Page 58 of His Reckoning

Yesterday, I was just vaguely aware that Sawyer was an attractive man.

Now my brain has apparently decided we’re cataloging details, like the way his hands move when he sets the plates down or how his shoulders shift when he leans against the counter. Or the fact that his voice always drops a bit when he’s talking about something serious.

This is not helpful.

He slides a plate toward me. “Eat.”

“Yes, sir.”

His eyes flick up immediately.

I grin. “Relax. I’m kidding.”

His deep green eyes appear darker. “I’m aware.”

We eat in relative silence for a few minutes. It would be normal, except the silence feels charged, as if the air in the kitchen is just a little too warm.

Sawyer clears his throat and takes a drink of water. “So …”

“So …” I reply softly.

“That book …”

I nearly choke on my pasta. “Oh my God.”

“I have questions.”

I try not to roll my eyes. “Of course you do.”

He leans back slightly against the counter, looking very serious about the entire situation. “Your readers enjoy that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I stare at him. “Why do people enjoy romance?”

“Yes.”

I blink slowly. “That is a very big question.”

He gestures toward the book. “That scene was very … detailed.”

“That’s because it’s a romance novel.”

He studies me again with the same thoughtful expression he had earlier, like he’s trying to reevaluate something.

“You’re not what I expected,” he says finally.

“From a romance writer?”

“Yes.”

“What did you expect?”

He considers that for a moment. “Someone quieter.”

I laugh. “Oh, you definitely got the wrong person.”