Love Between the Pages: 8 Romances for Booklovers

by Bird, Peggy

  Unfortunately, the only thing Georgeanne wished she had done right was tell Zane immediately that she was Fritzi Field. If she had, then maybe she wouldn’t have fallen in love with him. Maybe she wouldn’t have to face the American reading public with a stiff little smile and a heart that felt frozen.

  “I remained anonymous because I was so ashamed of my own failure as a wife,” she heard her television image say. “The book was an attempt to find a solution to that failure.”

  That was another thing Zane had been right about. She had nothing to be ashamed of. She had spoken for every woman in a situation similar to hers, and she had obviously hit quite a large target. And she offered a solution, for what it was worth. Not every woman was in a position to end her marriage and go in search of “Mr. Right.”

  Georgeanne watched herself turn the discussion over to Denise, who took over talking about Faking It while holding the book so the viewers could get a good view of the front cover. Denise defended the book to a couple of male hecklers in the audience with considerable verve and smilingly accepted the accolades of several loyal female fans.

  Denise handled the discussion with aplomb, and Georgeanne sighed with relief. She had now appeared on a grand total of five talk shows with Denise beside her, and Georgeanne had seen immediately that Denise had what it took to send Faking It even higher on the bestseller lists. She exuded enthusiasm and dedication, and no question asked could throw her. Moreover, Denise had made vast inroads into the two boxes of Fritzi Field’s letters, besides answering questions and posting essays daily on the official Fritzi Field website.

  Denise, for all practical purposes, had become Fritzi Field. She probably knew as much about the book as its author, and she had already put together an outline for a sequel. Georgeanne had promised to help with the writing, but the ideas this time belonged to Denise, and Denise would be the one defending them publicly.

  Thank God. She, Georgeanne, was going home. She wanted her old job back. She wanted to man her desk at the Saturday Clinic. She wanted her house and she wanted Roscoe and Jack beside her. She couldn’t write without the proper surroundings and stimulation from people she liked.

  She wanted Zane.

  Sighing, Georgeanne turned the television off and flopped back down on the bed. Thank goodness she hadn’t quit her job at the Gant Clinic. She could go home and take up her life again.

  She’d see Zane on occasional Saturdays when he did his stint at the Saturday Clinic, and he needn’t worry that she would embarrass him. She had plenty to do. But at least she could see him. That was better than not seeing him.

  True, Zane had not officially ended their relationship, but she had figured that when he encouraged her to do the book tour, he was taking the polite way out, now that he knew she was Fritzi Field. She had hardly heard from him since.

  Georgeanne frowned over the memory. At the time, she had believed him when he said he was proud of her. She hadn’t realized the truth until she was a week into the tour, when she suddenly remembered his intense arguments about her duty to her readers. He was taking the least hurtful way of ending their relationship before it really got started.

  Someone knocked at her door. She peered through the peephole then unlatched the door so Denise could enter.

  “What are you doing still up?” she asked. “You’re supposed to be up at five in the morning for the next show.”

  “I know. I’m too excited, I guess. I’ve been answering more of Fritzi’s letters.” She studied her friend. “Are you sure you want to quit the tour like this? We’re selling books like crazy, and like it or not, you’re still the real Fritzi Field.”

  “No, I’m not.” Georgeanne was positive on that point. “You’ve taken on the job, so that makes you the real Fritzi Field as of right now. The truth is I have to have my dogs and my house and lots of peace and quiet in order to write. So if you want help with that sequel, your job is to keep the reporters and talk show hosts happy while I get the writing started.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” Denise clutched a sheaf of papers. “These are the ideas that came to me while I was answering questions this evening.” She waved the papers at Georgeanne. “We may have to do two or three sequels, Georgie. It’s unbelievable what the readers are telling me. They’re writing the books for us.”

  Georgeanne smiled and agreed.

  It was two o’clock by the time Denise wound down a little and returned to her own room. Georgeanne immediately returned to thinking about Zane.

  She wondered what he would think when he turned up at the Saturday Clinic in a week or two and found her sitting at the front desk. Or what he would think if she visited him at his clinic under some pretext or other. More to the point, could she interest him in taking up where he left off?

  She probably couldn’t, Georgeanne’s incurably honest alter ego answered. He had intimated that her career as a writer had taken off, and her duty was to nurture it. He seemed to think that a career as a famous writer was her life’s dream or something.

  Which was ridiculous. She liked writing, but she hated being famous and having everybody ask her things, as if she was some sort of know-it-all oracle. She wasn’t cut out for doing talk shows and publicity tours, especially when they focused all eyes on her.

  It was one thing to sit in her own home and write intimate advice to a nebulous but carefully targeted audience. It was quite another to advise a member of that audience in person. She was definitely not cut out to be a clinical psychologist, and she had been right to realize it before she signed up for courses.

  She was destined to be a clinic receptionist and volunteer who wrote as a hobby about whatever interested her. Why couldn’t Zane see that?

  Georgeanne covered her face with her hands. She would have sworn Zane wanted her as much as she wanted him. She recalled him telling her they were involved in a serious relationship and heaved a deep sigh. He had meant it at the time. She knew he had.

  So why had Zane practically pushed her onto an airplane to begin her book tour if he really wanted their relationship to prosper?

  Unless he believed she had been faking her sexual response to him, once he discovered she had written Faking It.

  Now that she thought about it, he had sounded almost angry when he told her what she owed her readers. The very idea was a stab to her heart. Surely it wasn’t true.

  Georgeanne had no answers to the questions circling in her brain, but she did know one thing. When she got home, she was driving to Houston. She would not return home until she knew, once and for all, exactly where she stood with Zane Bryant.

  They had experienced wonderful sex together, something she had believed herself incapable of. He had shown her a whole new life, then he had taken it away. He owed her an explanation, by God, and she was going to get it.

  Another knock sounded on her door. Georgeanne looked at the clock. Three o’clock in the morning. Denise was going to be a zombie on that early-morning talk show.

  She went to the peephole, and gasped with astonishment when she saw Hunter Howell’s handsome form through the tiny lens. She grabbed her robe off the bed and belted it securely before opening the door. If he intended to give her some sort of stay-away message from Zane, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.

  “About time,” he said.

  Georgeanne felt as if someone had thrown her off a cliff. “Zane? Why are you trying to look like your brother?”

  Zane threw back his head and laughed. “I told him you’d recognize me right off. He seemed to think I should snow you for a few minutes.” He forked his fingers through his hair and it fell back to its usual style. “Hunt’s been reading too many movie scripts.”

  “Why did he think it would be a good thing for me to think you were him?” Georgeanne felt winded and dizzy. No doubt she was suffering heart palpitations on top of that, because she couldn’t seem to think. “Or am I supposed to think he’s you?”

  Zane came inside and waited while she locked the door. “To
tell you the truth, I’m not sure what he thought, but he’s trying to be helpful. Georgie, you’ve lost entirely too much weight. Do you mind telling me what you think you’re doing?”

  “What I think I’m doing?” she echoed, baffled. “I’ve been doing this book tour you talked me into. But Denise is taking over for me, and I’m going home. Denise does Fritzi Field a lot better than I do. She’s already planning a sequel, and talk show hosts love her personality. So I’m quitting with a good conscience. Why? Is that what you’re afraid of?” she demanded.

  “You’re not making any sense.” Zane frowned. “You’re probably not thinking well due to an overall lack of nutrition. I’m ordering you a good meal from room service, and you’re going to eat it.”

  “My thinking is perfectly clear, thank you.” Georgeanne drew herself up and frowned back. “And I’m making sense, but you’re not. What are you doing here, Zane? Did you come just to tell me I’ve lost too much weight, after you practically shoved me out the door for this tour?”

  Her heart pounded so hard, Georgeanne noticed that she really was having trouble formulating thoughts. She wasn’t making any sense to herself, and she trembled all over now that Zane was here. Oh, she was a mental wreck, and in another minute, she was going to fling herself into his arms, whether he liked it or not.

  The way he frowned, she very much feared he wouldn’t like it.

  “What do you mean shoved you out the door?” His intense stare seemed to look straight through her. “I did no such thing, other than tell you what your agent had been saying for weeks, that you owed your readers more than what you were giving them.”

  “I still say the book stands on its own. I have nothing more to add to it.” Georgeanne struggled with an urge to bean him with the nearest object. “If you’re here because you think I was putting Fritzi Field’s advice into practice when I slept with you, then you’d better leave now before I beat you to death with a pillow.”

  His frown vanished into astonishment. “You think I thought you were faking your sexual response with me?”

  “Well, what else am I supposed to think?” Georgeanne said, her voice rising. “The minute you found out I was Fritzi Field, you couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. But that’s beside the point. The point is, why are you here now?”

  “I came to grab you by the hair and drag you home, of course.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Are you going to come peacefully, or do I have to do the caveman act?”

  Georgeanne drew in air and told herself she could not possibly be hearing correctly. “Have you been taking acting lessons from Hunter about how to be a caveman?”

  “I don’t need lessons.” Zane unfolded his arms and came toward her with purpose in every motion. “I do a great caveman act.”

  Georgeanne took a few steps back and watched him approach with wide eyes as an impossible joy swept through her. “In that case, maybe I’m the one who needs lessons.”

  He stopped in front of her and took her shoulders in his hands. “Georgie, I’ve missed you so much. Now I’m going to take up right where we left off over a month ago.”

  “I thought — I was afraid you wouldn’t want to.” Georgeanne watched his big fingers untie the knot in her robe and almost trembled with a powerful mix of joy and desire.

  “Why on earth not?” Zane slid his hands up to push the robe off her shoulders. “You’re mine. I’ve been wanting to kill every male talk show host who hugged up to you.”

  “I hate talk shows.” She did tremble when he ran his hands down the sides of the silky nightgown she wore. “I was coming to your apartment as soon as I got home.”

  “Were you.” He smiled at her. “What for?”

  “To have it out with you, of course.” Georgeanne, filled with joyful disbelief, laughed breathlessly. “I hate book tours, Zane, but you were right. It was something I owed my publisher and agent, and my readers. It’s over now, and I’m not going on another one. I’ve hired a personal representative to take care of all that for me.”

  “Denise?” He ran his hands over her rib cage.

  “Denise loves being Fritzi Field.”

  “Are you sure, Georgie?” Zane asked.

  She pushed back slightly and looked at him. “I was never more sure of anything in my life. It … occurred to me that maybe you thought … that maybe you thought I liked book tours and being a well-known author. So I decided that when I got home, I’d better come tell you how I really feel about it.”

  “So how do you really feel about being a famous author?”

  Georgeanne sought for words. It wasn’t easy when Zane gently drew her nightgown off over her head. “An author’s job is to write books, but when a book is as successful as Faking It, readers expect and deserve a lot more.” She stopped and swallowed hard. “I wanted to thank you for pointing that out to me. You were right when you said I had a responsibility to my readers.”

  Zane nodded and tossed her nightgown aside. “Go on, please.”

  “But before I left, I had already learned something else, something even more important. I learned that there really is one man for every woman, a man who can make her feel all the things people talk about and poets write poems about.” In fact, she wanted to add, she was feeling some of them now.

  “Mr. Right?” Zane asked, staring at her breasts.

  “Yes.” Georgeanne found that everything inside her responded to his glittering, intent expression. For a writer, she wasn’t exactly flowing with glowing prose just now when she needed it most. “Zane, I’m trying to tell you that I love you. And that I would never have left home if you hadn’t showed me what I owed my readers.”

  Zane dragged Georgeanne into his arms. “Thank God. I thought you never were going to say it. Georgie, I love you. I think I’ve loved you since you wrote me that first letter about the Saturday Clinic. I was afraid that you’d lose interest in me as soon as you realized you had a successful career as Fritzi Field.”

  “Never.” She rode in his arms to the bed, glorying in his strength and the fact that he loved her. “What’s a career compared to you?”

  “I was afraid to find out the answer to that.” He laid her in the center of the bed and stepped back to shed his own clothing without taking his eyes from her. “I knew there wasn’t much I could do to advance your writing career, even if I became a cardiologist.”

  “You’d be wasted as a cardiologist.” Georgeanne could barely speak when he bared himself to her view. “Besides, you’d probably be personally responsible for a lot of female cardiac deaths.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “It would be irresponsible of me to let you become a heart doctor.”

  “Good, because I would be equally irresponsible if I let you do any more talk shows.” He came to her, all rugged masculinity, and took her in his arms. “I’m surprised those talk show hosts aren’t getting calls from men who want to meet you.”

  “So they can show me what Fritzi Field is missing?” Georgeanne couldn’t help herself and began to laugh softly. “They’ve gotten dozens of calls, and each of the male callers thinks he’ll be the one who can turn Fritzi Field into a real woman.”

  “What?” Zane sounded outraged. “That does it. You’re through with talk shows, Georgie Hartfield.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” She smiled up at him as he leaned over her. “Denise makes pancakes out of anyone who tries to come on to her or harass her. Talk show hosts love her. She creates the kind of controversy they adore.”

  Zane gazed at Georgeanne’s breasts and cupped one in his palm. “Good. I have a feeling Denise is going to shine as Fritzi Field. I’ll bet she’s having a great time.”

  His mouth replaced his palm, and Georgeanne drew in a quivering breath. “She is, but not nearly as much as I’m enjoying the process of being turned into a real woman.”

  *

  Three months later, Georgeanne awakened early one morning to find Zane beside her with a tray in his hands. He set the tray on the bedsid
e stand and she saw that it carried a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, and oatmeal, a vase that held a single rose, and a cup of fragrant coffee.

  “Wake up, Mrs. Bryant,” Zane said. “The world awaits.”

  She stretched and yawned, conscious of his appreciative gaze. “That’s one thing nobody ever told me. Doctors have the ability to leap out of bed, fully awake and aware at an unearthly hour of the morning.”

  “We learn it in residency.” Zane sat on the edge of the bed beside her. “You have to go from deep sleep to full diagnostic mode inside of two minutes. I have something to tell you as soon as you’ve had a few sips of coffee.”

  “Oh?” Georgeanne sat up and stacked pillows behind her. “Does this have anything to do with my new book idea by any chance?”

  “As a matter of fact, it does.” Zane stroked her tumbled hair back from her face. “Dr. Baghri wants you to accept a new position at the Saturday Clinic.”

  “I don’t know about that, Zane.” She studied his face, amazed at the strength of the emotions just the sight of him evoked. “The only position I understand at the Saturday Clinic is the front desk. I don’t have any medical training whatsoever.”

  “He wants you to take the position of Director. He says it’s the only way to make sure you keep doing everything you’ve been doing.” He grinned at her expression as he transferred the breakfast tray to her lap. “I think he’s afraid you’re going to write another bestselling book and take off on another book tour. The Saturday Clinic nearly collapsed under the weight of patients while you were gone.”

  “That’s the least of his worries.” Georgeanne nibbled a piece of crisp bacon. “I finished my outline last night. Telling the story of the Saturday Clinic might get other clinics started all over the country. Plus, it’s the only way I can memorialize what brought us together.”

  “And Dr. Baghri is the one who’ll have to do the book tours?” Zane outlined her lips with one finger. “That’s an excellent idea, because that brings me to my next piece of news. I’ve decided to join the Gant Clinic two days a week — the two days Dr. Baghri will be taking off to help start Saturday Clinics in other areas of the country.”