Did Not Finish, page 6
I don’t like that we have something else in common—our mutual loathing of cats. It makes me identify with him and I don’t want to do that. I need to remember why I’m here—to learn from the best—and not want to delve into what makes this enigmatic man tick.
“By your expression, I take it you’re not a fan either?”
I grimace. “Is it that obvious?”
“Do you like dogs?”
“Love them.”
“That’s okay then.” The glimmer of a smile hovers and I wonder how breathtakingly gorgeous he would be if he relaxed long enough for a full-blown grin. “Otherwise, I’d think you have no soul.”
The faintest hum is back, the tension between us stretching taut in our awkward pause, and I rush to fill the silence. “Was there something you wanted?”
He shifts his weight onto the balls of his feet and thrusts his hands into his pockets, discomfort etched across his face. “I wanted to apologize.”
“For?”
“The way I ended our session before.” He winces. “I didn’t mean to imply you’re not a real writer.”
“Yet you did.” I cross my arms and lean against the door, my inner imp wanting to make him squirm. “I think you’re an amazing writer and it’s a dream come true for me to get feedback from you, but if you have a problem with me, perhaps it’s best we get it out in the open now?”
I can’t read the shifting emotions in his eyes. There’s something he’s not telling me and considering I write suspense I love solving a good mystery.
“I’m not a people person,” he eventually says, but I know there’s more to it.
I’m curious, but now’s not the time to push for answers. I can’t afford to antagonize him, not when the few hours feedback I just got will take my manuscript to the next level, and I want him to read the rest of what I’ve written.
I also want to pick his brains about any contacts he may have in the romance genre. Not that I’m going to reveal my passion for regency romance just yet, but the more information I can glean from him, the easier it’s going to be for me to get published. I hope. And that means playing nice with the grouchy author.
“Well, considering you’re going to be hosting me and another five people shortly, may I suggest you loosen up a little?”
His face screws up, whether at the thought of more people invading his home or at my sass, I have no idea.
“Uh, there’s something I have to tell you.”
Once again, I can’t get a read on him, but he’s not happy. His back is ramrod straight and he can’t look me in the eye.
“What is it?”
“I got a text from Buzz about an hour ago that I didn’t see until I checked my cell.” His brows pull together. “We’re cut off.”
“Cut off from what?”
“Everything.” He points to my window where the curtains are drawn. “We’re snowed in.”
I shrug. I’m stuck in a sprawling luxurious ranch-style house with a best-selling author. There are worse things. “That’s okay, unless you tell me you’re out of food.”
“We have enough food to feed an army.” He shakes his head. “That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?”
“The blizzard is forecasted to intensify, which means we might be snowed in.” He pauses for emphasis. “For a week.”
That’s the moment I realize I’m trapped, alone, with a man who doesn’t want me here, a man I find infinitely appealing.
Chapter Twelve
AXEL
* * *
Usually, being snowed in wouldn’t bother me. A week or more of uninterrupted writing time, with unreliable wi-fi access meaning I don’t have to converse with Chrissie or Rolf, my editor, is practically a dream come true.
But that dream has turned into a nightmare with Mia Samson stuck in my house too.
The funny thing is, when I told her the bad news, she’d been stoic, but I hadn’t missed the glint of excitement in her eyes.
And that doesn’t bode well for me.
Because the kicker is, I know where that excitement stems from.
Good old-fashioned lust.
I know because I feel it too, that tenuous connection, an underlying simmer of…something between us that could detonate if we let it.
And I can’t go there, no matter how much I’m tempted.
I have more important things to worry about than my dormant libido, and with Mia thankfully holed up in her room, I can call Paula. I’m anxious, because I check in at least twice a week and with this snowstorm, the wi-fi can drop out at any minute. I have a generator but during storms the wi-fi is sketchy at best so I can’t imagine it’s going to hold out long in a blizzard.
The staff at Sunny Pines are expecting my call so when I close the library door, sit at my desk, flip open my laptop and hit the call button, it doesn’t take long for Paula’s face to pop up on the screen. My heart gives a familiar squeeze when I see the vacant look in my sister’s eyes; eyes once filled with so much vibrance.
“Hey, Sis.” I wave. “Great to see you.”
The corners of Paula’s mouth pull up into a semi-smile and it lightens my heart like it usually does. The fact she can recognize me and comprehend what I’m saying is a vast improvement on the early days after the accident, when her brain had suffered so much trauma that the docs weren’t even sure she’d make it. At times I still wish I could have her here with me, but the extent of her physical and cognitive impairment means that’s impossible, so it’s some consolation I can pay for the premier special accommodation facility for patients like Paula, somewhat relieved she’s being cared for by experts who are doing a far better job than I ever could.
But it does little for the nagging guilt I can’t shift no matter how hard I try.
Paula’s in this condition because of me.
Noni, Paula’s primary caregiver, pops onto the screen beside her. “Hey, Axel. How are you?”
“Good.”
A blatant lie but I keep up the pretense for Paula’s sake. I haven’t been good in a long time.
“How’s the building business treating you?”
“Busy.” The lie slides easily from my lips.
To Noni and the rest of the world, I’m Axel Moore, carpenter. When I came up with the pseudonym Axel Low, I stuck with my first name so I wouldn’t get tripped up, but I know that—combined with my voice on the literary podcast and the gem I’d inadvertently let slip—was what alerted Paula’s ex to our whereabouts.
“We’ve been busy too, haven’t we, Paula?” Noni smiles and I’ve never been more grateful to the fifty-something nurse when Paula leans into her, a peaceful expression on her face. Knowing my sister has someone she trusts completely and is happy being looked after by is a weight off my shoulders. “Want to show Axel what you made?”
Paula holds up a poster board punctured with tiny holes, where brightly colored dots have been pressed into it in the shape of a rudimentary black cat.
“Mr. Darcy?” I ask and Paula nods, pride that I’ve recognized her efforts making her skin flush. And in that moment, I’m glad that annoying cat leaped onto my desk the last time we video-called if it’s prompted Paula to do this.
“We’ve been reading books about cats too,” Noni says, and a familiar pain lances me. Paula used to be my beta reader, devouring everything I wrote and giving me copious notes. These days, she can barely recognize letters let alone read a full sentence.
“That’s great.” I force a smile, when inside I’m fighting a familiar ache that’s spreading across my chest. An ache of loss, regret, and what might’ve been if I’d done things differently and hadn’t agreed to that interview that led to my sister’s life being turned upside down. “Just to let you know, we’re having a freak snowstorm here at the moment, so depending on the wi-fi situation, I might not be able to call again later this week.”
“No problems. We’re all good here.” Noni gently squeezes Paula’s shoulders. “You take care in that storm, okay?”
“Shall do.”
Paula’s lost interest in my call and is fiddling with the dots that make up the cat, her bangs falling across her eyes like it used to when she’d been a kid. I did everything in my power to protect her growing up and it still wasn’t enough, and that’s something I’ll have to live with every damn day.
“Bye, Paula. Love you.” I kiss my fingertips and press them against the screen in the same way I end all our calls.
Sometimes she tries to copy me, but the effort required for eye to hand to mouth coordination is too hard. Today, she’s disinterested, and I end the call before Noni and my sister see the tears filling my eyes.
Chapter Thirteen
MIA
* * *
When I’m this jittery only one person can talk me down.
Rosie.
Besides, while Axel reassured me he has a generator so we shouldn’t lose power, he mentioned the wi-fi is spotty during storms and we may lose contact with the outside world at any time. It wouldn’t bother me usually. Heck, how many writers worldwide would give anything to be snowed in with Axel Low?
Personally, it’s a dream come true. If it wasn’t for the teensy-weeny issue of my burgeoning crush.
I can’t afford to screw up this opportunity but that’s exactly what will happen if I give in to the relentless impulse to see if I can get him to lighten up in the best possible way.
He’s hot. Better than the sexiest book boyfriend. I blame those elusive fictional men on my failure to find a guy who’s good enough. Turns out, real men aren’t alpha with a beta core. If they’re alpha, they’re usually arrogant and self-absorbed. And the beta guys don’t provide me with enough of a challenge, so I’m destined for dating disasters and that’s where Rosie comes in.
She’ll get me out of this funk. She has in the past. She’ll talk sense and I’ll listen.
At least, that’s what I hope.
She’s having issues with the video call feature on her ancient cell, so I pull up my favorites list and tap the first name, hers. Speaks volumes for my social life that I have three people listed: Rosie, Jace, and Mom. And I rarely hit the last name.
Rosie answers on the second ring, like she’s been clutching her cell waiting for my call. “Tell me everything, babe.”
“Hello to you too.”
She makes a pfft sound. “I’m dying to know about the mysterious Axel Low. And if he’s the troll you expected him to be, how about the other writers there? Any hotties?”
Predictably, Rosie hasn’t let me get a word in. I love my verbose friend because she’s a nice foil for me. I stick to the less is more mantra when chatting. I’m a listener, always have been. Maybe that’s why someone like Axel fascinates me so much? I want to plumb his hidden depths.
“Do you think about anything but guys?”
This time, she blows a raspberry. “You forget, I’m a year older than you and turning thirty soon.”
“So? You’ll be flirty thirty.” I lower my voice and snigger. “Or dirty thirty.”
“Whatever. If I’m still single by then, I’m moving to Australia.”
“Why Australia?”
“Hello? Have you seen Chris Hemsworth?”
I swear my muscles relax just listening to my friend. Even her prattle is calming. “Speaking of hot Aussies…turns out, Axel looks like Alex O’Loughlin.”
There’s a long silence before Rosie’s squeal has me easing my cell away from my ear.
“No way.”
Remembering how the flecks in Axel’s eyes glow when he’s passionate about something—like talking about writing—makes my cheeks flush. “Yeah. Turns out he’s only thirty-eight, so not quite the vintage I imagined from his prose.”
“Axel and Alex. Isn’t that funny?”
I can think of many words to describe either of those men. Funny isn’t one of them.
“What’s he like, apart from drop-dead gorgeous?” Rosie asks.
I want to say ‘nice’ but that’s not exactly true. And way too inadequate to describe a guy of Axel’s caliber.
“He’s…intense.”
“Oooh, what does that mean?”
Rude. Standoffish. Moody. But oddly, I don’t want to disparage him to my best friend, especially when I barely know him.
Yet I know enough, like the way he absentmindedly twirls a pen between his thumb and forefinger while critiquing, how his tongue flicks out to sweep his top lip after the first sip of coffee, and the faintest dimple that appears when he smiles.
It’s crazy, because we’re virtually strangers, but spending the last few hours cocooned in his library, listening to him, spellbound by his every word as he went through my partial like he really understands my plot, has made me go a little loopy for the guy.
“Babe? If you don’t tell me what intense means, I’m going to come down there and see for myself. And I’m pretty sure you don’t want me cramping your style.”
Rosie doesn’t cramp my style. She obliterates it. Not that I have style, per se, but any time we go out to a bar and meet cute guys, she never fails to embarrass me by regaling them with tales of my dorkiness: working on the college newspaper, my total ineptitude on rollerblades, how I barely swing my arms when I jog. If she wasn’t so adorable, I’d hate her.
“You can’t come here.”
She snorts. “Is that a challenge? Because you know what I love more than tall, tattooed guys, right? A challenge.”
I hadn’t planned on telling Rosie I’m snowed in because I know she’ll make too much of it, especially now I’ve revealed how hot Axel is. So much for her talking me down from my wee crush. Once she hears this, she’ll go mad.
“You can’t come here because we’re snowed in.”
“Bummer. Must be weird being stuck with a bunch of strangers, even if Axel Low is hot.”
I brace for a signature Rosie squeal and move the cell away from my ear again. “That’s the thing. I’m the first to arrive.”
There’s a pause as she digests the implication behind what I’ve just said. “It’s just you and him?”
Hesitating isn’t going to prevent the level of excitement my admission is about to elicit. “Yeah.”
Her squeal is so loud I swear my cell vibrates. “You are so going to bone the hot author.”
Heat flushes my cheeks at the thought. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t blur professional lines.”
Rosie chuckles. “What professional lines? You’re not working together. You won a competition to spend some time picking his brains. That’s not work. That’s luck.” She makes smooching sounds. “And now you’re about to get even luckier.”
An image of his living room springs to mind—blazing fire, low-lit lamps, large cushions on the floor, the two of us stuck here—and I squeeze my thighs together. “You’re not helping, Rosie Posey.”
“I’m the last person to talk you out of anything, you should know that by now.” She pauses and I can almost hear the wheels turning in her head. “Wait a minute. Is that why you called? You’ve got the hots for Mr. Intense, and you wanted me to talk you out of it?”
She knows me too well. “Something like that.”
Her laughter is loud and boisterous, my friend to a tee. “I’ve got two words for you. Do him.”
She has no idea how much I want to, so I reach for a subject guaranteed to distract. “Jace is having a party next week. You should come.”
“I know…” She realizes her mistake a second too late and groans. “I know you warned me off him, but I can’t help myself. You know I love a bad boy.”
“You love all boys,” I say, knowing Rosie is smart enough to see through Jace’s BS but hoping she doesn’t get hurt regardless.
“Did he say something to you about us talking this morning?”
“No, but I know you. I warned you off him, so I knew you’d contact him.”
“Smart-ass,” she mutters. “Relax, babe. I know he’s only good for a little fun. It’s not like I want to marry the guy.”
Now it’s my turn to groan. “Please. Anyone but him.”
“No other hotties in the wilds of Sugar Plain that I can corrupt?”
Cole is tall, dark, and handsome in a lumberjack kind of way, but the chances of Rosie setting foot in Nebraska are nil, so he’s safe.
“Does that mean you’re willing to leave Manhattan if I find you a local stud?”
“No freaking way.”
We laugh in unison. Rosie’s a city girl through and through. The furthest she ventures from Manhattan is the Hamptons and that’s only under great sufferance. The newspaper CEO has a house there and he rents it out to staff for one weekend each over summer. A great perk I take advantage of.
“Anyway, I must go. Axel gave me some excellent ideas for my manuscript that I want to implement.”
Rosie huffs out a sigh. “Don’t work too hard. Especially when you’re stuck with the hot Aussie lookalike. What’s his house like?”
“As big and impressive as the rest of him,” I deadpan, and she laughs.
“That’s my girl. Keep me posted, okay?”
I don’t tell her I may not get the opportunity if the cellular coverage cuts out. “Sure. And you take it easy on Jace. I have to work with him, remember?”
“I promise to be gentle.” She snickers. “Take care, babe.”
“You too.”
Rosie hangs up and I’m left staring at my cell, wondering if it’s such a bad thing to be cut off from the outside world completely.
Especially if it means I have Axel Low all to myself.
Chapter Fourteen
AXEL
* * *
Writing is my full-time job and I treat it as such. I don’t wait for the fabled muse to strike. I sit at my desk every single day, do a quick re-read of the last chapter I wrote, then pick up where I left off. I’m a plotter so I know where the story is heading and using digital color-coded index cards for different characters means I can see at a glance which scene comes next.
