"One tall vanilla latte with an extra pump of vanilla and whipped cream, please." I tell the barista my order who taps away on the screen in front of her.

"Name?"

"Delilah."

"Like the song?"

I stifle a sigh. Why did my mother do this to me? "Yes, like the song."

"Your order will be ready over there." She points to where the straws and coffee sleeves are after accepting my payment and I shift myself.

While I wait for my drink, I flip through my notebook and go over the plot for my current story. I've finished writing it but there's a few changes my editor wants me to make that she claims will make it "undeniably publish-worthy." The deadline for my final draft is at the end of the week and then my editor will send my book out to every company she knows. A lot of them are already expecting to hear from us because of my editor's connections. I'm beyond grateful that she stumbled into the library I work at out of luck and that I felt comfortable enough with her to tell her I'm an aspiring author. When she whipped out her business card and informed me that she'd like to work with me, I almost passed out. I didn't think she was serious until Mom forced me to get over my nerves and call only for her to answer saying she was beyond anxious to read my work. Her and I mesh really well. We have the same taste in books and she's super supportive of my work but also blunt when she needs to be. It's a good match, that's for sure.

I grab my order once they call my name and find a tall table at the back with two empty stools. I set my things down and take my laptop out of my messenger bag, powering it up and plugging the charger in the charging port. When I've got my document open, I immediately get lost in my story and start typing away at the keyboard.

It's a romance story about a hometown girl who lives on a ranch and takes care of animals in her simple and quiet life when she's suddenly bombarded with an angry and cold businessman who shows up at her door in expensive clothing and his car stuck in a ditch. Couple that in with a rainstorm that lasts a week and makes it impossible for him to go back on his way, he spends the week at her house unwillingly. The woman is kind and welcoming—completely opposite his rude and distant—and isn't at all deterred by the city boy. He, on the other hand, struggles not to let the woman get on his every last nerve with her unfazed attitude. Her kindness bothers him and he becomes determined to make her crack and show her true colours because no one can be so good. Except...maybe he's wrong. And why is it that he's suddenly looking forward to seeing her every time he turns a corner in the house or wakes up in the morning?

I pause my typing and take a quick look around before I start writing the next scene. The man is about to stumble in on the woman in her room when he hears a shriek and finds her in nothing but a towel, her body sopping wet from when she ran out of the shower. I double-check to make sure there are no peeping Toms. I hate writing intimate moments with other people around but I need to get this done and my editor said my story didn't have enough "steamy scenes."

His heart leaps into his throat at the high-pitched sound of a woman's scream. It takes only a second for him to identify it as Madeline's scream but that's a second too late where he's concerned. Although he does not understand it, the thought of something happening to her makes him feel ill with distraught. He doesn't hesitate to leap off the couch and take off running toward her bedroom. Normally he'd knock but now was not the time for formalities. He turns the knob and finds the door — thank goodness — unlocked. Upon stepping inside, he searches the room frantically to look for her, yearning for the image of her safe and unharmed. However, the image that instead greets him is one he did not expect.

His lips part slightly in shock and he can feel his eyes flash as they travel over the miles of bare skin on display. He knew Madeline to be a beautiful woman but he did not realize the extent of her desirability. Not until now. With nothing but a small cloth sticking to her damp skin and barely covering what he finds himself yearning to be able to see, Madeline stands with her back against the wall and pointing a frantic finger at something across the room. He reluctantly pulls his eyes away from her and reminds himself of why he ended up here in the first place. What had made Madeline scream bloody murder?

"Snake!" She shrieks again and he covers his ears, some of his earlier annoyance returning. This was good. He would rather feel this than whatever it was going through his head just moments ago.

"Stop screaming." He hisses and looks around the room for something that might resemble a weapon. He notices a rake propped up with some other cleaning supplies and grabs it, pointing it toward the slithering body who seems to be moving closer. "I would think you're used to seeing these creatures. Really, Madeline."

"Don't you dare!" She throws a murderous glare his way and he fights to remain composure. This might be the first time Madeline has been anything but ridiculously perky. He thought he would feel victorious but instead he feels almost...regretful. He didn't like seeing her as anything but herself. What in God's name? "I've always had a phobia of them and they're more rare around these parts than you would think. Plus, it showed up in my shower. Who would be prepared for that?"

At the mention, his eyes drop back down to her body and he finds it harder to look away than the first time. Maybe it's because this time, two stiff peaks strain against the cotton and demand his undivided attention. When arms hastily cross over her full mounds, he looks up to discover Madeline's face flushed and one leg crossed tightly over the other. This gives him pause. She's affected by his watchful gaze, he realizes. Turned on.

She clears her throat and when she speaks, her voice is a tad raspy. "Will you get it out of here, Lincoln?"

He doesn't hesitate. "Of course."

It doesn't escape his notice that he would have denied her request just as quickly if this was all happening days ago. How had he possibly changed this much at the hands of a sweet country girl? Not even his own parents could get him to bring down his walls around them. He was always built this way.

Banishing the rather confusing thoughts, Lincoln redirects his attention to the culprit at hand. He holds the rake tightly in his hands like a baseball bat and swings it down to hit the floor in front of the snake. It jumps in surprise and moves back. Lincoln repeats the action again, and then another time, and then a third time until the snake takes off toward Madeline. Her scream is deafening and she runs to Lincoln, jumping onto his back with legs locked around his torso.

"I didn't say send it to me! You did that on purpose!" She accuses and her fingers dig into his shoulder blades. He grunts from the added weight and spans his legs out to maintain balance.

"I wasn't trying to." He wishes she could see his glare. "I'm about to start swinging again so hang on or fall on your ass. Either is fine with me."

She tightens her arms and legs around him in response and Lincoln tries not to think about how he can feel every warm and wet part of her plastered to him. She smells amazing and Lincoln feels his breath pick up with need. Damn, it's been too long since he got laid. He always did prefer a woman in his bed to unwind and right now he's wound tighter than ever.

When he smacks the rake down on the floor as hard as he can, the snake jerks again and slithers out the open bedroom door. Lincoln follows it with Madeline still hanging off his back and he chases it out of the house. It disappears into the grassy fields and Lincoln closes the front door then locks it for good measure.

"Dang, that was close." Madeline mumbles, her southern hilt peeking through.

"You can get off now." He insists through clenched teeth. The evidence of his desire strains painfully against his pants and he needs to leave before she sees it.

"Right. Sorry." She slides down and he pinches his eyes closed. The friction is not helping his predicament in the least.

"Jesus." He mumbles without meaning to.

"What now?"

"Nothing. Forget it."

"Look, I didn't mean to upset you. I know having to take care of that was bothersome and I'm sorry—"

"Stop." He turns around and steps forward until they're toe-to-toe. Her deep green eyes widen at their sudden proximity but she doesn't move back like he expected. He hates that that impresses him. "Just stop. You don't have to apologize for every damn thing. Grow a backbone, Madeline."

She presses her lips together briefly and he suspects it's to maintain her cool. "You don't have to agree with who I am as a person but you also don't have to act like the way you do things is the only correct way. If you have a problem otherwise, you are more than welcome to shove it up your ungrateful ass."

He's unable to help it. He bursts out laughing. And she very clearly does not appreciate his reaction.

"You're so dang annoying." She spins away on her heel but yelps when he grabs her hand and yanks her back against his chest. Her gasp causes her breasts to rise and he watches with heat coursing through his veins while an arm snakes around her stomach to keep her locked against him.

"You're not exactly my cup of tea, either." He speaks in a low voice into her ear and smirks when she shivers. "But I sure as hell want to figure out why my body feels like it's on fire when I'm around you. I just can't decide how I want to go about it — nailed against the wall or bending you over the couch."

She gasps at his brazen words, her heart thumping wildly against her chest. "W-what are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me." He slides his hand up along her curves and wishes there was no barrier on her skin. His thumb teases her peaked nipple and a growl gets caught in his throat at the soft moan that escapes her. "These have been hard for me since I walked in the room."

"You've haven't exactly been soft since you walked in the room, either."

He chuckles. He secretly loved her cleverness. He admired a woman that wasn't afraid to be upfront with him as many often were.

"I'm going to kiss you now. And you're going to like it."

He doesn't give her a chance to respond, his desire making him feel dizzy and restless. He spins her around and crushes her against him, pressing his mouth to hers. He ravages her mouth, days of frustration and lust finally replaced with the best kind of satisfaction. Madeline gasps into his mouth when their tongues meet, their kisses turning wet and hot and greedy. He fingers the knot on her towel and with one swift yank it falls off her body. He pushed her against the wall and presses her naked body against his, moaning and—

"You okay?"

I yelp in surprise from the sudden intrusion, my hand going to my chest. I look up from my laptop and my heart gets caught in my throat when I meet Nate's curious eyes, his head tilted as he surveys me. My cheeks burn like they've been smacked with a hot skillet. I feel like I've been busted. I feel dirty.

"What are you doing here?" I blurt, nerves short-circuiting my brain.

He raises a brow and I try not to cringe at how obviously dumb that question was. "It's a Starbucks. A public space as far as I know of, unless that's changed?"

"No. Sorry. I'm just surprised. I—sorry." I blow out a breath and look back at the screen and quickly save and cut the document. God, I can't think like a normal human being around him. He's so distracting.

"I'm just teasing. Your face is crazy red so I thought I'd ask if everything is good?" He briefly looks at my laptop. "What's holding your attention?"

"I'm writing." I admit and clear my throat. I don't know why my voice sounds slightly husky. Probably because I was seconds away from writing a sex scene and the hottest guy I've ever known walked in on me but that's just one guess. "I get carried away sometimes."

"I get that." He smiles and my stomach summersaults at the sight of it. I love how endearing it makes him look. "Boxing is like that for me too. I'll be punching away for hours until my knuckles are bloody and I won't realize unless I stop."

At the mention of it, my eyes seek out his hands and I feel my eyes widen slightly when I noticed the bluish purple bruising and red cuts. "That looks painful. Are you okay?"

"I'm good. You almost went cross-eyed when you were writing. Are you okay?"

I bite my lip to contain the slightly hysterical giggle that wants to come out. If only he knew. "I see your point." And then I gasp when I realize something. "Take a seat. You're just standing there. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine." He shrugs but complies and sits himself across from me. "How've you been?"

"Good. I'm focusing on my writing and it's really the one thing keeping me sane. My deadline to my editor is due at the end of the week and then she'll send out my final draft and quarry letters to some publishing companies. With some luck, maybe one of them will take a chance on me."

"They will. You're too good for them to turn the other cheek."

"You've never even read my work. How can you know that?" I tease.

"Everything about you is perfect, Del." He says it so seriously that my smile slips, taken aback with surprise. I almost brush the compliment off but Nate would just retaliate with more until I accepted them all. He's so thoughtful like that.

"Thank you." I whisper and fight back my emotions. I think I actually feel my heart grow in size at his words. I don't know what I did to make him think so highly of me but I value his praises more than I should. He makes me feel important and that's something I haven't felt much of in my lifetime. It's thrilling and scary all in one. "And thank you for making me see the bigger picture the other day. I probably wouldn't be writing right now if it weren't for you."

"I'm glad I could help." His smile widens at my compliment and I wonder if he's having the same thoughts that I was having moments ago. "So, when do I read your books?"

I'm not sure what kind of face I make but it's funny enough that he bursts out laughing. I can't even be offended because I'm that horrified at his question.

"That's...I'd rather you didn't." I shake my head adamantly. My gut twists at the thought of him reading what goes on in my head. It feels invasive. Besides, I might die of humiliation if he familiarized himself with the rather intimate scenes of my story. That's a whole level of embarrassment I might not survive.

"You can't stop me when you're published. I'm excited." He chirps and I groan, banging my forehead on the table.

"Remind me to change my name and move to a new state when that happens."

His gaze turns playful. "You can run but you can't hide, Angel."

And I think my ovaries explode when he winks. Stupid Nate. Stupid hot and sex-on-a-stick Nate.

"I dislike you." I mumble. He takes a sip of his coffee, not fazed in the least.

"Lies."

"That's cocky."

"Don't use words like that around me."

I snap my mouth shut when his eyes drop to my lips. I know he's teasing me but the heat in his gaze says otherwise. I nervously lick my lips and immediately scold myself for it because he's already staring at them. Real smart, Del. I almost shudder at the way his watchful stare darkens before looking away. The moment only lasted a few seconds but something tells me I'll be replaying it in my head for much longer. What is up with us?

"So," I start, trying to clear the awkwardness in the air. "When's your first pro match?"

"Not for another couple of months. The training is brutal so I can't even imagine how intense the matches will be."

"I don't know how you guys do it. Who wakes up one day and decides they want to get punched for a living?"

"Well, we do get to punch back."

"Still...so much violence."

"Can't argue with that." He chuckles and crosses his arms. The action makes his biceps bulge and strain against his thick wool sweater and I try to keep my tongue in my mouth. How does he even move with all that muscle? "But it keeps the body and mind sharp. It makes you quick on your feet and forces you to think strategically at all times. It heightens your reflexes and teaches you how to control your breathing. There's lots of benefits."

"Okay, now you're just showing off." I scrunch my nose in disdain and he laughs the kind of hearty laugh where he shakes his head, clutching a hand to his stomach. I have to fight smiling like a goof in return. "I'm serious. I'm trying to think of the benefits of writing and they all seem so much lamer in comparison."

"Nah. Writer's are top tier." He swings one arm over the back of his chair and spreads his legs casually. I'm starting to get real annoyed at how hot he makes everything look. "You guys make entire worlds out of nothing. Thin air. That's fucking awesome."

"Thanks." I sit up a little straighter at the compliment. He's right. We are pretty awesome.

"Are you working this weekend?"

"As far as I know, yes."

"When's your shift?"

I'm trying really hard not to get hopeful at his question. It's been two months since he came by the library and I hadn't realized how plain the place seemed without him.

"I have the morning shift."

"Cool. I'll probably stop by at lunch."

I chew on my lip to put a stop to the smile dying to peek through. "Cool." I repeat.

"Mark's been giving me shit for being AWOL." He adds and I wonder why he feels the need to explain himself. "Does he know, by the way? That you're pregnant?"

"No. I'd rather keep it to myself until I start showing. I just figured it's not really anyone's business and I'm already trying to figure things out for myself."

"Smart girl." He regards me seriously. "You let me know if anyone is giving you any shit, okay? I'll fuck them up."

"Nate." My mouth twitches. "Not everything can be solved with your fists."

He smirks. "Wanna bet?"

"Lord." I roll my eyes. "Your sisters must be absolute saints for growing up with you."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" He looks so genuinely confused I have to laugh.

"I hate to break it to you but you've got a total caveman attitude. You're so used to being in charge that you lead life authoritatively. Every situation you see or hear about has to be taken care of by you because you genuinely think it's your issue to handle. That's not how life works, Nate. Take it easy sometime."

"I don't do that." He sputters then contemplates for a moment. "Shit, do I?"

I nod as I take a sip of my latte. "You do. But it's also good in a lot of ways. It's better than not having a backbone at all like me. I could use some of what you have."

"You don't need anything from anyone, Del. You need to give yourself some more credit. I think your only weakness is that you refuse to believe you're strong."

I gape at him. "That's...insightful."

"It's the truth." He insists and butterflies take off in my stomach.

"Why do you do that?" I mumble without meaning to.

"Do what?"