He picked up the pillow next to him and put it behind his upper back, then settled against it. “So you’re saying you could write when I was there and couldn’t after I left.”

“Yes. Apparently. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but now I really need to know. I haven’t written that much in one sitting in months.”

“You want me to sit here while you write to see if it happens again?”

“Yes.”

He clasped his hands over his middle. “Okay.”

“That’s it? You don’t mind?”

The corner of his mouth turned up in a grin. “Nope.”

How was he so adorable?

But I hadn’t invited him over so I could contemplate his attractiveness.

“Do you want something to do while I work, or will you be fine just like that?”

“I’m pretty comfortable. I got that massage and I feel awesome.” He shifted against the pillows and glanced around the room again. “Are those your books?”

I had a small stack of them on a shelf next to the closet. “Yeah.”

“Can I read one?”

Normally I would have cringed in horror at the idea of someone reading one of my books in the same room as me. But for some reason, Gavin reading my work didn’t send me into a tailspin of anxiety.

“Sure. Any preference as to which one?”

“Surprise me.”

I grabbed one about an FBI profiler working to solve a series of murders that turn out to be the same killer who got away from him a decade earlier. It had a lot of twists and turns, and some rather graphic crime scene descriptions. But all my books were at least a little morbid, so there was no sense in trying to hide that from him.

Cullen had disapproved. Encouraged me to tone it down. Especially in this book.

Shaking off that unpleasant thought, I handed the book to Gavin.

“This is fucking awesome.” He ran his hands across the title, down to my name printed in large letters at the bottom.

“Thanks. I hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I will.” He opened it and flipped to the first chapter. “Okay writer monkey, get to work.”

Leaving him to it, I sat down at my desk. Flipped open my laptop, took a deep breath, and laid my fingers on the keyboard.

At first, nothing happened. I was hyper aware of Gavin on the bed behind me. He turned the page, the sound of the crisp paper making the hair on my arms stand on end, and I wasn’t thinking about the story. I was thinking about him.

This had happened at the coffee shop. When he’d first sat down with me, I’d been completely distracted, daydreams running rampant through my mind. So this time, I let the fantasy play out.

I crawl on top of him. Brace myself against the headboard while he unzips his pants. He’s commando, no underwear to get in the way. I’m in a dress so all he has to do is slide my panties to the side and—

He turned another page. I sucked in a quick breath, feeling my cheeks heat up and the throbbing between my legs intensify.

He moves my panties to the side, aligns the tip of his cock with my opening, and I slide down onto him. His fingers dig into my hips as he moves me up and down.

God, it would feel good.

I blinked, my attention turning back to the words I’d written earlier. I forced myself to stop thinking about sex with Gavin, and re-read the last few paragraphs.

And then, as if by magic, I started to write.

The distracting arousal hadn’t gone anywhere. I squirmed in my seat a few times, trying to get comfortable. But the physical sensations in my body faded. Because right now, my main character was about to miss an important clue. Something that was going to come back to haunt her later.

I wrote in a frenzied rush, my sense of time and space falling away. My body relaxed as my fingers clicked on the keyboard without stopping. No barriers. No inner voice jumping in to interrupt the flow of thoughts. I just wrote.

Reaching a natural break in the story, I once again became aware of reality. The glow of the laptop and the plastic keys beneath my fingertips. The chair. Gavin on the bed behind me. The lingering pressure of arousal from my earlier fantasy.

But there were words on my screen. It had worked.

For the moment, I didn’t let myself ponder the ramifications of only being able to write when I was with Gavin. I’d figure that out—somehow. I just read the result, bracing myself for it to be a nonsensical jumble of useless prose. Or worse, a retelling of the sexual fantasy I’d indulged in before I’d started.

It was neither of those things. Instead, I’d written a very usable chapter that posed enough interesting questions to hopefully keep the reader turning the pages.

Satisfied and bewildered, I closed my laptop and turned around.

Gavin’s eyes were glued to the pages of my book. By his expression, I guessed the main character had probably just discovered the first murder scene. It was pretty grisly.

“It worked,” I said.

He jerked, like I’d startled him. “What?”

“The experiment worked. I wrote another chapter.”

With his finger holding his spot, he closed the book. “No shit?”

“I’ve written more today than I have in the last few months combined.”

“That’s awesome.” He held up the book. “You’re really good. This book is so intense. My heart’s still pounding.”

I smiled, his compliment filling me with warmth. “Thank you.”

“I’m serious, I’ve never read anything like it. It felt like I was right there. Although you’ve got some messed up shit in that head of yours.” His mouth hooked in a grin. “I like it.”

“Thanks. My…” I paused and avoided saying that Cullen was my ex. “My agent thought I’d sell better if I toned things down.”

“No way. The crime scene was graphic, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as good if you’d skipped all the details.”

“That’s what I said. Ultimately, my editor agreed, although I had to argue with her about it too.”

“I’m glad you stood up for yourself.”

I smiled. “Thanks. Me too.”

A flash of my earlier fantasy came to mind, as did the knowledge that we were alone in my bedroom. Dad was at work, and it felt inexplicably naughty to have Gavin stretched out on my bed like that.

My eyes flicked to his groin. I couldn’t help myself. His jeans barely concealed the bulge in his pants, and I had to glance away quickly.

“I know you can’t come over and sit around every day while I write, but—”

“Sure I can.”

I laughed. “No you can’t.”

“Are you assuming I don’t have time? Because honey, right now I’ve got more of that than I know what to do with. But if you’re saying that because you don’t want me to, that’s another story.”

“I just can’t ask you to always be here when I need to write. That’s not really a solution to my problem. Not long term, at least.”

He shrugged. “Maybe you just need a jump start. How about I come over tomorrow and we see if it works again?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. But can I bring my kitten? I don’t think she should be alone too long.”

Oh my god, he needed to stop being so cute before I lost my mind and launched myself at him. “Of course. I didn’t know you had a kitten.”