His voice came from right behind her.
At the open doorway, she turned and almost bumped into his chest.
“Oh, sorry.” Wow, was his chest really that broad, or was she just so close it looked like he was taking up the whole world? Heat poured from his body, reaching for her, tingling her nerve endings. And he smelled so good, too.
Kelly shook her head and ignored the flutter of expectation awakening in the pit of her stomach. Deliberately, she fought for lighthearted, then tipped her head back and smiled up at him. “You know, I think I should get another point.”
“For what?”
“For surprising you by not asking questions.”
He studied her as if he were trying to figure out a puzzle. But after a second or two, he nodded. “You want to keep score? Then add this into the mix.”
He pulled her in close and kissed her.
One
“Sorry about this,” Micah Hunter said. “I really liked you a lot, but you had to die.”
Leaning back in his desk chair, Micah’s gaze scanned the last few lines of the scene he’d just finished writing. He gave a small sigh of satisfaction at the death of one of his more memorable characters, then closed the lid of the laptop.
He’d already been working for four hours and it was past time for a break. “Problem is,” he muttered, standing up and walking to the window overlooking the front of the house, “there’s nowhere to go.”
Idly he pulled out his cell phone, hit speed dial, then listened to the phone ring for a second or two. Finally a man came on the other line.
“How did I let you talk me into coming here for six months?”
Sam Hellman laughed. “Good to talk to you, too, man.”
“Yeah.” Of course his best friend was amused. Hell, if Micah wasn’t the one stranded here in small-town America, he might be amused, too. As it was, though, he didn’t see a damn thing funny about it. Micah pushed one hand through his hair and stared out at the so-called view. The house he was currently renting was an actual Victorian mansion set back from a wide street that was lined by gigantic, probably ancient, trees, now gold and red as their leaves changed and died. The sky was a brilliant blue, the autumn sun peeking out from behind thick white clouds. It was quiet, he thought. So quiet it was damn near creepy.
And since the suspense/horror novels Micah was known for routinely hit number one on the New York Times bestseller list, he knew a thing or two about creepy.
“Seriously, Sam, I’m stuck here for another four months because you talked me into signing the lease.”
Sam laughed. “You’re stuck there because you never could turn down a challenge.”
Harsh but true. Nobody knew that about Micah better than Sam. They’d met when they were both kids, serving on the same US Navy ship. Sam had run away from his wealthy family’s expectations, and Micah had been running from a past filled with foster homes, lies and broken promises. The two of them had connected and then stayed in touch when their enlistments were up.
Sam had returned to New York and the literary agency his grandfather had founded—discovering, after being away for a while, that he actually wanted to be a part of the family business. Micah had taken any construction job he could find while he spent every other waking moment working on a novel.
Even as a kid, Micah had known he wanted to write books. And when he finally started writing, it seemed the words couldn’t pour out of his mind fast enough. He typed long into the night, losing himself in the story developing on the screen. Finishing that first book, he’d felt like a champion runner—exhausted, satisfied and triumphant.
He’d sent that first novel to Sam, who’d had a few million suggestions to make it even better. Nobody liked being told to change something they thought was already great, but Micah had been so determined to reach his goal, he’d made most of the changes. And the book sold almost immediately for a modest advance that Micah was more proud of than anything he’d ever earned before.