Page 89 of His Reckoning

I fold my arms. “You interrupted my work.”

“You weren’t working.”

“I absolutely was.”

“You were thinking about the same thing you’d been thinking about for the last twenty-four hours.”

My stomach flips slightly.

“And what would that be?” I ask.

Sawyer scoots closer—too close. “The kiss.” The composed control in his voice hasn’t changed, but there’s something sharper underneath it now.

The room goes very still after that.

My entire train of thought derails instantly.

“That shouldn’t have happened.”

Sawyer’s eyebrow lifts slightly. “Was it?”

“Yes.”

“Then why do I have a feeling you haven’t written a single page all day?”

“That’s not?—”

“You were stuck for weeks,” he says calmly. “Now you write every time I get near you.”

“That’s coincidence.”

“It isn’t.”

He reaches down, grabs my laptop from the couch, and sets it on the coffee table. Then he takes my hand. Before I can react, he pulls me to my feet.

“Hey—”

The next thing I know, my back is against the tall glass window overlooking the city. Sawyer’s hand lands against the glass beside my shoulder, trapping me between him and the cool surface. The skyline stretches behind me, lights everywhere, but my attention is completely locked on the man standing far too close in front of me.

“You can keep denying it,” he says quietly, “or you can be honest.”

“About what?”

“About the fact that I help.”

My breath catches slightly. “You don’t help.”

Sawyer leans closer. Just enough that I can feel the warmth of him through my shirt.

“You come alive when I’m around.”

“That’s not true.”

“You stop overthinking the second I walk into the room.”

“That’s unrelated.”

He watches me for a moment. A slow smile appears. “You’re a terrible liar.”