Sugar on the Edge (Last Call #3)(38)

“How is that justice?” Gavin asks angrily.

I give him a soft look of assurance… letting him know that I’m okay. “It’s justice because the jury agreed with me that Kevin tried to rape me. After everything I went through… that was the most important thing that could happen for me. Didn’t matter to me what his sentence was—it was that I proved everyone in that f*cking town wrong.”

Gavin is quiet a moment, digesting my story. He pushes slowly out of his chair and walks to the opposite side of the table, dropping to his knees beside me. He grabs my face in his hands and leans in to kiss me on my lips. It’s our first kiss, and it’s soft and sweet, filled with care. I realize… that Gavin and I had sex today, and he never even kissed me on the lips until now.

How very strange.

How very naughty and thrillingly bad.

When he pulls away, Gavin says, “Oh, Sweet… after hearing that story, you are, without a doubt, the strongest heroine I’ve ever known.”





My words are coming faster than they ever have as I bang out page after page on my manuscript. Honey has been transformed completely. After she takes it upon herself to give Max a stellar blow job while he’s driving his royal blue, Shelby Mustang GT500 with white racing stripes down the hood, she informs him that she’s going to fight by his side. The only thing she asks in return is that he f*ck her hard and never leave her. No… she doesn’t ask… she demands it of him.

I’ll never leave you, Max vows.

Who would have thought that Max would ever entertain the thought of monogamy?

My phone rings, startling me and completely f*cking up my concentration. Sighing, I grab it and see it’s Lindie calling from New York.

“You’re disturbing me,” I grumble into the phone when I connect.

“Well, if you’d return a call, text, or email once in a while, I wouldn’t be forced to perform such a dastardly deed,” she throws back at me. “So how are things going?”

“They’re fine,” I tell her, my eyes glancing over the last few paragraphs I just wrote. “I’m going to need another few weeks though.”

“No can do,” she tells me. “Your editor said no more extensions.”

“Well, if they want a completed manuscript, they’re going to have to f*cking wait,” I snarl, having no time to argue about this shit. God, I long for the days of self-publishing.

“Are you drinking?” Lindie asks suspiciously.

“Not at the moment,” I tell her as I stand from my desk, walking over to the glass doors that lead out on to the deck. The sun is hanging bright this morning, casting silver sparkles on the blue-green of the Atlantic. They twinkle merrily; sometimes a strong ray of light causes a sharp burst of brightness that hits me in my eyes and dazzles me.

“Tell me you got your shit together, Gavin,” she implores. “That you do not need this extra time because you’re sunk deep in the bottle.”

Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I reassure her. “I’m fine. I’ve just added a new character to the book and it’s taking me a bit longer.”

“Wait a minute… you can’t do that. They’re expecting a very specific story line.”

“And they’ll get the same story line,” I placate. “Just with a little bit more added.”

“Don’t f*ck this up, Gavin,” she tells me straight, and that’s why I pay her. To keep me straight.

“Stop worrying. Get me two weeks and you’ll have a masterpiece,” I promise.

We talk some more about the publishing schedule, another manuscript she wants to pitch for me, and updates me on the status of her negotiating a movie deal for the trilogy. It all goes in one ear and out the other, because all I can think about now that I’ve stepped five feet away from my laptop is Savannah.

The anti-heroine who would be heroine. She’s the reason I need the extra few weeks on my manuscript. Not only has she thrown my story for a loop, but she also has me wanting another taste of her. And I don’t think just one more taste is going to satisfy me for some reason.

I had always figured I’d head back to London when I was finished with this manuscript, but now I’m not sure if I’m ready to give up her brand of sweet just yet.

“Are you listening to me, Gavin?” Lindie asks in exasperation.

“Not a word,” I tell her honestly. “I need to get back to writing.”

“Don’t forget… you have a book signing in Chicago next month.”

Fuck… I did forget. The last thing I want to do is go sit at a table while a long line of people wait to meet me. “Email me the details so I can put it all on my calendar.”

After I hang up with Lindie, I stare at my phone for a moment. I look back to my laptop and the manuscript that is begging for me to massage it, and then look back to my phone. Before I can stop myself, I text Savannah.

What are you doing right now?

Slipping my phone in my pocket, I decide to go downstairs for a snack, but I get an immediate chime and pull my phone back up. She responded.

Reading your book. You?

My thumb grazes over the screen… over Savannah’s words, and I think about our dinner last night. Her story—about how she was nearly raped and the hell she went through to get vindicated—amazes me. It made me realize that I had truly misjudged her. I didn’t give her credit for this calm, inner strength that she seems to possess. Over the last several months, I had let myself refuse to believe that any woman could possess those traits.