“Where are you going?”
I pulled away from Vasilios’s possessive arms and got out of bed. “I just need to write this one scene down. I think I have it now.” I found my pajama pants on the floor and slipped them on in the dark.
“It’s three in the morning.”
“I know.”
He sighed and rolled over. “Okay.”
Was he upset? I’d been more and more immersed in my new project—a full-length novel—in the last weeks. The thing was still a jumbled mess, but there was something about the main character that kept me returning to it. “I’ll be right back,” I said.
“No, it’s all right.” Vassilios’s voice was rich and smooth, just like his golden skin. “It’s important you finish this book,” he said quietly. “When you do, maybe we can—”
“It’ll be a while.”
“How long, do you think?”
I knew where he was goin
