Page 111 of Falling for the Enemy

“Did you want to?”

“No. I worked for months on revisions and had planned an entire series out. I felt like I finally discovered my calling. And I loved every part of it.” She gave him a shy smile and admitted, “To me, writing is like air. I can hold my breath and go without it for a while, but eventually, parts of me start to wither and die without it. It’s painful when I go too long without creating. Everything starts to fall apart. I need it. It’s part of who I am.”

He nodded as if he understood needing something so deeply. “You love it.”

“Yes.” And she’d followed her heart. “When I got my first real royalty check, I called the realtor. The house was still on the market, and I told him I wanted it, even though—at the time—it was ugly and in need of repairs.”

“It held memories.”

She didn’t know if buying the house was about keeping those memories or erasing them and creating new ones. In her mother’s eyes, she’d become the serpent in the garden. Maybe she was. “I bought it because I’m a petty bitch.”

At that, he laughed.

“I wanted the final word. I wanted to look them in the eye one last time and for them to see what my sin had bought. I wanted to make sure she knew the money that would buy her new home and put food on her table had come from that sin. I wanted her to taste it, all the way down in Tennessee.”

“Did it feel good, being able to have that last word?”

“Hell-fucking-yes.” But it would never feel as good as their acceptance might have felt.

Being disowned wasn’t a common circumstance. Other people couldn’t imagine how such abandonment felt, so she stopped trying to explain it a long time ago. But Soren somehow understood enough to meet her confession with real empathy.

It was cathartic to say these things out loud. Sort of like a gut check that reminded her she had done okay.

“We don’t talk anymore. And before you ask, no, I’m not secretly hoping we’ll reconcile.”

He nodded. “My dad hated that he couldn’t control us. He always said I was too stubborn. Bullheaded, was the term he used.” He breathed out a laugh. “The irony is, all the things he criticized in us were traits we inherited from him.”

“Not me. My mother’s never entertained a carnal thought in her life. I’m pretty sure I was conceived through immaculate conception.”

At that, he did laugh and the mood lifted. They finished the rest of the meal dancing around heavy topics, but never fully avoiding them. Both she and Soren had screwed up parents and, in a way, she liked that they shared that.

“What do you say we get out of here? Head back to my place like a couple of filthy-minded heathens and see how hard we can sin.”

She set her napkin on the table. “I’ll race you to the car.”

As they left the restaurant, Soren kept a hand on the base of her spine. He opened doors and slowed his pace to match her shorter strides. But when they got to his SUV, he pressed a hand to the door. “Wait.”

When she turned, he crowded her with his body, pinning her back to the car.

“I’ve been dying to kiss you all night.”

Relieved nothing was wrong, she softened. “Okay. Go ahead. This is a date after all. I suppose you’ve earned a kiss goodnight.”

Stepping closer, his hard body pressed into hers. Her hands rested on the solid plain of his chest, gliding up to his broad shoulders, to wreath around his neck. When his mouth brushed hers, the contact was soft and coaxing.

As his lips teased softly over hers, she whispered, “You better kiss me like you mean it, Hawthorne.”

There was a split second of reservation, then his control snapped.

A deep groan radiated from his chest as he claimed her mouth with unrestrained possession. Greedy and commanding, he kissed her as if trying to consume her soul. Her back pressed into the metal door, cool from the sea air, making her front burn all the more from his touch.

“Jesus, Jocelyn…” He pushed into her, pulling her closer as if trying to climb through her.

She breathed against his throat as he dragged his mouth along her jaw, his hands gripping her ass, lifting her, pinning her against the car. Her leg hooked around his hip and she arched into him as he ground his body against her damp panties.

Hand pushed under her dress, he wrenched the damp silk aside, shoving his fingers into her. She moaned, reclaiming his mouth, as her hands forked through his hair.

“More,” she begged, legs locked around his hips and her dress twisted about her waist.