Page 14 of Five Minute Man
His voice was barely audible. “You’re a Dominatrix, aren’t you?”
For a moment, her eyes grew huge. Then she laughed. Not a polite chuckle, either; but a real, hearty, genuine laugh that had her shoulders shaking. It filled his chest with sunlight, making him feel as if he really had just won a great prize.
“Come on.” He winked. “You can tell me. What are you hiding beneath that sweater? A leather bustier? Lace corset? Whips? Chains?”
It made her laugh even harder until she had tears coming out of her eyes and she was gasping for breath. He loved a woman who could laugh like that. The fact that he was the reason behind it? Even better.
“Oh, God, Adam,” she said when she could speak again, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard. Thank you for that.”
He grinned back. “So, I’m right, right?”
“Not even close.” She chuckled. “I’m a writer.” Next to Dominatrix, it sounded pretty tame, which was exactly what he’d had in mind. It didn’t take a mind reader to sense that she was worried about telling him what she did.
He snapped his fingers. “Damn.Soclose.”
In that moment, his mind snapped a mental picture of her—eyes sparkling, smiling at him, radiant. She was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. His heart even skipped a few beats to emphasize that thought. It shook him a little.
“So, what’s so bad about being a writer?” he asked, sipping his coffee, trying to regain his equilibrium.
“Nothing.” The laughter faded away and some of the uncertainty re-entered her voice. Adam didn’t like it at all. “Unless you write fiction.”
“Worked pretty well for J.K. Rowling, didn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said, drawing out the word. She looked down at her mug, tracing the handle with her index finger. He noticed she did that when she was feeling nervous. “But I don’t write about boy wizards.”
“What do you write about?” he prodded.
She didn’t want to tell him. He could sense it, practically see the battle raging behind those pretty green eyes. Finally, her features went carefully neutral, a self-defense mechanism if he ever saw one.
“Vampires. Shifters. Angels and dragons. Medieval Scottish Highlanders. Navy SEALs.” She exhaled, afraid to meet his eyes. “I write romance novels, Adam.”
