Page 98 of Snowbound

“Did I clear out that writer’s block, baby?”

I nod. “You could say that.”

He kisses my cheek. “Good. Then writeourstory, Emma.”

EPILOGUE

Emma

I sitin the biggest stuffed armchair known to man. I didn’t know they made giant-sized furniture, but here we are. I’m completely engulfed in an Owen-sized chair that could easily host the Jolly Green Giant, totally immersed in his scent, and I’ve never been so ready to write a book in my entire life.

“You know, Owen,” I say, as he walks into his kitchen, putting the kettle on for a cup of tea. We’ve just come back from Ireland, and I feel like I could write aseriesof books. I loved seeing him in his homeland, with his friends, and even though he kept me distanced from whatever business he tended to, I still felt a sense of belonging and newness I didn’t know I’d been craving.

“What is it, lass?” he asks, pouring hot tea over the tea bag.

“Do you even know what I write about?”

“Romance or some such,” he says, his brow furrowed. “I don’t know much about it.”

“I write aboutantiheroes.Like, dark romance bad boys. They do some kind of crazy things.”

He smiles at me. “Do you, now?”

“Mmm, and I have to say, I think I know exactly where my inspiration comes from.”

He stands in the doorway. Big. Solid. Sexy as fuck. His arms are crossed over his chest, biceps thick beneath the sleeve of his thermal. The fabric strains around them. I stare at him—veins like rope, skin bronzed, the kind of arms that I know frompersonalexperience are built to lift, to pin, tohold.

The kind of arms I’ve dreamt about when I was aching and alone.

“Where’s that?”

I smirk at him and turn back to my laptop, shrugging.

“A certain guy I’ve had a crush onforever.And I’ve been thinking… I know why I write these books. I know why I crave them.”

“Do you?”

“Mm-hmm. Because men like that don’t stop. They’ll do anything to keep you safe. And a woman doesn’t want a man whoplaysitsafe. She wants to be the reason he goes too far.”

“Aye, lass,” he says, crossing the room and handing me my cup of tea before he kisses my forehead. “It’s true. Now, are you going to write the story I asked for, or are you looking to get yourself in trouble?”

I feel a blush heat my cheeks. “I’m going to write it.”

I open up my laptop and begin to type.

I take in a deep breath and smile at the screen. This story is going to practically write itself.

THE END