After they’d eaten, Angus said, “I think the server got lost, I’m going up to the bar to get another drink, anybody want anything?”

  She glanced around the pub. “I’m not gonna get an iced tea here, am I?”

  He laughed. “Not a chance.”

  “I guess I’ll have another cider, then.” Everyone put in their orders, and Angus headed toward the bar.

  “He’s happy,” Tansy said, staring intently at Eliza as soon as Angus walked away.

  “Aye,” Charlie agreed. “This is the happiest I’ve seen him since before Ewan took ill.”

  The others nodded, and Eliza froze, a dull ache spreading through her chest for Angus’ loss. The whole groups’ loss from the look of it.

  “Were they close?”

  Donal nodded. “Thick as thieves.”

  “Though, you all were,” Ross said to the rest of the table. He turned to Eliza. “I didn’t know Ewan as well. He was already quite ill when Charlie and I got together. But your Angus... He was dead gutted when Ewan passed.”

  The ache in her chest got worse. “I’m so sorry for all of you,” she murmured.

  “You’re good for him,” Petra observed.

  “Much better than that Kelsey,” Ross added.

  An intense stab of jealousy arrowed through Eliza at the thought of Angus with someone else. And that was just stupid. Of course, he’d had other relationships. And, she admitted to herself, he’d likely have more once she was gone. The jealousy quickly flared into a pain that threatened to choke her.

  She glanced up. They seemed to be waiting for some kind of response. “I...don’t know Kelsey.”

  “Fuckin’ cow, she was,” Donal growled. “Always bleatin’ about how much time he was spending writing. It’s his fuckin’ job, ya hackit flange.”

  Eliza’s eyes widened. No love lost there.

  Petra put a hand over Donal’s mouth and looked at Eliza. “Let’s just say she wasn’t as understanding as she could have been.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Carrying a tray of drinks, Angus approached the table in time to hear Eliza say, “Like I said, I don’t know Kelsey.”

  Oh, fuck all. He’d barely been gone any time at all, and they’d brought up Kelsey?

  “But,” she continued, “writers can be difficult people to have relationships with, and not everyone is suited to it.”

  Angus paused, curious if she’d say more.

  “What do you mean?” Tansy asked. If she was aware he was standing behind Eliza, listening, she gave no indication.

  “Well, if you’re going to get involved with a writer, you need to understand that they’ll have their head in the real world. But at the same time, it’ll be in the world they’re creating, too. And, at least for the writers I know, it’s not that they’re not paying attention to their everyday lives and the people in them, but they’re sort of existing in multiple places at once. Not everyone is able to deal with coexisting with imaginary people who can be just as compelling as real people.”

  “She also bitched about the amount of time he spent with Ewan when he was getting treatment,” Charlie volunteered.

  Eliza smacked the table. “Oh, fuck that bitch, then.”

  Laughter and agreements filled the air, and Donal raised his near-empty glass. “I knew I liked you straightaway.”

  Tansy’s gaze darted to Angus’, her eyes sparkling. She’d known he was there the whole time.

  He stepped forward and set down the tray in the center of the table. “What’d I miss?”

  “Oh, nothing much,” Eliza said.

  “We’re just getting to know your girl a little better,” Donal said.

  “Yeah.” Petra laughed. “Pretty sure Donal’s gonna try to convince her to run off with him.”

  Angus fixed a glare on his cousin. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

  Eliza took a sip of her cider then rested her head against Angus’ shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  God, he wished that were true. No matter what, he knew that the next two weeks with her wouldn’t be enough. In fact, he was quickly coming to realize that “enough” and Eliza might not even exist in the same universe.

  That was still his predominant thought ten days later—only it was stronger than ever. He’d realized it the night they’d gone to the pub—he loved her. Somewhere in those six weeks since they’d met, he’d gone and fallen in love with her. The past ten days had only cemented that feeling. Afraid of scaring her away, worried it was too soon, he hadn’t said anything. Not yet, anyway.

  They’d spent every waking moment together—non-waking, too, for that matter. He’d taken her to the coast, to the ruins she’d wanted to see, Loch Lomond, and of course, he’d taken her to Glasgow.

  They’d spent the entire day wandering about. He’d thought she might want to get some gifts for her friends and family when they hit Buchanan Street. She�
�d purchased a scarf for Barbara, and they’d picked out gifts for Sarah, but that was it. He remembered what she’d said about her parents. She never mentioned any other family members or friends. She never mentioned anyone. But he couldn’t bring himself to ask. He didn’t want to see her happiness fade. He didn’t want her to shut herself off. Not when they had so little time left together. Where she was concerned, he needed more—so much more. But they only had two days left. Two days until he was putting her back on a plane for the States.

  Technically, there were also two days until his self-imposed deadline was up. If he had to send Eliza home, he wanted her to be able to show Terra that her time with him had been well spent. This would be so much fucking easier if he could successfully plot a book, instead of just writing where the story took him. Of course, if he could actually plot worth a damn, they wouldn’t have sent Eliza to mind him, and that would have been an absolute fucking crime.

  He glanced over to where she was curled on the couch in his office, alternating between tapping away at her laptop and staring out the window.

  “Okay, so the event horizon,” she said as if they hadn’t been sitting silently working for the last hour and a half. Well, she’d been working. He’d been obsessing.

  “Yeah?”

  “A black hole is just going to crush everything that goes into it.”

  He nodded.

  “And there’s no way to achieve a speed great enough to escape it.”

  “Yes...hence the corner I’ve written myself into.”

  She pursed her lips. “Can Mirran do something science-techy to reverse the gravity inside the ship to push outward, keeping everything and everyone inside it from being smashed?”

  Closing his eyes, he visualized the engine room and the conveyor bay. “Possibly, though the effects likely wouldn’t last long. Anything that had that kind of power would probably burn itself out pretty quickly.”

  “And there’s no way that they can use the particle conveyor to dematerialize and rematerialize somewhere else,” she muttered. “The event horizon swallows everything.”