Chapter 12

TWELVE

I felt the shift. It was subtle, but Rita wasn't exactly the most relaxed person I'd ever known. Bit by bit, she tensed in my arms.

That she'd flatlined on top of me was probably a top five moment for me. Sex was generally a fun release as far as I was concerned.

Not a war of flesh and orgasms.

Because that was exactly what it had been. Building up and denying her that orgasm had created a high on par with the fugue state of a really good drawing session.

When I got lost in the darkness and had to carve the light into the panels I worked in. It was painstaking work, but worth it on every level.

Rita was much the same.

So tightly wound inside of herself, it was as if she detested allowing me in. But the more defenses I cracked, the more I wanted to know everything.

Gently, I stroked my hand down her back. We both needed it after the battle to get to the finish line. Her cornsilk hair slipped around my shoulder as she rested her cheek on my arm.

I could feel her urge to move.

To slip off me and retreat.

Instead, I laid a possessive hand on her surprisingly firm ass. "Where do you think you're going?"

She stilled. "Nowhere," she said huskily. "As if I have anywhere to go."

"And yet, you're so tense."

"I'm naked with a stranger, of course I'm tense."

I lifted my shoulder to urge her to turn and look at me. "Rita."

Stubbornly, she kept her face turned away.

"So, we only can talk with our bodies then?"

"Seems like it." This time, she slipped out of my arms. Her lithe body was slight and curved in all the very best ways.

Marks from my teeth and beard marred her fair skin. A dusting of freckles spread across her chest and back until she pulled a robe off the chair near her bed.

Then she was fully gone from me.

Both her glorious skin, and the woman who'd come apart for me so wildly. The silky Kimono was as effective as an armadillo shell. She slipped into the bathroom and closed the door with a quiet click.

I dragged my fingers through the tangle of my hair. I desperately needed a shower. I rolled to sit on the side of the bed and winced at the pull along my side.

I glanced down to find a new war wound along my ribs from when she'd dug her nails into me as she climbed on top of me.

The flash of a memory made my dick twitch with renewed interest even if it was half strangled by the used condom.

Quickly, I disposed of it thanks to a box of tissues on the bedside table and hiked up my jeans, but I left them unzipped.

I shook my head. Hell, I hadn't even gotten my boots all the way off.

I wandered over to the French doors in her room and opened the door for some air. I stretched out the kinks in my back as the breeze off the water kicked out the last of the post-sex haze.

The sound of the shower prodded me to go find out how she felt covered in suds, but the closed door definitely felt like the walls were firmly back in place.

One more fortress between us.

I wasn't even sure how it kept happening. I was a relatively easygoing guy for the most part. All the Masterson men were, to be honest.

Well, maybe not Christian.

I was pretty sure his uniform baton was located up his ass most days.

But that wasn't me. I was well-versed in conversational skills. More importantly, I was actively interested in Rita's brain, regardless of her romance author status.

I'd had plenty of people give me a similar dismissal for my work, so I should know better.

And yet, I'd blundered ahead like an idiot. I was so very off my game in all ways. And I still had to work on my next volume, no matter what kind of behind-the-scenes hell I had to deal with for the publishing house.

The volume with the suspiciously empty pages. I'd done plenty of sketches, but they were vague and useless as a fleshed-out story.

I stepped out on the balcony. A huge, circular chair took up half the space with a hood against the sun. A book and blanket were discarded on the wide cream cushions.

Idly, I pushed aside the throw to see what she was reading, surprised that it was my own.

And not the first one in the series.

No, this was well into the Knights of Chaos . She read my work?

"So, now you know one of my secrets."

I looked up at the sound of her voice. "Only one?" I dropped the book and turned toward her. "And yet, you didn't recognize me?"

She shrugged, and then she leaned on the doorjamb. "I don't Google all the people I read. It's not like your face is on the back of the volumes. Just the pen logo."

She'd swapped the robe for a lightweight sweater in a rich amber that made her green eyes glow. A pair of cropped brown pants showed off her toned legs and bare feet with teal toenails.

She hadn't bothered washing her hair. Instead, she'd scooped it up into one of those female twist things that made my fingers itch to release it.

Because I wanted to go to her, I sat on the edge of the chair, linking my fingers between my knees. "So, which of your books should I read?"

She rolled her eyes and turned to go back inside. "No need for quid pro quo, the orgasm suffices."

I bowed my head. "I didn't mean it like that." I stood to follow her inside, but she was already gone.

I swore and grabbed my shirt, pulling it over my head as I strode out. I heard her gently talking to Bruce about his manners from the lower level. When I got downstairs, she was standing in front of the wall full of sticky notes.

Back to business, evidently.

Which was probably for the best. I mirrored her folded arms. "I think we both could use storyboarding as part of the workshop."

She tapped her forefinger on her upper arm. "That's a good idea."

"Don't sound so shocked."

"Well, you said you had nothing in mind."

"It's part of my process."

"Mine too." The confession seemed begrudging.

"Drawing?" Surprised, I turned to her.

"Pinterest. I don't have that sort of talent."

"Ahh. Well, I have studies and images that inspire me too."

The corner of her mouth tipped up. "You have Pinterest?"

"Not quite, but similar. There's far too much artificial intelligence art on there for my liking."

She sighed. "That I can agree with. No AI in my life, that's for sure. Every word and mistake is ours—well, mine."

That was an interesting correction. I couldn't imagine how co-writing worked. Did they each write something and share? One write a chapter then the other takes over?

One of the foundational things about being an author was the urge to puzzle out a problem. I was convinced that was why most of us became writers. Some definitely did it for the money, but they quickly found out that there were far easier ways to make cash if you didn't love the art profoundly. There were plenty of days when I'd barely made rent when I first started out.

And back then, that had been with roommates.

Now, I had a whole new set of problems—both career-wise and with a woman who fascinated me as much as she made me cranky and crazy.

We hashed out a few more ideas, arguing over the specifics of plotting, outlining, and series.

I'd been writing in the same world for as long as I could remember. There had been a few missteps when I first started, but then I'd created Moksha and that had been the end of searching for me.

I was on the couch scribbling in a notebook she'd given me. There were a few fundamental differences between my kind of writing and hers. Namely, that my storytelling was mostly image-based and far less actual words than a full-length novel.

And the building of a story was also different.

She stood in front of me with a bowl. "Want?"

I was also learning that Rita required food at all times. Especially of the snack variety. I peered in to find freshly popped popcorn littered with chocolate pieces.

Bruce scrambled up from his nap by the window and lumbered over for a treat.

I grabbed a handful and tossed one in my mouth, finding one without chocolate for our resident moose. "I think I need more than popcorn."

He snapped a kernel out of the air, then plopped his butt in front of us to wait for more.

Rita tossed one to Bruce with a soft smile, then she ruffled his fur. "Then you can go home and make yourself dinner."

"How about I make us dinner?"

She dropped on the couch beside me, crossing her legs under her with the bowl in the center. She munched thoughtfully. "Not sure I want you in my space that long. Depends on the food."

"Gee, thanks."

She shrugged. "I work alone. I like being alone."

I wasn't entirely sure she believed that, or if she needed to keep saying it to believe it.

"I make a mean shrimp scampi."

Her hand paused in the bowl. "I'm listening."

I laughed. "It's pretty impressive if I do say so myself. Larsen is a foodie and keeps dragging me to cooking classes."

Bruce laid his massive head on her knee, hoping for more. She leaned back, ignoring the beseeching brown gaze. "What's the deal with you two? I know you're not a couple. Unless you like boys and girls, which is fine by me."

"Appreciate the open-mindedness, Duchess."

She rolled her eyes, but she didn't bother correcting me on the nickname. At least we were making progress there.

"Best friend since college. He knows all the dirty secrets, helped me hide the skeletons, and jumped on board when I decided to expand from a one-man show to a full-fledged publishing house."

"How many people are on the roster?" She settled back into the cushions of the large sectional.

"We're pretty small at the moment." Thank God. The more people I had to juggle, the more ulcers I'd have going. "Ryan, whom you met at the signing—she's the biggest breakout artist I've got. Of course, me, which was how I could afford to do this."

"What made you want to do your own publishing house? Couldn't you just outsource that?"

"No one wanted to work with me."

She chewed thoughtfully. "I mean, I get that you have a smart-ass mouth on you, Penn, but you're a famous brand. I'd think people would jump at the chance to work with you."

"I wish it worked that way."

She shrugged and popped a chocolate piece in her mouth. "I mean, that's how we got our print deal. They came looking for us. Mostly because we'd done the work already and had the readership. You obviously have the readership, and a zealous one at that."

Muscles I hadn't known that were tight in the back of my neck loosened at her words. "I do. But when I worked for The Major Label Who Shall Not Be Named, I found out that I was actually making one tenth of what I was worth. When I pushed back on my contract, which was up for renewal, they figured I'd cave. Who the hell wants to do all the backend work for my job?"

"You, I take it?"

"Impulsively, yes. I probably should have gone looking for a better agent. They figured making an action figure for me would quiet me down—it did not."

She gave me one of her rare, wide smiles. It crinkled the corners of her eyes and made her mouth instantly irresistible.

I actually leaned her way and almost kissed her.

Shaking that off, I reached for some popcorn instead. "I kept the action figure and left at the end of my contract. Thankfully, I had enough capital to do things myself. Much easier to do it with one project twice a year than to try and juggle four or five of them."

"Why didn't you go to one of the other companies? I'm not sure how graphic novels work."

"Once I was labeled as difficult to work with, it was hard to get a better deal. Voldemort thought I'd come crawling back to them if they bad-talked me enough."

She chuckled at the reference. "And that made you dig your heels in."

"Correct. What about you?"

She waved that away. "So, what made you go for more artists?"

"There are a whole lot of artists that are in shitty contracts. Or not shitty per se, but better for the publisher than the artist. Ones that would do so much better with a little capital and a publisher who actually cares about them. Unfortunately, I'm bleeding through capital these days, not the talent. I'm starting small, with a few independent comic book artists who are working on new projects. Those are investments and will take awhile to get moving. Which is good because I'm finding that the actual printing aspect of it is the real problem. Especially since I'm a small press."

I didn't want to say that I could be closing shit down before I even got started. I refused to believe it and that had been the fire inside me that got my first contract.

I would use it to get this done too.

"And you don't want investors," she said it matter-of-factly as if she already knew the answer.

Was I that transparent?

"Then I'd be right back to where I was. I want to keep the money funneling to the artists."

"You mean to you?" Her eyebrow arched.

"I'm a businessman too. But the artists who work with me get to share in the real profits, not the twenty percent or less that they usually get with the crap contracts out there."

She tipped her head and looked at me so hard that I was afraid she was tunneling into my actual brain. "I believe you."

"Imagine that? I'm not the asshole you thought I was."

She unfolded herself and stood. "Oh, you're definitely still an asshole," she said as she sauntered back to the kitchen.

Bruce, guessing the snacks were gone, wandered back to his sunbeam to continue his nap.

I did not mind watching her walk away, even with an insult in her wake. I closed the notebook and set it on the coffee table before following her into the kitchen. "I really am sorry, Duchess." I pressed my lips together and blew out my cheeks. "Rita."

"Look at that, he does learn." She leaned her elbows on the island, crossing her legs at the ankle, and gave me that smirky smile that made me want to kiss it off her mouth.

I stepped closer, stranding with one leg on either side of hers, then I caged her in with a hand on each side of her. "I'm a quick student." I licked my lips as I glanced down at her mouth. "Attentive, as well."

She bit her lower lip and that was all the invitation I needed this time. I lowered my mouth to hers, not touching her anywhere else. She didn't close her eyes at first. Suspicion and wariness were on full display.

Showing her that I didn't need to get her naked every time, I kept the kiss light and easy. I learned what she liked and was rewarded with a sigh as she straightened and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

Catching her close, I hooked my arm around her waist and pulled her flush to my chest. Since she was just about on her toes, I lifted her and set her on the island so she was above me.

She linked her fingers behind my neck and opened her legs to let me in close. When they lifted to grip my sides, I groaned into her mouth.

"Who knew that I'd find my dream girl in a bookstore?" I muttered against her mouth.

Her arms slid away and into her lap. "I'm not your dream girl. I'm not even your girl."

I straightened up and leaned back. "I mean, it's not ideal of course, but you can't deny this is good."

"Sex." The earlier softness was now more like freezer-burned ice cream. "Great sex even. Isn't that enough?"

I should be jumping for joy. This was what every single man in the world would want, but it left a bad taste in my mouth. Where only hours before, her honeyed taste had filled all my senses, and here when we'd been making out like a pair of teenagers.

It felt right in a way I hadn't expected to find.

Especially here in the Cove.

She pushed me back and jumped down. "You expect me to be into a guy who shows nothing but contempt for my work?"

"I apologized."

"For what, exactly?"

"For not understanding."

"Understanding that what I do is just as important as you?"

I jerked back. "I never said that."

"It's what you meant. Look, I've dealt with men like you my entire career. Looking down on what I do because it's a love story. Look at literature, pal. There's a love story in almost every book out there. But not yours."

"That's not what my character is about. It's okay for there to be differences out there. I'm well aware of that."

"Bet your series would be even better if you put some actual empathy in it. Maybe you should read one of my books and see what it's like to have an emotional thread in a story. Not just revenge."

The fact that a few of my later books had reviews saying exactly that, threw my back up.

"I'd say my sales say otherwise." My voice was tight and this side of a growl.

"Men who just want violence and retribution."

"It's good enough that you read it."

"It used to be great. Your characters were well-rounded and interesting, but lately, you've been diving deeper and deeper in the hate. Where's the character growth?"

"Now you're a critic?" The buzzing in my head was a low hum.

"No, I'm just a reader."

"I don't need your critique, and if you want to leave a shit review on the volume go ahead, but I don't need to listen to it."

"But all good for you to say the same about mine, right? Drivel, I think was the word."

"So, that's what this is about? Now who's into revenge, huh?" My chest tightened as anger simmered and bubbled up into offense.

"This is exactly why we wouldn't work for anything other than sex, Penn. Right here."

Bruce picked up on the tension and whined.

"Guess that's that, then. You can email me what you want to do at the workshop." I walked backward toward the sliding glass door.

She stood in the kitchen, her hands fisted at her sides and her mouth still swollen from mine.

How the hell had this gone so fucking wrong? And why did my chest hurt so goddamn much?