It could be anyone targeting her, so us staying in the cabin until I had something more solid to go on was the only way to keep her safe. It was remote and not many people knew it existed.
It also meant that I had her all to myself.
Someone out there may be obsessed with killing Jennie, but there was no way I’d let him get near her. Now that I’d had her and she’d accepted this thing between us, she was mine, and I’d fight to the death to keep her safe.
Getting up onto my knees and hooking her legs over my forearms, I used the new position to plunge deeper into her, clenching my teeth against the need to come. It also meant I could see her clit clearly now, the thatch of pubic hair above it seeming to frame it for me.”
I reread the passage a couple of times and then slapped my hands on my cheeks and cried, “What the hell kind of shit is that?”
Then something else hit me. “I thatched the snatch!”
Why now, when I’d never mentioned a thatched anything before, had I thatched the damn snatch?
Marcus’s brother, Elijah, was married to a Brit called Sadie, one of the funniest people I’d ever met. One of the first times we discussed books, she’d warned me against using the words thatch or thatched when it came to pubic hair, given that there was a type of roof called that in the UK. I may have laughed it off, but then she’d shown us a photo, and that’d been enough to ruin it forever.
I’d never even been tempted to use the word for anything, so why had I thatched the snatch now? God, a thick mass of matted pubic hair just wasn’t where it was at.
“For shit’s sake, Santana Spring. Dethatch the poor woman’s snatch and make it sound pretty.”
A deep, husky chuckle made me freeze internally, but I didn’t stop frantically hitting the delete button. I usually read through the manuscript at least two times before sending it to my editor. After that, it went through a further three rounds of editing and proofreading before it was uploaded, so I likely would have caught this during one of those rounds, but now that it was on my screen, it had to go.
“Whose snatch are you writing about, baby?” Remy asked as I made an adjustment.
I could have told him it was nothing to worry about or I was reading something a friend had sent me, but instead, I held a finger up as I tapped out the change.
When I was happy, I looked up at him and went with my gut. Was there really any point in continuing to keep it a secret from him?
“I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but I kind of write books.”
Remy’s eyebrows went up, and he looked from me to the screen. “Have you published them?”
“Well, yeah. Once this one’s finished, it’ll be number ten.”
Instead of looking dubious or being pissed with me for keeping it a secret, a smile lit up his face. “That’s fucking awesome, babe. I had no idea at all.” Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. “What do you write about? Is it fiction, or do you write that real life stuff?”
I felt my lips twitch at the final part of his question. “I write fiction. Romantic thrillers, to be precise.”
That got a different reaction from him, this time confusion. “You… what? I didn’t know that kind of genre existed. I thought romance was all cute and happily ever afters with no cheating or sadness.”
I burst out laughing. “You never peeked at your mom’s Harlequin books, did you?” When he shook his head and looked at me like I was nuts, I explained, “Mom and Mawmaw have drawers of them, the ones from the eighties and nineties. Most of them have angst, and men who’ve made their beds shake more times than McDonald's has served nuggets.”
Remy sat back heavily in the armchair he’d been sitting in and blindly at the coffee table. “No wonder they always told us not to interrupt when they read the damn things. I thought it was all gross soppy shit with those guys with the long hair and the Sheikhs looking for brides.”
Swinging my legs around, I hit save and closed the lid of my laptop. “Oh, there’s that, too. Those Sheikhs are freaking hot, but there was a lot of action, and not just in the bedroom.”
“My grandma had a lot of the secret pregnancy ones,” he began, then stopped when he realized what he was saying and the link between them and his life.
Wanting to spare him the discomfort, I went back to my writing. “I have a pen name, Amy Dalton. No one knows about it aside from Addy, Sadie, and Pawpaw.”