Ivory Tower

by Lace Daltyn

  Could she do it? Stay and give the workshop? Talk to a bunch of women about sex and relationships?

  Jenna had less idea now what she would do tomorrow than she’d had before Josh’s phone call.

  Chapter Ten

  The woman in the mirror looked different. Strange, yet familiar. Gone were the jeans and slacks, replaced by a simple summer dress that fell to her ankles. It seemed like a crazy choice for a professional conference, but as soon as she tried it on, the dress felt right. Jenna ran a hand over the soft material. She loved the subdued dark red and brown paisley print and it was perfect for any weather. A matching dark red Pashmina shawl complimented the look and would offer her something to clutch when her nerves got the best of her.

  Jenna tipped her head to one side, trying to see herself from a new angle. She’d spent the last four hours with Sharon shopping for new clothes, new makeup, even a new style to her hair. She fingered the layered tresses that softened her face and illuminated her eyes. Overall, the look wasn’t so much professional as it was soft and romantic. More importantly, she felt great. A glance at the hotel room’s digital clock reminded Jenna that Sharon would be here in a few minutes and she would soon be speaking to a roomful of women.

  This morning, she woke feeling very satisfied and knowing that she needed to stick this thing out, whatever it was. She would regret not staying. This was her chance to see what Jenna Wilton was made of.

  A brief three-page outline on erotic emotion she’d missed last night sat on the desk. A quick read impressed her. The ideas matched her writing style and the material was easy enough. She could do this. Besides, there would probably only be five women in attendance anyhow.

  Too short a time later, Jenna realized how wrong she’d been. On the way down the elevator, Sharon explained the workshop had become so popular, they’d moved it to a larger conference area.

  Oh, shit.

  As they drew close, Jenna could hear an excited buzz coming from inside. A loud buzz. Lots of voices.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “Wait here,” Sharon said. “Let me get everyone settled, then I’ll invite you in. That way, you won’t be mobbed.”

  While Sharon spoke to the attendees, Jenna peeked around the door, astounded to find every chair filled. There wasn’t even any standing room. Every aisle or bit of floor was spoken for by the overflow of women who apparently wanted to hear what Jenna had to say.

  Panic hit Jenna like an ice-cold snowball smack in the face. She gripped the wall. So many people. Her breathing labored and chills made her shiver almost uncontrollably. She couldn’t do this. The elevators were behind her and down the hallway. That’s the direction Jenna took a step in. Then stood immobile as Sharon’s clear words filtered through the red haze of panic in her brain.

  “—introduce to you, author Jenna Wilton!”

  Crap. She clutched the door, trying to decide. Run. Stay. Run. Stay. Like picking the petals off a daisy, she repeated the words, finally landing on stay. Okay. So be it. You can do this, Jenna Wilton. Just breathe. In and out. It took a few deep breaths, but her heart squeezed back into her chest. The time had come to stop thinking and just do. Jenna straightened her back and walked in through the door.

  The applause shocked her and she froze in place for another moment, then Sharon waved her up to the table, which sat on a small raised stage.

  “You can do this,” Sharon whispered.

  Jenna was really starting to like this girl. She took a seat and Sharon handed her the microphone. Thank God she wouldn’t be standing, because her legs felt like Jell-O. “Um, wow, thank you for this amazing reception.” She placed a hand over her heart, trying to keep it from leaping free of her chest again. “I’m completely overwhelmed.”

  She took a deep breath and spread the notes she’d found in her room out on the table in front of her. “Can you all hear me all right?”

  Nods and yeses answered her. Jenna gulped back the lump in her throat and glanced at her notes. “Okay, good.” Only a little wobble to her voice. That was good. She could do this.

  “Then let’s talk about writing erotic scenes. Feel free, if you have any questions, to interrupt me and ask.”

  She got through her introduction and several key points before finally hitting on the thing that was most important to her when it came to crafting stories. “Beyond anything else, writing eroticism isn’t all about the sex.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.” A woman who’d been taking fervent notes interrupted her presentation. “With an erotic story, everyone says you should start and end in the bedroom.”

  “You should start and end with them thinking about the bedroom. Thinking about each other. Writing hot isn’t so much about the act...” The chatter in the room stopped her for a moment. “Yes, okay, it’s partially about the act. But it’s mostly about how your characters are treated, about how they feel. And about what they learn about themselves in the process. It’s truly about the emotion.”

  Jenna watched a blush infuse the woman’s cheeks. “How do you have them thinking about sex all the time and still make it emotional? It feels like it’s all about body parts. I’m just trying to understand how you start a book with sex, yet get the reader invested in the character’s lives and growth?”

  Jenna realized she wasn’t giving these women enough of a starting point. She glanced down at her workshop notes, then shoved them aside. She waved her hands in a circular motion to the audience. “Here’s what you do. You set the stage with emotion. You write the sex, then you go back and layer in more emotion.”

  Taking a sip of water, she continued. “So start off with how she’s feeling. Or he. Either way. They both are in a passionate mood and attracted to each other, right? At least, they’d better be.”

  A chuckle rumbled through the audience.

  “I tell you what. Let’s try an exercise. Someone give me an opening line for a story. Not for a scene, but for the whole book.”

  A woman in the back with a T-shirt that read, “Be careful or you’ll be in my next book,” was the first to volunteer. “It was a dark and stormy night.”

  “Really? I’ve got a room full of writers here and that’s the opening line you give me?”

  Everyone laughed, but no other offerings were forthcoming.

  “All right.” Jenna held up her hands again. “Let’s go with that opening.” She took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts. Having never read any of her own scenes aloud, the idea of inventing one, in front of a group of, well, anybody, kicked her stage fright into high gear.

  “It was a dark and...” Her voice broke, so she cleared her throat with another sip of water and tried again.

  It was a dark and stormy night, a perfect match for Delilah’s mood. She stared out the window at the heavy summer rainfall. After a long day spent alone cataloguing the belongings of the old mansion, an edgy tension coiled her muscles into tight knots. The humidity made the warmth oppressive. Delilah pulled her hair up and held it in place on her head with both hands, seeking a coolness that eluded her.

  Even worse, she was damp with a need she couldn’t define. Had been all day. It was as if the house had cocooned her in a sensual haze. These feelings hadn’t stirred since...

  Jenna raised an eyebrow to the room of still and attentive women, warming to her subject.

  The touch on her neck was feather-light, like lips caressing her. Delilah moaned. An echoing sigh pulled her back against a solid chest as hands cupped her breasts like cherished possessions.

  She heard a murmur, like a man’s whisper carried by the wind. Had it been her own? Gentle kneading tightened her nipples to painful points, even through the damp cloth of her t-shirt. The movements were so careful, so designed to please her that she felt beloved. More so than she ever had before.

  A hand slid underneath her shirt and drifted toward her breasts. The front clasp of her bra released and the lacy material abraded tips already aching with a need that drove straight past her stomac
h to her wet core.

  Tender kisses along the back of her neck continued, enhancing the feeling of his touch. Some part of her wanted to turn, needed to turn, to see who...

  Oh! He cupped her mound, his fingers touching her intimately, even through the seams of her jeans. Back and forth, the fingers moved, then the feeling left and she was bereft.

  Until the zipper of her jeans lowered and his hand caressed her like she was a treasure to be savored. The chest she leaned against faded to nothingness as her jeans melted to the floor with gentle nudges. Before she could miss the broad strength she’d leaned into, it was back. He was back. Delilah reached behind and entwined her hands into locks of long hair that felt coarse and manly.

  Hands moved over her body, exciting her like she’d never known before, never felt before.

  Then they dipped into the reservoir between her legs, stroked slick folds, and took her to new fevered heights. Delilah tightened her hold in his hair, then leaned back into a rock hard cock.

  “Please,” she begged.

  The sigh she heard had a distinct masculine sound to it. A sound she could hear forever and not tire of.

  The fingers delved deep inside her, drawing more sensation, more raw feeling, and she arched into them, rocking back and forth, held in place by the man and his hands.

  She crashed over the top of an intense orgasm, her body shivering with need and exhaustion as the crescendo built, then slowly ebbed.

  Delilah reached out for support, her legs tangled in pooled jeans, and found only the rough, hard wall holding her up. She opened her eyes and looked around wildly.

  No one was there. She was alone.

  Jenna sat there, unable to move or react, afraid of the reaction from the audience. You could have heard a pin drop for several long seconds after she ended the story, then thunderous applause. It stymied her, and overwhelmed her at the same time.

  Her audience seemed mesmerized. By her. By what she'd said. They'd found it interesting. More than that, they found what she said important. And it was hers. All hers. Nobody could ever take that away.

  Chapter Eleven

  Behind the closed door of her hotel room, Jenna shook her head, amazed at herself for what she’d just done. She’d been the focal point of a room that overflowed with authors. And she’d created a scene on the spot. A sensuous, wild scene that had left her audience speechless.

  Jenna threw herself on the bed, laughing. She’d never felt so...powerful. So in control.

  And it had been her control. Not her mother’s. Or Josh’s.

  The thought of Josh reminded Jenna she hadn’t called him since their little tryst last night. She wanted to tell him about today. Needed to hear his voice. Damn, but she was hot herself after that story she’d come up with spur of the moment. Maybe they could do a repeat of last night.

  Jenna smiled as she reached for her purse and dug out her phone. Dead. And no way to charge it. Damn.

  Maybe they sold chargers in the hotel store. She reached for the hotel phone just as someone pounded on her door. She could hear the giggles from here. Opening the door, Sharon stood there, along with three other women who’d been in the front row at her workshop. Sharon was close to her own age, but the others were older.

  “Come on. We’re all going out and we want you to come with us.”

  “Oooh, I can’t. I need to make a phone call.”

  “You can call anytime,” Sharon said. “This is Vegas, baby. It’s time to go have fun.”

  Jenna glanced behind her. “I really shouldn’t.”

  It didn’t take much for them to convince her and soon they were out the door of the hotel. Vegas at night shone like an amazing kaleidoscope of color and lights. Jenna had never seen so many lights. And noise. The jingle of machines coupled with the muffled, throaty roar of a muscle car cruising the strip dazzled her senses.

  There were no short walks in Vegas. Each casino seemed to go on forever. Jenna craned her neck this way and that, trying to take everything in. So much so, she ran smack into Sharon.

  “Why did you stop?” Jenna asked.

  “Because we’re here,” Sharon said.

  “Where?” Jenna glanced at the board in front of her. Almost naked, totally buff men, wearing bow ties, greeted her. “Oooh, no.”

  “Oh, yes,” Sharon said, laughing. “You’ve got us all revved up and we need some release.”

  “Maybe you do, but I’ve got a fiancé at home.”

  “And where is home?”

  “Umm, not here.”

  “Exactly. Come on.” Sharon tugged at Jenna, pulling her inside. “You’re engaged right?”

  Jenna nodded. “Getting married in a week, as a matter of fact.”

  “Then consider this your bachelorette party. And if you really don’t want to, um, participate, we’ll be quite happy to have all the fun for you.”

  Minutes later, Jenna found herself ensconced at a table that seemed to be front and center for the action. The place was packed. And noisy, she thought, as they waited for the show. She leaned over the table to Sharon. “How did we get such a primo table?”

  “Dunno. Just lucky, I guess.” Busy turning her head from one side to the other as bare-chested waiters wandered the room, it was obvious her newfound friend wasn’t listening. Jenna sank down in her chair, getting the distinct feeling she was being set up.

  She glanced around, half expecting to see a mass of flaming curls. It would be well within her friend Mags’ repertoire to set up something like this.

  Except Mags didn’t know where Jenna was before their conversation last night, did she? Jenna chewed her lower lip. Mags indicated she had no idea where the letter came from and she doubted her friend would lie to her. But things were starting to feel a bit contrived, especially Sharon’s bachelorette party comment.

  Jenna had no time to corner Sharon about it as the lights dimmed and the music swelled. She didn’t want to be there, but that didn’t stop her chest from filling with heady anticipation as the lounge and its music worked its magic and sent the women around her into a frenzy.

  Chapter Twelve

  The drum roll announcing the night’s entertainment mellowed, giving way to a seductive, strip-style music. Jenna felt the rhythm thrumming through her body. Her mind recorded the feelings as her body started to tingle with excitement. This was great fodder for her next book.

  Research. That’s all this is. Research. She tried to form the words in her mind for how her body was reacting, but the spotlight hit the stage and deleted any coherent thought.

  Women all around her were screaming. Jenna didn’t scream. Ever. She couldn’t, however, tear her eyes away from the stage. Anticipation pricked every nerve ending and she sat spellbound. One part of her scoffed that she would be so easily pulled into all this hoopla, but her fun-center stuffed that part deep inside a box in the far reaches of her brain.

  Enjoy.

  Maybe she could, she thought, feeling a smile tug at her lips. Just a little. After all, she wasn’t married yet. There wasn’t anything that said she couldn’t look.

  She just couldn’t touch. Much.

  The beat of the music took on a decidedly western tone and out through the curtains sauntered a well-muscled cowboy.

  Oh, please. A cowboy? Could this get any more predictable?

  As the model began to sway and bump and grind, she found herself strangely disengaged. Sure, he had a great body. And some great moves. Sharon and the others at her table appeared riveted as they waved their money, but the guy just didn’t do it for Jenna.

  In fact, she missed Josh. Big time. Jenna sat back and let the chaos around her fade for the moment, and Josh took center stage in her mind. She missed how his smile always reached his eyes. How his arms around her felt both gentle and strong. How protective he was with her, yet he prodded her to make her own choices.

  How his lips could set her on fire and make her body hum with need. Hell, she was getting horny just thinking about him.

&nb
sp; The now G-stringed stripper leapt off the stage, almost right into the lap of a woman at the next table. The woman yee-hawed as she slapped the dancer’s bare ass.

  And Jenna thanked the good Lord he’d landed at the next table instead of theirs. They were way too close to the stage and there was no way she wanted some guy hanging all over her like that. She turned to Sharon and found her staring at Jenna with a smile on her face before her gaze quickly returned to the show.

  Jenna’s stomach rolled over. Oh, no. What had Sharon done?

  And what was Jenna about to be subjected to? She had to get out of there. Before she became the main act. She stood to leave. Sharon’s hand on her arm stopped her.

  “Wait,” her new friend said. “It will be worth it.”

  “What have you done?” Jenna asked. “I don’t want to become some circus act.”

  “Don’t worry. I promise, you’ll like this.”

  Jenna wasn’t convinced, but lost any ability to choose when the cowboy slithered over and nudged her with his hip until she sat back down, to the hoots and hollers of the entire place.

  He leaned close to her ear. “She’s right. You’re going to love this,” he whispered before he moved away and disappeared backstage.

  Feeling like a lamb being led to the slaughter, Jenna gave in to the pressure around her and slumped in her chair. The music changed to a song she knew well. It was one that she and Josh had danced to so many times, hip to hip and heart to heart.

  The curtains parted and a second stripper stepped out on the stage. Jenna watched, unable to look away, as the masked man began to move in slow, undulating motions. Moves designed to heat up every woman in the room, yet they all faded as Jenna fell, hypnotized, under the spell of the dancer.

  He wore black slacks and a business-suit vest, but no shirt underneath. And it looked sexy as hell. Shoulders defined by subtle muscles led to arms lightly haired and hands tipped in long fingers. Fingers she could almost imagine caressing her, touching her in places where she all of a sudden wanted to be touched.