Her red lips parted in surprise. “You’re leaving Donovan Books?”
“Just for a year. My father and Chris will be overseeing things for a while. I have some place I have to go.”
“Where?” she loudly demanded.
He noted the gaggle of women taking in their every word. “Can we talk in private?”
She waved to a pile of books on the table next to her. “I’m in the middle of a signing, Hunter.”
“Fine. If this is how you want it?” He plopped the manuscript down on the table before her. “This is for you. You wanted me to rewrite it, so I did. It’s about you, or at least the woman I knew. Read it, burn it, do whatever you like with it. I thought you should….” He surveyed the eager faces around them, drinking in their conversation. “Good-bye…Smuttie.”
Turning on his heels, he made a beeline for the entrance, suddenly eager for a clean getaway. Dashing down the steps, he was almost across the parking lot when he heard her voice behind him.
“Why did you come here?”
He stopped and let his shoulders sag forward. So much for the clean getaway.
“You could have just mailed this to me, Hunter.”
He slowly faced her. She was standing at the bottom of the steps, clutching the manuscript in her hands. “Mailed it to you? Come on, Cary. Did what we have mean nothing to you?”
She warily inspected the faces of the women still standing around the entrance, and then walked up to him. “I thought that was behind us.”
“Is that what you really want?”
She came to a halt in front of him. “I thought that is what we both needed.”
He removed the dark glasses from her face. When he saw her deep brown eyes, his insides warmed with happiness. “You told me once that what I needed as a writer was inspiration, my muse to finish my book. Well, I found that…in you.” He pointed to the manuscript in her hands. “It’s all in there. Everything I should have said and wanted to say to you, but didn’t have the nerve.” He tucked the glasses into the collar of her yellow blouse. “You can pretend to be Smut Slut as long as you want, but I know the woman behind the glasses, Cary. That’s the woman I wrote about in my book.”
Stepping aside, he went to his car, fighting the urge to look back. As he hastily turned over the engine of his BMW, he caught a glimpse of her still standing where he had left her. She was holding the manuscript against her heart, waiting for him to drive away.
Pulling the car onto the street, he felt the unbearable emptiness that had been pressing down on him for the past few months begin to recede. He had said good-bye, and though he may not have been cured of her, he was ready to move on. Cary Anderson had taught him not to give up on his desires, and if he could not have her, at least he could set free that part of his soul that he had been stifling. It was time to get back to being the Hunter Donovan he had always envisioned. It was time to open up his heart…and dream.
Epilogue
Sitting on the third-floor balcony of his New Orleans French Quarter apartment, Hunter scanned the courtyard below. Surrounded by lush greenery, the inner courtyard was made up of a single wide, circular fountain with a stream of water rising from the mouth of a large brass fish perched on a rock in the center. To the right, a black wrought iron table with a multi-colored umbrella was used by the neighbors below to take in the crisp fall evening air. Beyond the courtyard, the bustling sounds of the French Quarter intruded as the din of traffic, people, and a hint of jazz music wafted over the high rooftop.
Hunching over a wooden table, Hunter returned to the words he had written on his laptop. He wasn’t happy with how this chapter was going. Stretching out, he decided perhaps the time had come to take a stroll around the streets of the Quarter to give his creative muse a little air. Rising from his flimsy chair, he collected his mug of coffee and walked back through the open white french doors to his apartment.
The living room beyond the balcony was small, with only a few pieces of old, worn furniture that his landlord had given him. The peach-colored walls were covered with a selection of posters of the city which he had bought at a local gift shop. To the left of the living room was an efficiency kitchen with a half-refrigerator, sink, a few shelves above the sink for dishes, and a small stove next to the refrigerator. The pantry was a bookcase with a curtain in front of it, and a microwave took up most of the counter space, along with the coffeemaker. Leaving his mug in the sink, Hunter went to his bedroom to find a clean T-shirt.
Reaching over the single-sized bed he had bought after arriving in the Big Easy, he grabbed a T-shirt from a second-hand, white-painted dresser. Checking his five o’clock shadow in the small bathroom mirror, he raked his fingers through his hair and decided that he was good enough for public display.
Making his way back into his living room, he snagged his sunglasses, keys, and wallet from the pine table by the front door. He was stuffing his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans when he heard a light rapping on his apartment door. Curious as to who would be stopping by so early in the morning, he turned the brass knob.
She was standing on the landing outside of his doorway with her hands behind her back, wearing one of her light cotton dresses that clung to her petite figure. Her short brown hair appeared windblown, her cheeks pink from climbing the two flights of stairs to his apartment, and her lips were painted deep red. But when Hunter connected with Cary’s eyes, his heart skipped a beat.
“Where’s your wig?”
She slowly smiled for him. “I left it in Atlanta with Sex Kitten. He’s using it as his new play toy.”
“I thought you were on your book tour for The Bondage Club.”
“I am, but I told Chris I needed a few days off after I read The Other Side of Me.” Pulling her hands from behind her back, she held up the tightly rolled manuscript. “What you wrote in here…the things Max said, the words he used to tell the heroine, Stone, how he felt…was that meant to be you? Did you—”
“Took you long enough to read it,” he said, cutting her off. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me.”
“Yeah, well, it sat on my desk for a month before I read it. Then when I went to Donovan Books looking for you, your father told me you were here, in New Orleans, taking some time off to write.” She hesitated, as if searching for something else to say. “Your father seemed really excited about the Hot Nights line.”
“Yeah, Dad is so impressed with how your book is rising up the New York Times Bestseller’s List that he’s getting more authors for the line.” He paused, still unsure of how to take her visit. “Why are you here, Cary? You didn’t come all this way to ask me about my book,” he added, playing it cool.
She fingered the manuscript in her hand. “No, that’s not the only reason. I’m also here to see my family.” She peeked beyond his front door. “So is this your new place?”
“It’s just a small apartment.” He stepped in front of her. “You once told me you pictured me living in something simpler, so I decided to follow your advice.”
She leaned against the doorframe. “What did you do with your fancy condo?”
“Dad’s staying in it for now.”
A nervous silence settled between them. As Hunter stood in his doorway, trying to appear unfazed, Cary’s eyes swept over his angular features.
“So am I to stand out here all day, or are you going to invite me in?” she insisted, breaking the tension in the air.
“Why should I invite you in, Cary?”
“I want to see how a talented writer lives.”
He skeptically cocked one eyebrow. “Talented writer?”
She held up the manuscript. “It’s good, Hunter. Better than before. I especially liked the heroine, Stone. The way you had her pretending to be someone she wasn’t to impress Max. And how they found love in the end…nice touch. I didn’t like her first name though.” She wrinkled her brow. “You should come up with something better than Cory.”
He scratched his head.
“I’m not good at coming up with names. I tried to think of something other than Cary.”
She tipped her head to the side. “I’m great at coming up with names for characters. Maybe I could help you with that.”
“In that case….” He stood back from the door and waved her inside.
“I also think she’s a little too pushy in the book.” She breezed in through his door. “You know how she ties the guy to the bed and practically rapes him?” She shook her head. “It’s not very realistic.”
“It felt pretty realistic at the time.” Hunter reveled in the aroma of her floral perfume as he shut the door. “What would you recommend?”
“A rewrite. Maybe change the location of the book, too. Perhaps a city with a little rougher edge to it.”
Hunter followed her as she walked into his cramped living room. Placing his keys and sunglasses on the table by the door, he considered her comment. “What’s wrong with Atlanta?”
“Nothing.” She dropped the manuscript on his shabby gold and white overstuffed sofa. “But I think if you put the characters in New Orleans, made them meet up in the French Quarter, it might make for a more intriguing love story. You could have them taking in the sites of the city, perhaps dining at a restaurant or two. Maybe make Max a jazz musician instead of a writer.”
He waited as her eyes drank in the compact room. “Anything else?”
She went to the french door that led to the balcony. “I have a few ideas.”
Hunter waited as she moved to his bedroom and pushed the tall cypress door open, peering inside.
“Is this where you sleep? The bed is so small.”
He came up to her. “It’s fine for me.”
Her eyes took a turn of the apartment. “Not a lot of room in here, and it’s going to get a bit cramped with two of us. We will probably have to get a bigger bed.”
“We? I don’t remember asking you to move in with me.”
“How else are we going to work on your book?” She gingerly placed her hand on his chest. “We will have to spend our days writing and our nights experimenting.”
“Experimenting?” He scowled at her. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
“You want to make sure your love scenes are accurate, right?”
Hunter wrapped one arm about her waist. “No more handcuffs. I’m still having nightmares.”
“All right, but you do know that New Orleans has some great bondage clubs, and I was thinking we could—”
Hunter kissed her lips, silencing her. When she clasped her hands behind his neck, pressing her body into his, he lifted his head. Touching his forehead to hers, he asserted, “No more bondage clubs. Let’s try writing this story without all of that.”
“Then what would we write about?”
He wrapped his other arm about her and began pushing her back into the bedroom. “Why don’t you move in here with me, and we can spend our days writing and at night…well, we will figure it out. Once we finish my rewrites, we can talk about collaborating on more books.”
“More books? That’s sounds kind of…permanent.”
His hands went to the buttons on the front of her dress. “Maybe we could talk about making this a permanent partnership. What do you think?”
“Are you sure you’re ready to get tied down with me, Hunter?”
He gazed into her lovely brown eyes and was instantly whole. “Cary, I can’t imagine being tied down by anyone else.”
The End
Alexandrea Weis is an advanced practice registered nurse who was born and raised in New Orleans. Having been brought up in the motion picture industry, she learned how to tell stories from a different perspective and began writing at the age of eight. Infusing the rich tapestry of her hometown into her award-winning novels, she believes that creating vivid characters makes a story memorable. A permitted/certified wildlife rehabber with the Louisiana Wildlife and Fisheries, Weis rescues orphaned and injured wildlife. She lives with her husband and pets in New Orleans.
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Website: http://www.alexandreaweis.com/
Watch for Alexandrea’s coming releases:
That Night with You Coming February 5, 2015 (read the teaser on the next page)
Enjoy a Teaser from That Night with You
By Alexandrea Weis
“He said his friends called him Harry, so I called him Harry.” Madison lifted her beer and took a sip. “We spent about an hour at the bar talking.” She smiled and let go a small giggle. “Well, he asked questions and I talked. I seem to remember he asked me a lot of questions.”
“What kind of questions?” Charlie intruded.
“Where I was from, what I was studying in school. I told him my name was Mary. I remember thinking he knew a lot about architecture. He was pretty smart. I think he talked about how hard architecture school was, but I’m not sure if he mentioned going to architecture school. He asked about my family, what I liked to do outside of school…stuff like that.”
“Get to the good part,” Lizzie insisted as she moved her chair closer to Madison. “Did he take you to his place?”
Madison played with her beer glass in her hands. “He drove me in his Porsche to his apartment. More like a penthouse, really. It had this wall of windows with great view of the UT campus. I remember he had a bar.” She tilted her head, lost in her memories. “Really nice paintings on the wall. He told me the name of the painter, but I’ve forgotten.”
“Sounds nice.” Charlie grinned. “He must have been rich to have a place like that.”
“He led me into his apartment, turned on this song ‘Feeling Good.’ I remember asking him about it. He told me it was by his favorite singer, Nina Simone.” She paused and smiled.
“Is that the song you always play? You know…I’m feeeliiinnn’ gooood,” Charlie sang out. “I hear it coming from your bedroom sometimes.”
Madison nodded. “But I listen to the Michael Bublé version.”
“Oh, I love him,” Lizzie squealed.
“So you play that song for him, don’t you?” Charlie probed.
Madison nodded. “I always wonder what it would be like if he was there with me; dancing with me again. Sometimes I daydream about it. You know, being with him again.” She rubbed her arms, feeling she had said too much. “Silly, huh?”
“I think it’s romantic.” Lizzie giggled. “You and Harry have a song.”
“Enough about the song,” Charlie clamored. “What happened next?”
Madison sighed. “He wanted me to sober up a bit before…anyway, he made me some coffee in his kitchen. I was sipping on the coffee and we were standing in the kitchen talking when I slipped or got dizzy…I’m not sure. He went to grab me and I spilled some coffee on his nice shirt. I was mortified and kept apologizing, but he just laughed at me.” She smiled lost in her thoughts. “He had this great laugh. Deep, soulful; the kind that vibrates inside of your bones. The one thing I clearly remember about that night was his laugh.”
“And then what happened,” Lizzie inserted.
Madison was awakened from her memories. “I grabbed for some paper towels and started wiping his shirt.” She rolled her green eyes. “I must have looked like a total idiot. He took the paper towels from my hands and then he kissed me.”
“Good kisser?” Charlie pressed.
Madison nodded, blushing. “Really good. The kind you don’t want to stop kissing.”
Lizzie’s grip on her glass of beer tightened. “Then….”
Madison lowered her eyes to the table. “He took my hand and led me from the kitchen to the master bedroom. When we got to the bedroom door, I think I had a mini panic attack. I was so nervous…never having done it before. But he put his arm around me, kissed my cheek and gently eased me into the room.” She raised her head. “
After that, I wasn’t quite as nervous.”
Charlie’s blue eyes grew round. “And the sex? How was it?”
“He was very gentle.” Madison shrugged her shoulders. “I thought it was going to hurt more, but he…he went really slow…I’m not sure he if he knew I was….” She chuckled. “He made me feel comfortable, or as comfortable as I could feel in that situation. But the second and third times were even better.”
“Second and third times?” Lizzie shrieked, then she glanced around the bar. “Jesus.” She reached for the shot glasses still piled in the middle of the table and took one. “He must have been really good. After my first time, I did want anyone to touch me for days.” She shot back the small glass of tequila.
Charlie nudged Madison’s hand on the table. “But what exactly happened? How did he do it?”
Madison’s jaw dropped. “What do you mean ‘how did he do it’? You’re kidding, right?”
“No, Mads, I’m talking about before he took off your clothes. How did he seduce you? You know, what kind of moves did he put on you? Or did you two just get right to it?”
“Oh that.” Madison became silent for a few seconds. “Yeah, well, he, ah, danced with me. After we walked into the bedroom, he took my hand and held me close. I don’t know how long we swayed like that to the music, but he made me feel really…special.”
“Special?” Charlie laughed. “What about the morning after? How did you feel then?”
Enjoy a Teaser of Something Great
by M. Clarke/Mary Ting
From the corner of my eye I saw a figure moving, but dismissed it as I shifted my eyes to the right and spotted the elusive restroom sign. I was just about to head in that direction when someone spoke to me from behind in a deep, manly voice, sending shivers down my back.
“I’m your prescription. Let me be your new addiction.” His words glided like butter, smooth and cool.
Startled, I twitched, and turned my body toward his voice. There he was; all six feet of him, peering down at me with a smile that could make me do just about anything. Though there was nothing to laugh about, especially seeing this hottie in front of me, I couldn’t help but giggle from his words.
The Bondage Club Page 25
