Page 155 of His Reckoning

“Yeah, right,” I mutter to myself.

I shake my head and keep moving because that’s impossible.

Absolutely not happening.

* * *

By the time I reach the apartment, the quiet feels almost strange.

Sawyer isn’t home yet. The penthouse is too big when it’s empty.

I kick my shoes off near the door and toss my purse onto the kitchen island before wandering toward the couch.

I open my laptop and stare at the blinking cursor.

For weeks, that stupid little line mocked me. Every time I sat down to write, my brain stalled out halfway through the first sentence.

Lately, something has changed. The steamy scenes were never the problem. Those always came easily, especially when living with Sawyer.

It was the hero. Who he was. What lived underneath all the charm and control. What kind of man hides behind the charm and the control.

I lean back in the chair, tapping my fingers against the keyboard.

The more time I spend around Sawyer … the clearer that man becomes. I’ve never written about a billionaire before. It was never my idea of romance.

They’re too cold, arrogant … untouchable.

Sawyer makes it different. He inspires me.

Not just the way he looks at me, but the man underneath all that control. The one who’s guarded and closed off and carrying something heavier than he lets anyone see.

My fingers finally start moving over the keys. The story forming in my head is different now.

The hero is still powerful. Still grumpy and impossible, but now there’s something else there too.

Something softer underneath all the control. I haven’t written that part yet, but I will. I stare at it for a moment, but my mind drifts somewhere else.

Back to last night, to the shower. The way Sawyer looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

And then … the scars. Unease settles low in my chest.

I can still feel the way his body jerked when I touched them.

The way he almost pulled away.

Whatever had happened to him … it wasn’t small. And the weirdest part is, I don’t feel scared of it.

If anything, it just makes me want to understand him more, which feels like the kind of attachment that changes everything.

My phone buzzes on the couch.

Mom.

I close my eyes briefly before answering. “Hi, Mom.”

Her voice comes through immediately, bright and overly cheerful. “Oh, good, you picked up. I was just talking to your sister.”

That’s never a good start.