She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t even think about backing out on our deal. I can’t write if you’re going to be a noise polluter again.” She put her hands on her hips and leaned forward, a dark scowl forming on her face. “Did the plumber guy call and tell you he could come replace your water heater tomorrow or something?”
Ha. I wish. Not having hot water was a pain in the ass, even if showering wasn’t an issue.
She continued without giving me a chance to answer. “You said you wouldn’t drum for four weeks.”
“I remember. So I’ll take the ‘thinking with my mouth’ method under advisement.” I was mildly disappointed that she didn’t want to give me a break. On the other hand, it had been a long shot. Women, in my experience, were grabby creatures who liked to hang on to things, even if they didn’t need them anymore.
Emily gave me a long look and then finally said, “Okay,” like she was torn between fighting and settling into peace and satisfaction. Probably too much adrenaline. The woman seemed to be full of it.
But I understood. She was in the middle of creating something. She’d slept on the couch and gotten up early because her muse wouldn’t leave her alone. Restless energy and ideas must be swirling in her head like a tornado. You had to be prepared to grab them and get them down on paper, or they vanished as quickly as they’d come.
I envied her for it.
She glanced at her monitor, then looked up suddenly. “Hey, can you help me with something?”
The bright sparks in her eyes lightened her entire demeanor, and I stared at her, mesmerized. She looked like a mischievous pixie.
“With what?” Pixie or not, I was a little wary. She looked entirely too pleased with herself, and that couldn’t be good, could it?
“I’m trying to see if a particular scenario is possible.”
“Sure. Shoot.” I was willing to give her an opinion. Ideally, she’d have a question about sexual positions.
“Awesome.” She smiled happily. “So Molly is sitting here, perched like so.” Emily moved to the back of the couch and leaned her hip on the top, then squirmed around a bit until she seemed satisfied.
I knew Molly was Emily’s book character, but hearing it was still a little jarring. My brain kept bringing up Molly Patterson. And she’d never “perch” on anything. The woman preferred to sit, her butt parked firmly on a flat surface.
“And then she tips over backward. And Ryan has to catch her. Just so you know how it’s set up, he’s about three steps away from her.”
Must. Not.
Think about Ryan Johnson. He’d throw his geriatric back out attempting this maneuver.
“Why?” I asked. “You’re going to fall on the sofa.” Which looked incredibly soft and more than capable of keeping her uninjured. Actually, it might be more comfortable and safer for her to fall on it than to rely on some guy catching her.
Emily wagged her index finger. “Because Molly’s not going to fall on the sofa in the book! She’s perched on a wall, trying to escape, and loses her balance when a dog barks and startles her. I want to see if it’s realistic for me to end up on top of you if you catch me and roll over or whatever to keep me safe and all that, like the hero you’re supposed to be, you know?”
Ohh… Her on top of me. If I were a romance hero, how would I have this go?
Would she be straddling me? Most likely. Better balance that way. On my belly…? No, that wouldn’t be comfortable. She should straddle me lower. Nestle against my dick. After all, where else should she be flush against except my cock?
Yeah, that was perfect. And sexy as hell. I looked at her curves. Mmm, definitely hot. My blood started flowing faster. I shifted to hide my dick’s eager reaction to my imagination.
“If Ryan’s as smooth as me? Sure, it could happen,” I said, as though stuff like that happened to me all the time. “Hell, I’d make it happen.”
She tapped her chin with her index finger thoughtfully. “But I write contemporary romance. So it can’t have Hollywood-esque special effects action.”
“There won’t be any special effects involved.” A real man didn’t need Hollywood to have a hot woman straddle him properly.
Her lips tightened. “Let’s block out the scene. I want to make sure. Skye said it wasn’t physically possible, but I think she’s wrong.”
“Who’s Skye?”
“My writing friend. I asked her to act it out with her husband because her house has a fence she could use to set the scene, but he’s apparently out of town on business. She said it was more likely that Ryan falls on Molly while trying to catch her, but that won’t work because it isn’t romantic. Anyway, we bet two shots of tequila at a book signing we’re going to in San Francisco, so come on.” She beckoned me closer. “I have to prove her wrong.”
The gleam in her eyes reminded me of a stubborn goat. But far be it from me to leave a woman in distress.
“Anyway, I’m going to tip over,” she said, rubbing her hands eagerly.