Page 29 of Writing Mr. Wrong

GEMMA

T hey were walking along the shore, quiet at first, just enjoying the gorgeous scenery—endless blue sea with not a ship or shore in sight.

Gemma wore denim shorts from her prepacked luggage.

And they were definitely short, leaving her feeling as if she’d forgotten to put anything on over her panties.

Mason seemed to appreciate them, sneaking discreet admiring glances, and she didn’t mind that. Didn’t mind it at all.

“So dating,” she said finally. “You wanted to talk about what happened in the restaurant.”

“Yeah.”

“And how to avoid it, I presume?”

He nodded, though he did seem distracted, still sneaking glimpses of her legs.

“I need you to be honest with me, Mace.”

That got his attention, his gaze flying to hers and locking with it. “I will be. I want that, Gem. Being honest. No more bullshit.”

“Okay, well, this might get awkward then.”

He seemed to straighten his shoulders. “I can take it.”

“From what I understand, Camille was angry because you lied. You guys hooked up and you said you couldn’t do a repeat because you don’t date during the season.”

“Yeah.”

She lowered her voice. “Did you suggest that more dates were coming? Beforehand?”

“What?” His eyes widened. “No. I’d never—” More shoulder straightening. “I do a lot of shitty things, Gem, but I’d never lie to get a woman in bed. I’m really clear up front that it’s…”

Her lips twitched. “A onetime offer?”

“It’s my thing. I don’t get involved. Too busy, you know?” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his swim trunks. “I mean, it’s better now that I’m older, and I… well, I’m ready for more. With the right person, you know?” He snuck her a look. “Someone I want to be with for…”

“More than a night?”

“Yeah. But with Camille, I was clear from the start. That’s how I usually operate. We go out, and if we click and we’re both interested, the date goes to its natural conclusion. Everyone has fun. End of story.”

“So when did you lie?”

“Afterward. Sometimes, when I try to duck out, they want another date, and I can’t just say no. That’d be rude.”

“So you lie.”

“Which is ruder, isn’t it?” He exhaled a breath. “Disrespectful.”

She shrugged. “You’re just too good apparently. They can’t get enough.”

He wagged a finger at her. “You’re joking, but they’re not coming back for the sparkling conversation.”

“I like your conversation, Mace.”

“Only because you’ve never had—” He stopped short. “And that’s a penalty shot.” A grin her way. “True, though.”

Heat raced through her. That grin wasn’t leering or lascivious. Just so damned confident, which was sexy as hell, because it left no doubt that he wasn’t bragging. What had she just thought earlier? That “good” wasn’t enough for Mason. He wasn’t going to take credit unless he could claim it fully.

Another rush of heat.

“So should I be a little worse?” he said. “A little less… giving?”

She swallowed.

A sidelong grin. “Like you said, I’m a generous soul.

” He went serious. “I wasn’t always. Back in high school, you definitely wouldn’t have wanted more than that kiss.

I was accustomed to being on the receiving end, and I took all I could get.

But then when I reached the juniors, the puck bunnies appeared, and…

you know how guys joke about notching their bedposts?

That’s what I felt like for them. A notch on their bedpost. Like they were collecting hockey cards. ”

“Once they got yours, they moved on.”

“Yeah. They came back for some guys, and when they didn’t with me, that felt like failure. So I improved my technique. Back then, I liked having a regular hookup. But the older I got, the more ‘regular hookup’ seemed to mean ‘possibility of a wedding ring,’ and I just wasn’t ready for that.”

“So you switched to your one-date policy.”

“And it mostly works, but the last thing I want is to hurt someone, Gem. I know I’ve done that, like with you, and I hate it.” He met her gaze. “You get that, right?”

“I do.”

“Anyway, dating was just an example, and I don’t think that’ll be a problem anymore. I’m ready for more.” He looked at her again. “Ready to show someone what I can be and why they want to be with me. Start something real.”

A strange sensation zipped through Gemma.

One that felt almost like… jealousy? She had no problem talking about Mason’s hookups.

That was sex. Healthy and fun, as long as no one got hurt.

But what he’d just said was different. Mason was looking beyond sex, looking for commitment, saying he was ready for that, and all she could think about was how lucky someone was going to be.

Someone who was not her.

Which was good, right? Of course it wouldn’t be her and—

He continued, “So mostly, I want to talk about how to get out of all situations where I think I’ve been clear, but someone expects more and I feel like an asshole saying no.”

“Boundaries,” she said. “You’re good at setting them, but maybe not so good at defending them. Okay, let’s talk about that.”

They ended up at the boathouse, which held a boat, not surprisingly. It was locked, and they talked about getting the key, but then the daily delivery arrived—fresh fruit and veggies—and after that, Mason ducked inside to prepare lunch while she wrote.

Lunch was meatball soup and rustic bread and a side salad of oranges and olives, with sponge cake for dessert. Gemma dug in like she hadn’t just devoured a huge breakfast a few hours ago.

Then it was back to writing, and she tried not to balk at that. She wanted to explore the island more. She wanted to go swimming. She wanted to be with Mason. Most of all she wanted to be with Mason. But she was here to get the damned book done.

She glanced through the open villa door to where Mason was fixing a snack. Her gaze slid down his bare legs and then to the food he was so carefully preparing for her.

Seeing the whole of him. Appreciating the whole of him.

Mason silently deposited her snack on the table. Then a slushy fruit drink appeared, hovering over her, and when she turned, Mason waved at the shot of rum he’d put on the table, beside the plate of tropical fruit and ring-shaped cookies.

“Actually, I kinda need that,” she said, dumping in the rum. “Thank you.”

“Writing troubles?” he asked.

She shrugged and took a long drink of the cocktail, letting the frozen burn of it slide down.

“Anytime you want someone to talk to about it…” he said. “My writing experience is pretty much limited to a few school-paper articles under the tutelage of an amazing editor, but that editor was always there to talk things through if I got stuck.”

When she hesitated, he settled in beside her, perched on the edge. “You said you made some changes, but it’s obviously not flowing the way you expected. Do you need to change more?”

“I can’t. It sold as a two-book deal, and I gave them an outline for the second book. I’ve already tweaked it as much as I dare. The guy needs to be a dominant alpha male hero.”

“Is that industry code for assholes?” He waved off her answer. “I’m guessing Lilias is the heroine?”

“Lilias… who died in the first book? You did read it, right?”

“I did, and I noted that, while she fell off a cliff into the ocean, her body wasn’t recovered. Which means she’s actually alive. No body. No death. That’s how it goes.”

“Her body wasn’t recovered because she fell into the ocean.”

He tilted his head. “Wouldn’t that mean she’d wash up onshore?”

Shit. “No, the tide was going out.”

“And carried her still-living body with it. Fine, Lilias is not the heroine of book two. Who is?”

“Morag. She’s—”

“Edin’s little sister. Who is even more of a doormat than Edin. Which was kind of a feat, Gem. Do you read about heroines like that?”

“No, but… if you pair an asshole hero with a heroine who doesn’t put up with his shit, you get a very different dynamic.”

“Like ours. Which, while I may be biased, is really hot.”

She sputtered a laugh. “But it changes the dynamic, and that’s not what I sold.”

“Okay, so if you give the publisher a different book, they could refuse to pay your contract, which means you’d be out…”

She named the figure.

His brows shot skyward.

“I’m a debut novelist, okay?” she said. “I have to start somewhere.”

“I suppose it’d be wrong for me to just give you that much to write what you want.”

She shook her head. “It’s not about the money, which, yes, is very little. It’s about launching a career.”

“A career writing assholes, because if you think readers will expect that after one book, it’ll be worse after two.”

Here was the hard truth she’d been dodging. The truth that Daphne had gently been trying to convey. One book was a precedent. Two was a pattern.

“Let’s talk about Lilias’s story,” he said. “Her not-dead body washed out to sea, where it was found by some guy out on a boat. He rescues her.”

Gemma shook her head. “Argyle rescued Edin in Fling . That’d be repetitive. And I’m not sure I want to establish being rescued by a man as sexy.”

“Rescues are sexy no matter who’s doing the rescuing.

But okay. Lilias washes up onshore, and she would have been just fine, thank you very much, but along comes this grumpy laird who insists on helping her, even when she doesn’t need it and he’s not exactly gracious about it.

But he does because he’s a genuinely good guy even when that is inconvenient. ”

Gemma chewed her lip as her thoughts raced, riffing on what Mason said, imagining Lilias as the heroine and a fake asshole as a hero. She liked fake assholes—grumpy guys who were all hard edges with cinnamon-roll centers.

Mason pressed. “You mentioned that your sister-in-law is a writer. Ask her. Maybe she has some insight into what would happen if you sent the publisher something else.”

“I’d have to pitch it to them. And they might say no.”

“But you like this idea better?”

“I do.”

“Good.” He rose. “Now write the outline or whatever for that. I’ll be in the kitchen. Shout if you need more brainstorming. Or more rum.”