by Cate Masters
Her gaze climbed the long legs clad in well-fitting jeans, pumped torso outlined through his tight tee, to the gorgeous model face. Someone might have stolen a cardboard cutout of the perfect hero and breathed life into it, and that’s who stood on her doorstep.
“Yowsa,” she said on an exhale.
He cocked a delighted brow. “Pardon?”
“May I help you?” Please say yes.
“I believe it’s the other way around.”
“Really?” Thankyouthankyouthankyou! “I mean …what do you mean?”
The timbre of his deep voice filled the space between them. “I’m here to help. Use me.”
Wait. This had to be a prank. “I get it. Mimi sent you.”
His brow furrowed. “Mimi? No.”
Patience waning, she heaved a sigh. “Who are you?”
“I think you know.” He leaned a ripped bicep against the doorjamb in a move that seemed scripted—by her.
“No. Tell me.”
“Jake? Ring a bell?”
She might have guessed. “Oh, right. Jake Emerson?”
He clucked his tongue. “The one and only. I knew you’d recognize me anywhere.”
“Even at my own condo. Go figure. So why are you here? As a prop for the signing?” Damn, he fit the role perfectly, too. She couldn’t have picked a better actor. She jotted another note to ask Mimi if he could pose for the next cover. A cardboard cutout would be perfect for signings.
“Is that what you need?” he asked with a hint of disappointment.
She peered past him. “No bags?”
“I travel light.”
Praise for Cate Masters
“Never read a Cate Masters book? What’s wrong with you? You are missing out on a great author who writes such romantic tales that really touch your soul.”
~Mistress Bella Reviews
~*~
“The author grabs you from the first chapter and takes you on a great ride.”
~The Romance Studio
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“Cate Masters is a gifted writer who wrote this book with talent and marvelous imagery. I could almost see, taste, hear and touch what was occurring.”
~Long and Short Reviews
~*~
“I did not want it to end.”
~Fallen Angel Reviews
Romancing
the Hero
by
Cate Masters
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Romancing the Hero
COPYRIGHT Ó 2011 by Cate Masters
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Faery Rose Edition, 2011
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To Gary, always my hero. Blue skies ahead, babe.
Chapter One
Dabbing her eyes, Jody Feather read aloud the last delectable bits. “Jake pinned Sadie to the bed. ‘Let’s test your theory that sexual bliss can extend indefinitely.’
“Twining her fingers through his hair, she drew him down. ‘It might tie you up a long time.’ Before his mouth engulfed hers, he smiled. ‘I’m all yours, for as long as it takes.’”
Half sobbing, half laughing, Jody leaned away from her laptop. “Isn’t it the best yet?” If only she could find a man like him.
Snuffles at the other end of the phone confirmed it. Mimi, her agent and friend—when sales ranked high—sighed. “Readers will adore it. This will fly off the shelves.”
Without a doubt. So many fans had emailed her, begging to know the release date of the next installment in the Jake Emerson series. Her Facebook fan page contained so many posts about it Jody had asked her assistant to keep up with them. As much as she loved writing, inspiration failed her lately. Reaching The End never presented such a struggle.
Mimi urged, “Email me the final right away.”
“You’re sure it’s safe?” After a hacker posted another bestselling author’s work online before she’d officially finished, Jody didn’t trust Internet communications.
All trace of sentimentality lost, Mimi said, “Yes, we need to get it into production, pronto.”
Pronto. Jody hated that word. One Mimi was prone to use. “All right. You’ll have it today.”
“Awesome.” Mimi oozed the two-syllable word. “Great timing too. You can announce it this weekend at the conference.”
Ugh. Jody had tried to block that event from her mind. Pittsburgh…whee. An almost equal trade for her hometown of Akron. “Right. And the signing’s all set?” For the pittance they paid her as a keynote speaker, a signing would at least make up for it, and the conference had sold out, ensuring an audience. Captive—if not rabid for Jake Emerson. Fans couldn’t get enough of him, the super sleuth/sex god. The kind of man that caused women to swoon, to stray from their husbands; who knew exactly how to please any woman he met.
The kind of man who didn’t exist.
“Details have been arranged,” Mimi said. “Now send me that file, and pack your bags. And Jody?”
Still caught up in her imagining, Jody asked, “Yes?”
“Have fun.”
“Fun?” Fun was something her characters had. Something Jody fantasized about. Something she needed.
“Yes—fun!” Mimi fell short of gushing. “Your fans will be there, clamoring for more.”
“I’d have more fun if Jake were there.” How many times had she dreamed of his strong arms enfolding her in an embrace? His talented tongue wandering over her body…
Mimi’s nasal laughter snapped Jody back to reality.
“Oh Jody, you’re a hoot. Let me know how it goes. And send me an outline of your next project as soon as you’re home again.”
Her cell display went black. Mimi was gone.
If only it were so easy to get rid of her in real life. Next project? Didn’t she deserve a break? Not according to Mimi, who counseled the momentum would die down immediately if Jody didn’t keep pumping the stories out there. Some friend. Something else she could use, after burying herself behind a keyboard for months on end.
For now, she’d concentrate on the conference. She should look forward to these events. Lately, it all seemed like a big fat lie—her exuberant prose, her steamy romance scenes. Her life resembled none of the above. She hadn’t even dated in almost a year. Seeing Brad’s name on the conference program dampened her enthusiasm, but she’d already guessed the editor of a fledgling indie press would attend. After Brad unceremoniously dumped her after two years, the only time she opened her heart was when she wrote. He’d been her lover and friend, confidant and critique partner. Definitely too many eggs in one basket, and he’d cracked them all. Instead of turning bitter, she’d made her hero, Jake Emerson, into a sensitive, caring guy who put satisfying a woman above his own pleasures.
“Yup, definitely a figment of my imagination.” If any guy like Jake existed, some woman would snatch him off the market in a blink.
The only steam in Jody’s life came from the shower, or a cup of coffee. Lifting her cup, she scowled at its tepid contents. “I need a
travel mug to keep it hot.” Too bad no one invented the equivalent of a travel mug for relationships. She’d invest in any device to keep romance hot.
“Sad, isn’t it, Frank?” She inserted a finger between the wires of the bird cage for her parakeet to nibble.
“Wish I could bring you along.” The ideal pet, Frank hardly needed her either. Once she filled the seed cup, he’d sing away, oblivious to her. Typical male. She loved him though. He cheered her apartment with his Sinatra-esque crooning, and required only a paper change, water, and seed treat. Low maintenance—just her style.
Mm. And maybe your biggest problem, a small voice nagged in her head. At least, according to her mom, who reminded her women over thirty had less chance of finding a good husband. “Good,” according to Mom, equaled a steady paycheck, but Jody preferred a fun, attentive guy, even at—gasp!—thirty-four. So what if she invented him? One day, she’d find the real thing.
Retracting her finger from the bird cage, Jody frowned. “Hey, I don’t have time to cater to a guy’s every whim. Preen your own feathers.”
Half-dressed, she frowned at the open suitcase on the bed. “What am I missing?” She never failed to forget some crucial item on a trip, and only realize it at midnight when no replacements were available.
While she ran through a mental checklist, the doorbell rang.
“Coming.” Who could that be? She hadn’t ordered anything, and expected no one. Had Mimi sent a courier to pick up the manuscript instead?
Ah—pens. She always ran out of good ones at signings. After pulling on a pair of capris, she grabbed a pad of paper.
Opening the door, she said, “Yes?” while jotting a note. The ink faltered—she knew it!—so she shook the pen.
“Jody Feather?” The deep voice rushed at her like a hot breeze, reverberated through her, and stopped her where she stood.
“Ye—” Her gaze climbed the long legs clad in well-fitting jeans, pumped torso outlined through his tight tee, to the gorgeous model face. Someone might have stolen a cardboard cutout of the perfect hero and breathed life into it, and that’s who stood on her doorstep.
“Yowsa,” she said on an exhale.
He cocked a delighted brow. “Pardon?”
“May I help you?” Please say yes.
“I believe it’s the other way around.”
“Really?” Thankyouthankyouthankyou! “I mean …what do you mean?”
The timbre of his deep voice filled the space between them. “I’m here to help. Use me.”
Wait. This had to be a prank. “I get it. Mimi sent you.”
His brow furrowed. “Mimi? No.”
Patience waning, she heaved a sigh. “Who are you?”
“I think you know.” He leaned a ripped bicep against the doorjamb in a move that seemed scripted—by her.
“No. Tell me.”
“Jake? Ring a bell?”
She might have guessed. “Oh, right. Jake Emerson?”
He clucked his tongue. “The one and only. I knew you’d recognize me anywhere.”
“Even at my own condo. Go figure. So why are you here? As a prop for the signing?” Damn, he fit the role perfectly, too. She couldn’t have picked a better actor. She jotted another note to ask Mimi if he could pose for the next cover. A cardboard cutout would be perfect for signings.
“Is that what you need?” he asked with a hint of disappointment.
She peered past him. “No bags?”
“I travel light.”
“Didn’t she tell you? There are several events. Dinner, the keynote, plus the signing itself. You might want a change of clothes.” Though if anyone could pull off wearing the same outfit every day, he could. She could claim it was Jake’s brand, his image, an intentional move to make him recognizable to conference attendees. Mimi always droned on about the brand, the brand.
Besides, who’d notice his clothes? They only wrapped the prize beneath. And what a yummy prize. She had to hand it to Mimi, the marketing genius.
Musing aloud, she murmured, “Where did they find you?”
“They didn’t. I’m Jake.”
“Right. And I’m Lara Croft.” Not even her Halloween costume could turn her into the sexy heroine.
He chuckled. “You’re better than that bimbo.”
Oh boy. “Let’s not get carried away, shall we? It’s temporary.”
“Why? Do you plan to kill me off?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve read the series.” All that and a reader to boot.
“I don’t need to read it. I live it.”
His devilish smile almost blocked out his words, which hit her like a slap.
Yikes. “Listen, Mr…” Rolling her hand, she prompted him to finish.
“Emerson.”
Method actor, apparently. She’d play along for now. “Sure. Mr. Emerson.”
A car horn sounded outside.
“The taxi.” And she hadn’t remembered whatever she’d forgotten. Too late now. “Give me two seconds.” She hurried to grab her jacket.
“Take all the time you need, baby.”
The endearment brought her to a screeching halt. “Hold on. I get that you’re ‘Jake Emerson’ but when we’re together, address me as Ms. Feather. I am not your baby.” Or anyone else’s, unfortunately. After this weekend, she’d change that.
His mouth curled down in a brief frown. “Pity.”
“Give it a rest.” She’d written this scene in the second novel, when Jake first meets that leading lady. How many scenes had he studied? Hopefully he wouldn’t reenact too many. Sure, she loved her work, but not so much she wanted to live it. Except for certain parts, like the shower scene in book three…You don’t have time for this.
After grabbing her bag, she said a quick goodbye to Frank. “It’s only for the weekend. See you Monday.” She glanced at the man waiting at her door. “Tuesday at the outside.” Never rule out any possibilities. Her parents taught her that. And she’d made it Jake’s motto, one of the reasons fans loved him. Time to make it her own motto as well.
The saying had given her the strength to leap from journalism into fiction. If they only knew what she considered leaping into now…well, she was old enough to face those consequences. And enjoy them while they lasted.
Holding a hand to his sculpted abs, he bowed. “May I carry your bag, Ms. Feather? Or are you too liberated for such a show of chivalry?”
Wiseass. He had that aspect of Jake down pat. “Please. Take it, with my gratitude.” It gave her a chance to follow him down the walkway, and admire his rippling biceps and tight end, made more luscious by his swagger. She paid particular attention. She had to, or she wouldn’t be able to describe it in all its vital deliciousness in a later novel.
Oh yeah, she loved being a writer.
Chapter Two
It might’ve been any hotel in any city. Jody had pretty much seen all the chains, but as the taxi parked beneath the roof extended over the entrance, this facility seemed more anonymous than the others. White, its stacks of floors rose tall, no distinguishing mark other than its red logo gracing the top floor. At least the hotel’s proximity to her home allowed for less than two hours’ travel.
Two hours lost, as far as she was concerned. With Jake in the car, she couldn’t very well work, as she’d planned. Nor had she been able to extract any more information about his personal life. Mimi must be paying him a hell of a good sum. The guy knew Jake Emerson’s stories to the last detail, mannerisms included.
Standing on the walkway, she stretched tall, her method of easing her muscles without becoming a public spectacle.
Assisting the driver with loading the luggage onto a dolly, Jake’s gaze flicked up. “A dip in the pool would help you unwind.”
Nice as that sounded, she couldn’t. “I have work to do before dinner.”
Glancing away, he appeared disappointed.
The nerve. Why should he care? Miffed, she strutted through the glass doors. The sight of Brad Meyer, her ex, at the che
ck-in desk sent her diving behind the nearest potted palm.
Steering the dolly, Jake halted. “Everything all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m just—” Her mind raced for an excuse. She whipped out her cell. “I’m checking my messages, and this spot seems to have the best reception.”
“I see.” His tone indicated the opposite.
She thumbed through the nonexistent texts while sneaking glances at the desk. As Brad strode away toward the elevators, she released a breath. “All done. Let’s go.” She stepped out but Jake blocked her path.
He leaned close, his voice low. “So who is he?”
Flustered, she straightened. “Who?”
The ding of the elevator signaled Brad’s departure. If only it were final. Jake watched him with an assessing gaze. “The guy you were avoiding.”
So what if he knew? All innocence, she glanced at the closing elevator doors. “Who, him? No one special.” Though he used to be. Or so she thought. Too bad Brad considered himself more special than anyone else did.
Brushing past him, she exuded an air of confidence she didn’t feel. “I need to check in. The first panel starts in about an hour.”
Jake’s stare bored into her back as she strode to the receptionist. His palpable presence drew the girl’s focus away from Jody every few seconds, and she repressed the urge to wave snapping fingers in front of the girl’s face and tell her: eyes on me. The girl could at least wait to ogle him until Jody had finished, but who could blame her?
The sensation of him behind her both comforted and annoyed her. Who was he? Why had no one alerted her he’d accompany her? Still, she knew the meaning of the phrase “got your back” now. Jake stood close as a bodyguard, waiting for her command.
She could get used to that.
****
One of four writers on the late afternoon panel, Jody shared a desk microphone with author Stephenie Toombs. Or was supposed to share. Apparently no one had taught Stephenie the meaning of that term. More than once, Jody had to touch the woman’s hand clutching the mic’s base, asking for permission to speak. Also more than once, she had to tap more insistently a second time.
