Seducing Steve

by Maggie Wells

  Seducing Steve

  by Maggie Wells

  Copyright © 2011, Maggie Wells

  Digital ISBN: 9781935817949

  Published by Turquoise Morning Press

  www.turquoisemorningpress.com

  Turquoise Morning, LLC

  P.O. Box 43958

  Louisville, KY 40253-0958

  Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden, without the written permission of the publisher, Turquoise Morning Press.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author's imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

  This edition is published by agreement with Turquoise Morning Press, a division of Turquoise Morning, LLC.

  Seducing Steve

  Erotic romance novelist Sara Wright yearns for passion that leaps from the page. After a marriage that proved to be more fizzle than sizzle, Sara’s writing reflects her growing frustration and also her secret passion for her best friend and muse, Steve Larson.

  Steve Larson is anything but your typical romance hero. A redheaded computer nerd with a slow, southern drawl, Steve is neither a cattle baron nor a titan of industry. The one thing he does have going for him is that he has loved Sara from the moment he met her.

  When she confesses that he has long served as her inspiration, Steve leaps at the chance to take things to the next level. Determined to be the man to make her fantasies come true, he takes a page from Sara’s own books and plots a passion so intense it threatens to consume them and the friendship they both cherish.

  When friends turn into lovers, love can get lost in the shuffle. Fact becomes tightly cocooned in fiction as both Sara and Steve learn to balance their desires with the needs of their hearts.

  Chapter One

  The scene should have been perfect. All systems should have been a go. She’d planned everything down to the last detail. The heat was kicked up to ward off the chill of fast-approaching winter. Every surface of the room was cleaned and de-cluttered, the victims of ruthless swipes of her dusting cloth. From the iPod in the docking station, Norah Jones begged someone to turn her on. Hell, she’d even lit a candle. All in all, it was a seamless setting for a seduction which appeared to be completely stalled.

  Sara glared at the blank page on her monitor, and the field of white glared back—glowing at her, taunting her with its pristine perfection. Her eyebrows rose as she leaned forward, ready to answer the page’s unspoken challenge. With four quick keystrokes, she typed ‘cock’. Sara leaned back in her chair, a triumphant smile curving her lips. The smile faded when she realized she half-expected the computer to retaliate.

  After checking the empty doorway to be sure no one witnessed her moment of madness, Sara slumped in her computer chair. Her toes found purchase on the floor, and she began to swivel. The swivel used to drive Adam crazy; she loved making him crazy. It took a hell of a lot of effort to get her ex-husband worked up over anything.

  Now she struggled to get herself worked up. Sara’s jaw tightened. She gave her head a shake and leaned forward in her chair. She was supposed to be writing a romance, not dissecting her failed marriage. Resolved to tackle this thing head on, she twisted her dark blonde hair into a knot at the back of her head and secured the bundle with a pencil from the cup on her desk.

  She deleted the word ‘cock’ then opened the header on the document, intent on getting down to business. As she typed her pen name, ‘Sara Sloane’, she couldn’t help but wonder if her readers would still be intrigued by her stories if they ever met the mess of a woman behind the computer.

  The blinking cursor taunted her while she tried to will the words to come. Sara always started with the love scenes—or smut, as she preferred to call the steamier scenes. The smut was her thing, and according to her agent, the reason a woman would choose her book over dozens of others. But at the moment, the smut wouldn’t come.

  Sara snorted and settled back in her chair. “No pun intended,” she muttered.

  She stared at the ceiling, trying to think sexy thoughts.

  A deep, rumbling laugh. Soft, ragged breaths. Hot, slow, wet kisses. Taut, hard muscles bunching under creamy skin. Thick, rich auburn hair clenched between her fingers...

  Sara flung herself forward in the chair, almost panting as she glared at the blank monitor. She tried to blink away the picture of her best friend’s blinding white smile, but it wouldn’t go.

  Stop, stop, stop that!

  The teetering stack of books on the shelf above her desk shifted when she pushed away. Her latest release tumbled over the edge, landing on her keyboard and making her jump. Sara glowered at the dark-haired hero on the cover. The guy was all wrong for her story.

  The raven-haired rake whose hands splayed possessively over the female model’s bare back was not at all the man she envisioned when she wrote the book. At the time, the cover suited her just fine, but now the arrogant set of the model’s jaw reminded her too much of her ex-husband.

  Adam didn’t grace these pages. Her ex didn’t have enough imagination to set this or any other heroine on fire.

  Sara bit her lip. A swarm of hummingbirds took flight in her stomach. She pressed one hand to her belly to quell them. This had to stop. It wasn’t fair. She’d almost convinced herself that the words flowed so easily before because the words had been taboo—he was taboo. Her hero’s true inspiration was her secret, but now Sara was all too aware the taboo no longer existed.

  I’m free. He’s free. We can be anything we want to be to one another.

  She snatched the book from the keyboard and shoved it onto the shelf. Her fingertips played over the spines of her other titles—six in total. The seventh would hit the shelves within a month, and once again her best friend, Steve, would be an unsuspecting star.

  Steve Larson didn’t fit the image of the typical romance novel hero. He wasn’t a wealthy cattle rancher, or a ruthless corporate titan. He didn’t have flowing jet-black hair, piercing blue eyes, or a jaw carved out of granite. To be honest, he was one of those men you have to look at twice to realize he’s so much more than just another attractive man. Yet, Steve had played a starring role in almost every book she’d written. He just didn’t know it.

  His presence wasn’t particularly commanding. At least, not at first glance. Sure, at six-foot-five Steve towered over most people, but his easy-going smile put most everyone at ease. He wasn’t a ruthless businessman, but he and his partners worked hard, and the computer consulting firm they started five years before was thriving. His natural charm and the dregs of a southern drawl leftover from his childhood in Virginia were a winning combination, both with clients and most every woman he’d ever met.

  Every woman. She dropped into her chair, and the swiveling began again. As his friend, Sara was aware that he dated. Steve dated a lot. So much, that she once teased him about trying to conquer Christendom with his endless parade of Christies, Kirstens, Crystals, and Kristines.

  At first, probably because she was so blinded by her ex-husband’s superficial grace and sophistication, Sara had been a little shocked to discover the super-model caliber of women Steve attracted. Once she got to know him better, she understood his allure. Sadly, by then she was already married and just self-aware enough to know that though she was attractive, she didn’t believe she had what it took to topple the competition.

  She wondered if he let those women know what a geek he truly was, or if he kept his Battlestar Galactica obsession carefully concealed under his tailored su
its. She figured he probably kept those little factoids under wraps for a while, at least until he was ready to cut his woman-of-the-moment loose. Keeping his mouth shut about his latent nerdiness would be a good dating tactic on his part.

  “So say we all,” Sara murmured, staring at the blank wall above her desk.

  No, Steve wasn’t typical in the least. His auburn hair defied categorization, even if one had a Pantone color wheel on hand. Instead of the rippling bulk of sun burnished skin so popular in romance culture, Steve’s skin was as translucent as milk glass. His brown eyes sparkled—shockingly dark and beautifully expressive. To Sara, they were the human embodiment of a warm, melting Hershey’s bar when it’s sandwiched between graham crackers and a toasted marshmallow.

  A tiny groan tangled in her throat. Sara shook her head, trying to dislodge the tantalizing image she had conjured. It was no use. Sara couldn’t deny it any longer—she wanted Steve. Wanted him so badly she could almost taste him.

  I hope he tastes like chocolate….

  She sat up straighter and grabbed a pen and legal pad, determined to sort her ping-ponging thoughts out once and for all. Sara knew on some level she’d wanted Steve while she’d been married to Adam. In the year since her divorce became final, the want grew more pervasive and insistent. So insistent, that she’d been avoiding Steve for weeks.

  The surge of lust she battled each time she was near the man who had always been nothing more than a friend frightened her. She didn’t trust herself to keep her hands off of him and Sara couldn’t stand the thought of Steve becoming anything less than her friend—her best friend.

  In their eight years of friendship, Sara shared more of herself with Steve than she had with anyone else in the world. She was pretty sure she was the only woman he spoke to at length about the dangers of violating The Prime Directive when exploring strange, new worlds. She knew he had a replica of Captain Kirk’s Starfleet shirt in his closet because she’d given it to him, and Steve knew her fancies and foibles. He was acquainted with most of the skeletons in her closet—he just didn’t know he was the secret to her success.

  Sara stared at the empty page, knowing this avoidance scheme wasn’t working either. She missed him. She wanted to soak up his bright smiles and feel the rumble of his deep chuckles rather than hear them through a telephone line. She needed to see him. She ached to bask in the golden flame of attraction that sometimes flared in his eyes and made her pulse quicken.

  She tossed the pad and pen aside and closed her eyes. His warm hands splayed over her bare back. She could feel her hair spilling over her shoulders like the heroine on the book cover, the ends teasing the facile fingers digging into her skin. She pictured herself surrendering to his plundering kisses, arcing into the heat of his palms, and quivering like a leaf beneath the weight of his long, lean body.

  Sara opened her eyes and sat up with a jolt. The corner of her cell phone peeked from beneath a stack of papers, calling to her as if the damn thing dialed itself. She couldn’t go on like this. Being near him was torture, and staying away from him unbearable. Galvanized by the hot rush of arousal flooding her veins, she snatched the phone from the desk.

  When he answered, she smiled and said, “Hey.” A blush warmed her cheeks as she caught the faint, husky timbre of her own voice.

  “Hey! I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about me.”

  Sara didn’t need to close her eyes to imagine the teasing smile that seeped into his words. “Never. I’ve never known anyone else who looked so much like Richie Cunningham.”

  “Ouch. First she ignores me, then she gets abusive.”

  Sara laughed. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m working,” he said dryly. “Shouldn’t you be working, too?”

  She heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m wrestling with my muse.”

  “Tell Sharon Stone she should be more cooperative, or no one will hire her.”

  “My muse is not Sharon Stone.”

  “You picture your muse the way you want to, I’ll picture your muse how I see fit,” he muttered. “Besides, she should be thankful for the gig. She hasn’t made a decent movie since Casino.”

  The faint drawl that tinged his voice sent a shiver down her spine. Taking a deep breath, Sara straightened her spine. “So, are you busy tonight? Do you want to come over and watch a movie?”

  “Tonight?”

  The rustle of paper was chased by the rhythmic clicking of a pen. She knew she’d thrown him off balance. His hesitance wasn’t doing much for her equilibrium, either. She didn’t try to fool herself into thinking he’d been sitting around waiting for her call.

  “If you don’t have other plans,” she reiterated, clenching her jaw in preparation for rejection.

  “Will Sharon be around?”

  Her scowl relaxed into a smile. “I can’t guarantee that, but I’ll provide beer and the movie, if you’ll pick up a pizza.”

  “Okay. Try to pin Sharon down and hold her until I get there.”

  She laughed.

  “Do you have a video camera? Never mind, my imagination is better. I’ll be over at six, but I’ll be picturing the two of you all day. If she starts to wiggle, take notes for me.”

  “Will do. No onions, peppers, or black olives,” she warned.

  “I’m getting the supreme. You can pick off whatever you don’t want.” He covered the phone and told someone on the other end he’d be right with them. “Gotta go. No chick flicks unless it’s something Sharon finds particularly arousing.”

  “Gotcha,” Sara answered and ended the call.

  She settled back in her chair and placed the phone next to her keyboard, staring at the still blank document that had been her nemesis for the past week. The hummingbirds were back, but she didn’t mind. Sara placed the heels of her hands on the gel-filled wrist rest. Her fingers pecked at the keys—slowly at first, gaining momentum as the words flowed onto the page.

  Fueled by a mixture of fear and adrenaline, she wrote for over two hours before she looked up. She reached for a small pad of paper and began making a list of things she needed to accomplish before Steve appeared at her door that night. Her jaw set with determination, she stood and left her tiny office, the list clutched in her hand. She was done with denial. She was sick of waiting. She was tired of being too scared to take a chance.

  She snatched her purse from the hall table and marched toward the door. Tonight was the night Sara Wright planned to seduce her best friend, Steve.

  ****

  Hours later, Sara was shaved, tweezed, buffed, fluffed, moisturized, perfumed, and as twitchy as butter in a hot skillet. She lit the candles she’d scattered around the living room and started a fire in the tiny fireplace. She stood back to survey the room and shook her head.

  “Crap. Not obvious or anything, are you, Sara?”

  A knock on the door made her jump back. She glared at the mantelpiece and her cheeks burned. Feeling like an idiot, she quickly blew out two of the candles and marched to the foyer. When she opened the door Steve smiled, and suddenly she didn’t feel so stupid anymore.

  “Hey.”

  “Here,” he replied, handing over a large cardboard pizza box. “Can I come in now?”

  Sara stepped back, holding the box aside as he stooped to pull her to him for his customary hug. She hugged him back with one arm.

  “You’re getting better at that, for a Yankee,” he complimented.

  “I’ve had years of practice.”

  After she closed the door behind him, Steve smirked and snatched the pizza box from her hand once more. “I’m starving,” he informed her, making a beeline for her couch.

  “When aren’t you?”

  “I like to sleep, too.”

  “And you wake up hungry, I bet.”

  “Usually,” he admitted, clearing a spot on the coffee table. His brow furrowed as he peered into the dimly lit living room. “Looks nice in here. You rearrange?”

  Sara smirked at his stereotypically male
cluelessness. “Just a little,” she fibbed, following him.

  Steve reached for the lamp beside the couch and switched it on. “I thought you said you were providing the beer.”

  She stared at him, amazed at how efficiently he had managed to obliterate the scene she’d set for seduction. Sara spun on her heel and stalked to the kitchen.

  “What are we watching?” he called after her.

  “I figured we’d just watch something I have. You can choose after we eat.” Sara yanked on the refrigerator door, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead in an effort to regroup.

  She took two deep breaths of refrigerated air, blinking back the burn of tears behind her eyes as she stared at the bottles of beer she kept on hand for him. She kicked herself for thinking she could take the subtle route. After years of strictly platonic bantering, bickering, flirting, and teasing, Steve wasn’t going to pick up on any of the usual cues a woman would give a man.

  Sara grabbed two bottles of beer, throttling their slender glass necks and trying to work up the courage to do what she would need to do to make it happen. Subtle seduction wouldn’t work. She wasn’t quite confident enough to employ blatant sexuality, so she’d have to think of something different.

  As the refrigerator door swung shut, Sara realized that if she wanted to get what she needed from him, she’d have to be more direct. She also knew in being more direct she would have to resort to appealing to the one thing that would never let her down: his friendship.

  Chapter Two

  “So, I asked you here for a reason.”

  Steve cocked his head as he took the bottle of beer Sara offered. She tucked one leg under her bottom and sank onto the couch next to him, sitting a little closer to him than normal. He swallowed hard and did his best to ignore the fission of electricity that danced up his arm when her sleeve brushed his. All in all, he was pretty proud of himself for not flinching or jerking away. He’d honed his defenses a long time ago.