Imagine With Me (With Me in Seattle 15)

I boost her to her feet and then fetch my phone. Sitting next to her, I play it back.

She hasn’t said a word, and her hand is a little shaky as she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Here, see?” We lean in together and watch as I explain the difference between the two. “In the first one, I can’t see your face at all. But in the second, I can. That hand makes all the difference.”

I refuse to comment on the intense look in Lexi’s eyes as she stares at me, or dwell on the way my hand landed on her ass while I had her in my lap.

Or how it felt to have her seated on me, pressed against me, my lips just centimeters from hers.

Nope, not gonna entertain that.

“I see it,” she whispers. “Excuse me, I have to use the restroom.”

She jumps from the chair and hurries out of the room. Jesus, did I take it too far? She’s like a frightened rabbit.

I play the video back on my phone. The sexual chemistry sizzling between us could fry an egg. Her gaze flicks from my eyes down to my mouth as if silently begging me to kiss her.

I don’t know that anyone has ever looked at me like that.

And the kicker is, I’m giving it back ten-fold. Just watching the video gets me hot and bothered.

I tuck my phone away and walk out to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. I’m going to need all the caffeine I can get.* * *If she fidgets in that chair one more time, I’m going to make her sit in my fucking lap again.

“I can’t concentrate like this,” I announce with a sigh. “You can’t sit still, those idiots out there are loud as fuck, and all I can smell is fish from the kitchen.”

“Yeah, whoever ordered that should be shot,” Lexi mutters with a cringe. “It’s only two in the afternoon. We could probably finish work for today at my Air BNB. It’s not far.”

I’m already shaking my head. I can’t believe what I’m about to suggest. Just the mere thought of it means I should be committed.

But I don’t see a choice.

“I want to permanently move our workspace to my house on the island.”

Lexi frowns and then starts shaking her beautiful head.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Shawn.”

With the way she says my name, I’m not convinced it’s a good idea either.

I’m a fucking tosser.

“You can’t get comfortable. No matter how many pillows and blankets and extra bloody pens you bring in here, it’s not going to change the fact that you aren’t comfortable. I’m also ready to throw myself off a bridge. Just the idea of coming back here Monday morning makes me want to scream.”

“So you want me to commute to you?”

“No, I want you to move in with me.” Her eyes go round in surprise. “I can honestly say I’ve never said those words to a woman before.”

My lips twitch in humor. I want her to say yes. I need her to say yes.

“We’re not accomplishing much here, Lexi. We’re a week in, and we’ve only written three scenes. This isn’t working. Bring your blankets and pillows to my place. It’s a hell of a lot more comfortable, I’ll tell you that.”

She stands and paces to the window that looks out at the Seattle skyline.

“Where will I sleep?”

I scowl. “In my guest bedroom, of course. It’s a suite, actually, with your own bathroom, as well.”

“Does the door lock?”

“Jesus, Lexi, I’m not asking you there so I can have my bloody way with you.”

“I didn’t say you were.” She turns back to me now. “I’m uptight, remember?”

“It’s hard to forget.” I cross my arms, waiting for her to make a decision.

“I’ll go with you, as long as you agree to bring me back to the city if I decide I hate it there.”

“Agreed.” I jump out of the chair so quickly you’d think it bit me on the ass. “But you won’t hate it. I have ocean views, no neighbors, and it’s a hell of a lot more comfortable than this place.”

“Personal chef?” she asks with a grin.

“Okay, you’re losing that, but I have a way in the kitchen myself. You won’t go hungry.”

“Your Irish accent comes through when you’re worked up a bit,” Lexi points out. “Most of the time, you don’t have a lilt at all, but there are moments when I hear it.”

“I was a toddler when my parents moved us here,” I say as I finish packing my things into my briefcase. “My younger sister, Maggie, and I don’t have much of an accent. But the older siblings have more of a lilt.”

“How many O’Callaghans are there?” she asks as she folds a blanket.

“Five,” I reply. “You’ll likely meet them.”