by Bird, Peggy
As they were eating dessert, he returned to the subject, much to her discomfort. “To get back to your misbehaving characters, what have you tried so far to sort it out?”
“Well, I tried having her tell him when they were having dinner, but she couldn’t find a way to raise the subject. Then I thought about having her write an e-mail …”
“Too impersonal. Text is even worse. Phone call might not even work.”
“That’s what I decided, too, at least about the e-mail and text. I still might try a phone call if the scene I have in mind doesn’t grab me when I write it next week.”
“What’s your idea for the scene?”
“I think I’ll have her tell him when they’re in bed. You know, in the afterglow of great sex. But I haven’t quite figured out what his reaction will be. Which is why I haven’t written it yet.”
He laughed. “Tell him after hot sex! There speaks the Queen of Steam! Now that I think about it, it might work. All those endorphins from good sex do make a guy mellow. Although isn’t he likely to drift off to sleep right afterward and miss what she’s saying?”
“My heroes always stay awake long enough to cuddle.”
“Which is why it’s fiction.” He grinned. “Although if he does fall asleep while she’s telling him, it would give you another layer of complication. She thinks she told him. He swears she didn’t.”
“I’ll have to think about it, I guess.” She offered him a spoonful of her chocolate mousse. “Here, you absolutely have to taste this. It’s spectacular.”
She made sure there was no more talk about her book at dinner. But she did tuck away the idea of telling him when they were in bed, assuming that’s where they were headed after dinner. It could be her best chance to tell him when he was relaxed after they’d had their usual spectacular sex.
During the cab ride from the restaurant, she asked about the progress on his book about race relations in Oregon featuring the story of Dr. DeNorval Unthank, the first black doctor in the state. From his response to her question, it was obvious he was pleased with his progress. In fact, the entire cab ride back to the hotel was happily taken up with his explanation.
Claudia had never been so content to be on the receiving end of a lecture about someone else’s book.
• • •
By the time they reached their hotel, the cabbie could have written the book Brad was working on, he had told Claire so much about it. She’d asked a couple questions he hadn’t thought of, which made him pull out the small notebook and pen he always carried so he could jot down ideas. Talking about their work was one of the things he loved about their relationship. He’d never had this kind of give-and-take with another woman before.
They seemed, over the course of the evening, to have gotten back on firm ground, and he couldn’t be happier. Mere happiness turned to elation when he asked her if she wanted a nightcap in the bar, and she’d said she’d rather have it in his room. He got her in the elevator and on the way up to his floor before she had even a moment to reconsider.
They had barely made it into his room when she damn near attacked him. Well, not really. But she sure as hell stopped him cold two steps into the room with a scorching hot kiss that had their tongues tangling and his dick hardening, eager to come out to join the party. Before he could move, she slipped his jacket off his shoulders and began to unbutton his shirt.
“I’ve wanted to do this all evening,” she said. “You look so hot. You smell so good. I’d say you set out to seduce me tonight.”
“And I can’t tell you how glad I am to see it’s working.”
She pressed her hips into his, rubbing against his erection. “I can tell you’re happy.”
He ran his hands down her back looking for a way to get her out of her dress. “How the hell do I get this thing off you? I can’t find a zipper.”
She laughed and moved his hand to her left side. “It’s here. Then it comes off over my head.”
What was in front of him when he followed her instructions took his breath away. He swore she was wearing nothing but three patches of black lace, two barely covering her nipples, one struggling to contain her mound. “Jesus, woman, who had plans to seduce whom?”
She stepped over the dress he’d let drop to the floor and said, “I love a man who knows the difference between who and whom.” She tugged at his shirttails to get them out of his pants. “This needs to come off. I want to see that beautiful chest of yours.”
He obliged. She then tugged at the buckle on his belt. “The pants, too, lover.”
After he took a condom from his pants pocket, he stripped down, then backed her to the edge of the bed the housekeeping staff had conveniently turned down for them. She hopped up and lay back on the pillows, one leg bent with the knee in the air, the other flat. When she put her hands behind her head, she looked like she was hanging out, relaxing. But the flush on her cheeks and her ragged breathing said she was anything but at ease.
He joined her in bed, kneeling beside her, and cradled her face in his hands. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Ever imagined. I’m so glad you’re here tonight. I’ve been worried …”
“Shh. Not now. Later.” With her hands at the back of his neck, she pulled his mouth to hers, urging him to open for her, sliding her tongue past his lips when he did.
Someone moaned. He wasn’t sure which one of them. He didn’t care. All he wanted was to taste more of her body. He slid a slender, silken strap off one shoulder and caressed the breast he found under the bit of lace it was attached to. Then he did the same with the second strap. When he discovered the tiny bow between her breasts that released the whole thing, he untied it and feasted on the best gift he’d ever unwrapped.
From the restless way she was moving, and the little sounds he knew she made when she was on her way to an orgasm, he knew she was ready for him, wanted him to enter her. But he wasn’t yet ready to give up exploring more of her body, eager as he was to reacquaint his mouth and his hands with every glorious inch of her.
He trailed kisses down her neck and then to her breasts. His hand slid along her ribs to the spot between her legs he knew would be hot and wet for him. She clenched her thighs around his hand, as if to keep it from leaving. As if he would. But the last patch of lace was in the way. He ripped at it, and it disappeared.
As he suckled at her breast, he entered her with one finger, then two, rubbing the tight bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex. He could feel her legs begin to tremble, heard her breath catch, and knew she was close. Her body bowed toward him, and she called his name. As she came down from the orgasm, he sheathed himself in the condom and entered her with one strong thrust.
Heaven. He’d entered heaven.
• • •
Claudia held tight to Brad’s shoulders and felt a second climax begin, her inner muscles growing tight around his penis. He hooked an arm behind one knee and angled her body up so he could thrust deeper into her. He filled her completely; every empty space in her body seemed full of Brad. As the orgasm hit her with a force like a hurricane, with one final thrust and calling “Claire. Oh, God, Claire,” Brad reached his climax, too.
He collapsed on her, buried his head in her neck, nipped at her jaw, then began to move off. But she held him in place, needing to feel the weight of him on her. Needing his strong body against hers. Still.
After a few minutes of complete silence, broken only by the sounds of their mutual attempts to get their ragged breathing under control, he rolled to his side, taking her with him, still in his strong arms, still inside her. He kissed the tip of her nose. “You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever known.”
“You’re pretty amazing yourself,” was all she could think of to say.
“I need to go take care of this condom. Want anything while I’m up?”
“No, I’m fine.” I’m not fine because I’m about to tell you something that’ll make you hate me, but I have to do it.
He wasn’t g
one long. He returned with a warm, wet washcloth so she could clean herself up a bit. It was what he always did, but this time, his thoughtfulness made her want to cry because she was going to ruin the whole evening with what she told him, she was sure.
Also as he always did, he spooned around her when he got back in bed. Between yawns, he asked, “Can you spend the night, or does Mary Lynn expect you back in your room?”
“I’ll leave in a little bit. She probably doesn’t care but … well, you know.”
“Yup. I know. Your reputation.” Yawns again.
Not seeing him made it a bit easier to say what she wanted to say. So she started. “You know the conversation we had about my heroine having something she’s hidden from my hero?”
“Mm. At dinner. Sure.”
“Well, it’s one of those things I wrote from real life, I’m afraid. There’s something I need to tell you.”
His breathing was becoming shallow and even.
“Brad? Are you awake?”
“Mmm. How could I fall asleep when you’re telling me something about your book?”
“Not my book. About me. I’ve been …”
“If I was the guy you’re writing about, I’d be furious if the woman I loved lied to me. Nothing worse than lying parents and lying lovers.”
Her breathing caught, and she swore her heart skipped a beat. Maybe two or three. She didn’t know what to do. Should she plunge ahead and tell him anyway? And what did he mean, lying parents?
“Brad?”
There was no answer. She shifted a bit so she was out from the circle of his arms. It was obvious when he didn’t pull her back against him that he was definitely asleep.
“Oh, Brad. I want to tell you the truth so badly but I’m afraid you’ll hate me. And I don’t know what’s worse—lying to you and keeping you or telling the truth and losing you. I think I’m in love with you.”
“Love with you, too,” came from the sleeping man next to her.
She slipped out of bed, gathered up her clothes and shoes, and headed for the bathroom. She’d never believed in hell up until this very moment. Now she knew it was real.
Chapter 14
Mary Lynn was sound asleep when Claudia got back to their room. And thanks to the note Claudia left before she crawled into her bed, her agent went to the breakfast meeting with Brad the next morning alone. Claudia didn’t leave the room all morning, didn’t even dress, knowing Mary Lynn was booked with appointments and wouldn’t be back. She intended to stay put until she figured out a way to face Brad and tell him the truth. Or until hell froze over. Which one was likely to occur first, she wasn’t sure.
Then she remembered the book signing that afternoon. She was slated to be there, in the same space with Brad. Although with any luck, not next to him again. Reluctantly, she showered and began to dress.
The perplexing part of her conversations with Brad the night before was, somehow, she felt as if she had told him about her fake identity by cloaking it as a plot problem and he hadn’t understood it. In her head, she knew she’d done no such thing. But somehow, the devil on her shoulder kept saying she’d dropped enough breadcrumbs to lead him to the right conclusion. The resulting confusion left her feeling guilty for not telling him, fearful of what he’d say if he did follow the breadcrumbs, and a tiny bit of relief he hadn’t even if she was disappointed he hadn’t been astute enough to figure it out. She was so confused by her own reactions, it was no wonder she couldn’t figure out how to confront Brad.
She still hadn’t come to a conclusion by the time she was due in the ballroom for the author signing. So she finished putting on her April Mayes clothes, face, and shoes and mentally prepared herself for a possibly embarrassing and very public scene if Brad had seen the light and understood she was hiding something from him. If he demanded to know what it was while they were in public, she wasn’t sure what she’d say.
Mary Lynn was already at the table assigned to her, unpacking books. Her sly grin was enough to set Claudia’s teeth on edge. “Good night last night, was it? I didn’t hear you come in, and you were sleeping so soundly this morning I don’t think an earthquake could have disturbed you.”
“Can we get this table set up and skip the small talk?”
Mary Lynn fussed with an arrangement of postcards and bookmarks as she continued, ignoring Claudia’s suggestion. “Brad seemed very happy this morning, although he was disappointed you weren’t at our meeting. I told him you’d gotten in late, and he grinned like a silly fool.”
Maybe a change of subject would get her agent off the topic of the night before. “Did breakfast go well? Are you signing him as a new client?”
“It looks that way. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Why should I?”
“You seem to have developed a proprietary interest in him over the past weeks.”
“I don’t own him. And you’re the best agent I know.” She slapped a book on top of a pile of others, realized it was not the right one, and slung it back into the box behind the table.
Mary Lynn frowned at her. “Something’s off here. What’s going on? He’s happy. You’re not. I expected it would be the other way around after you told him …”
“I didn’t tell him.”
“Aha. Now I understand. Why the hell not?”
“It never seemed the right time to bring it up.”
“I can’t imagine how that could happen. I mean, don’t all your conversations with the men you love include some discussion of how you’re hiding behind not one but two fake names, a fake phone number, and carrying on in someone else’s home, which you claim as yours?”
“Sarcasm duly noted, as well as the repetition of what you have already lectured me about.” Claudia rearranged the books on the table, trying to avoid Mary Lynn’s gaze. “And I don’t love him. I don’t think I do, anyway.” She dropped into the chair and gave up pretending to arrange her display. “Okay, maybe I do, but I’ve never told him.” As long as you don’t count saying it when he’s asleep and I’m trying to get out of his room as fast as I can.
“Look, I tried to tell him. I really did. But when I sort of broached the subject, he made it clear how much he hated being lied to. I chickened out. I’ll have to find another way to handle this.”
“Handle what, lovely?” Brad asked, coming up behind her and putting his hand on her shoulder, a small touch, which was enough to turn her knees to jelly. Damn it.
“Nothing. Just girly stuff.” She stood to move away from him as quickly as she could. “Where’s your table?”
“All the way on the other side of the ballroom. Not as lucky this time as I was in San Francisco, sadly.” He winked at Mary Lynn. “Did you tell her we’ll both be part of your entourage in three months?”
“I did. She said you had great taste in agents.”
He grinned. “Sounds like something you’d say, Mary Lynn.”
“Okay, it was me. But I think she’d agree, wouldn’t you, Cl … ah … April?”
Before Claudia could answer, the coordinator for the signing signaled “time” and the doors were opened. Brad leaned in, touched her face, and said softly, “After the reception tonight, can we have a repeat of last night?”
“You better get back to your table, hadn’t you?” Claudia said.
“You haven’t …” Brad was interrupted by one of the volunteers who very firmly herded him across the room, leaving his sentence unfinished and his question unanswered.
Claudia relaxed into the buzz of all the readers and fans in the room talking to and buying books from their favorite romance authors. Some of the proceeds from the event went to a literacy program the organization supported, giving avid readers a great excuse to stock up on new books while feeling good about it because they were giving to a worthwhile cause.
Things were proceeding quite well until two women came to Claudia’s table. As they thumbed through her books and loaded up on pens and key chains, one of them, glancing at her name tag, sai
d, “Oh, you’re from Seattle. I don’t recall your name on the membership roster of the Greater Seattle Romance Writers of America. And I’m sure I’ve never seen you at the Emerald City Writers’ Conference.”
“No,” Claudia answered. “I’m not a member. And I’ve never been to the conference.”
“Well, we’ll take care of that. I’m organizing the event next year, and I’d love for you to do a presentation. I had no idea someone so famous and so talented was living in our city!” She rummaged around in her bag until she found a scrap of paper, then picked up one of the pens from Claudia’s display. “I need an e-mail or the name of your Facebook page so I can contact you.” She held the pen in readiness to take down the information.
This was exactly what Claudia had been trying to avoid by refusing to attend these meetings. She could barely think straight; she was close to a full-blown panic attack. Luckily, Mary Lynn wasn’t. She pulled a business card from her pocket. “I’m Mary Lynn Elliot, April’s agent. How about you contact her through me, and I’ll see what I can do for you?”
“Oh, that would be great,” the woman said. “I can hardly wait to tell the other GSRWA members about this. They’ll all want to come over to meet you.”
She was as good as her word. At first, a small dribble of Seattleites came to Claudia’s table. Then the dribble became a stream, which became a flood. It seemed every member of GSRWA in attendance went to see Claudia, bought her books, got her to sign them, and tried to wrest from her a promise to speak at next year’s Emerald City Writers’ Conference.
It was exhausting.
The minute the signing was over, Claudia bolted, leaving her agent to clean up after her. Her only thought was to escape, run home, get out of town. She was packing her suitcase when Mary Lynn returned.
“I thought I might find you doing that.” She snatched the bag of makeup Claudia was about to pack and returned it to the bathroom. “Now listen to me, girlfriend. You are fine. There’s no reason to panic. None of those women even came close to getting past your disguise. And I can handle whatever requests come from them. When they try to get you to speak at their conference or join their group, you’ll be out of town, having life-saving surgery, meeting with the president—something. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
