That was my cue to blink. I didn't manage a word as he turned and headed downstairs leaving me there, shocked and breathless. That did just happen, right? I hadn't imagined it? I wasn't just going to suddenly wake up in my bed? But the seconds I took to contemplate, I knew there was just no way I could deny it. And what had I done about it? Nothing. I'd stood there allowing some male to impeach my personal space, whisper something inappropriate and I wasn't complaining about it. Now did that sound like a happy married woman? I wasn't so sure anymore.

I slid my back onto the wall adjacent to the bathroom door, closing my eyes as I tried to focus my mind elsewhere. But it made no use against the burning heat below, the goose bumps erecting across my skin and that inevitable hammering of my heart I experienced around him. What was wrong with me? I am married. A married woman, not some love sick teenager. I've been with Nick since I could remember and now my body was behaving in ways I deemed wrong. What was it trying to say to me?

There was no use staying there longer, I had to move and find Nick. Perhaps with persuasion I could convince him to leave with me. There was just no way I could stay any longer in this imprisonment knowing the very man who lived here was torturing my emotions and suddenly messing with my morals. But I haven't done anything, I scoffed to myself. It's not like I've cheated. He didn't kiss me and if he did, surely, I would have slapped him? But then why did I allow his hands to grope me? I could have taken control. But I didn't. So, what did that mean?

"Nick," I hissed quietly, after I slithered through the group of people towards him. I shut up instantly as I acknowledged Shane, who was chatting with him. What had he said? Was he telling my husband I'd allowed him to speak and touch me like that upstairs?

Nick embraced me into a side hug, the smell of alcohol evident upon his breath as he smiled. "Babe, there you are. I wondered where you headed off to. Everything okay? Shane, here, was just telling me I'm welcome to come on and over and watch the football with him. Have you seen his television, it's like a cinema screen!"

I shook my head. "No, Nick—"

"---You're also welcome, Rose," Shane interjected, his acorn coloured eyes meeting mine, and lingering there longer than necessary. I bit my inner cheek forcing my eyes away as I squeezed Nick's arm. "Babe, can we go? I don't feel so well. I think the wine has gone to my head a little," I said encouragingly.

"Awh, Rose. I was---"

"---Please," I persisted, kissing his cheek, "take me home." I looked at him suggestively hoping it would persuade him.

Nick sighed lightly. "Sure, hun. I'll take you home." Then he held his hand out to Shane. "Well, it was really nice of you to invite us over tonight. My wife and I really enjoyed it. I'll hold your word also on the football." He grinned as did Shane as their hands shook sternly.

"I thank you for coming," Shane replied, before he looked towards me. "I hope you feel better, Rose."

My mouth was feeling drier that I wasn't surprised if tumbleweed suddenly rolled over my tongue. Why did he have to look at me like that? And why did I respond to him like that? I held onto Nick wanting Shane to know that I wasn't interested and that I am happily married woman. It probably didn't look as convincing, but I was only grateful that Nick was leading me away; my safety net. I no longer felt trapped as we left through the front door, our shoes crunching under the pebbles. I could breathe, and I needed to, sucking in air.

"Shame we couldn't stay any longer," Nick commented as we turned onto our driveway passing the red SUV, and my sliver convertible. "I was enjoying myself. But nonetheless, you're more important, babe. So, let's get you upstairs, tucked up in your pjs and into bed. Okay?" His comforting tone a relish to my ears knowing I was secure from myself and him.

As awful as my insomnia was, it only proved to be more hell-like once I had Shane swarming through my thoughts. I sat sitting up in the bed, aside of me Nick soundfully snoring his head off and thankfully oblivious to my predicament I was alone facing. My head couldn't stop thinking about the way it felt when he touched me, the excitement I felt unusually different to than I felt with Nick. It was like something had awakened within me that had been dormant for years. I was thirsty to write.

My thoughts bled out onto the page, the pending document that I hadn't nurtured. It was strange how I sat there at three in the morning, typing incessantly barely needing time to stop and think. Words just poured onto page after page that when sleep finally decided to ensnare me, I'd written eleven pages.

When I'd woken up next, it was seven in the morning. Nick was just heading into the study. "There you are. Did you fall asleep on the keyboard?" he said, humour laced within his tone. "Babe is that words on the screen I see!" He came over, leaning his hand on the back of my desktop chair, intrigued with the computer screen. "Wow. It seems your writer's block has gone. Heck, so glad to see I'm another inspiration for your protagonist's lover," he added, fumbling with his red tie.

It took me time to adjust to the screen I'd painted with words. But it took more time for my guilt to disperse as I knew myself that the man I'd introduced into the plot was not Nick. Far from it. "Yeah, I guess. Of course, Nick," I lied, when I found the words.

He kissed the top of my head. "I told you that you didn't need to worry, Rose." Then he began to fasten his cuffs of his blue long shirt. "Hey, let me know if you need any more inspiration, baby doll," he joked, winking as he headed to exit the room.

A whoosh of air escaped my lips as soon as I heard him head downstairs. How could I possibly hurt my husband by telling him that the sudden yearn to write was sparked by the man next door. How the paragraphs I'd allowed work onto pages were detailing the mystery of the man, the calm and coolness I knew my neighbour embodied.

He effortlessly unhooked her bra, throwing it to the side as his embraced her into his naked arms. The feel of their moulded bodies together in a fiery combat of mouth on mouth, skin on skin tumbling into the blanket of bliss.

Her eyes glanced into the dark depths of his eyes, that dangerous flicker of temptation pulling her into his oblivion.

I read it over and over. Fuck. This didn't feel like Nick. Of course, not all my characters I'd written were based off Nick or fully were his character but the majority of inspiration I'd gotten were influenced by my husband, not this. This. Character if I could even call them that, was different. He seemed more dangerous. A mystery. I wasn't even sure where I was going with the story. I didn't know what was to become of it. Nor, did I feel like it was right. With aggravation, I clicked off the word document hoping I hadn't saved it, but I knew very well that I did. Several times.

***

Pete sat opposite me, his tiny frame seemed vulnerable against the two plush pillows. He held a coffee mug in his hands as I anxiously paced the room. He was my literary agent, had been for the past three years. There was not an ounce of him that wasn't trustworthy. So, when he arrived on my doorstep around three in the afternoon, I knew his best interests were at heart than just to suck money from me.

"I'm just being honest with you, Rose. You need to pump another one of those ideas into the public. The readers haven't had a new series from you since last year. It's important we keep the buzz. You're a brilliant author who I don't want to see to be tomorrow's chip paper," he explained, his fairly greyish moustache moving as he spoke.

"I know. I know," I sighed, pausing just before the centre coffee table, "I just can't seem to come up with anything," I lied, knowing very well that I'd started on something last night, or this morning to be exact.

"It's normal. Hell, books can't just be created overnight. That would make your job a hell lot easier and mine," he replied, before taking a sip from his mug. "I know I'm not no writer myself but isn't romance just right under your nose? Nick, for example?" he hinted at, scratching the end of his podgy nose.

"That's what I thought," I agreed, shaking my head in disbelief as I sat down on the chair against the bay window. "But even with my husband, I'm not gathering any inspiration and that sucks to admit."

"Ey..it's normal," he said, "besides, analytics are showing that readers want more of the mysterious sort of hottie man. So, why not try that?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Haven't I already done that before?"

"Hasn't every author," he joked, "I just think you need to just not stress over this and the inspiration will hit when you least expect it. I know that's not the advice we want to both be hearing but it's the best. Just---" He raised his hands in the air. "Go on holiday or something! Heck put on a few romance films. Whatever you decide to do, just relax."

"I'll try."

"Oh, and if possible, let's say we try in another two weeks and see if you've got something. Okay?" he said, giving me a broad smile, "but for now, relax. Keep your presence on social media present and we'll have the boat sailing in no time."

Pete left after that leaving me to wonder how I'd manage to relax. Maybe, I could read a book? Exercise? But whatever I decided I knew that the bugging guilt would prevail, making me think of that novel I'd started.

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