Radclyffe - Love's Masquerade

by Love's Masquerade (lit)

  "Rune Dyre's manuscript."

  "Dark Passions?"

  "Yes."

  "How's it going with the pending works from WomenWords?"

  "I'm just getting started," Auden confided. "I'm not entirely certain about this book, though."

  "Why not?" Hays asked neutrally.

  "It's not exactly what I expected. I've only had a chance this week to read through a handful of the popular published titles, but this one is...different. Are you familiar with it?"

  "I've seen the Web version,"

  "Then you know that it's a very dark story, rather outside the common experience of sexual expression."

  "Auden," Hays said with a short laugh, "we're talking about lesbian love stories. Don't you think they're outside the common experience of sexual expression?"

  "No, I don't," Auden said with absolute seriousness. "And neither, I'll wager, do ninety-nine percent of the people who will be reading Destiny's publications. But this book is about power relationships, or perhaps I should say, the imbalance of power. The very topic is going to prevent some people from reading it."

  "And you think that's a reason not to publish it?"

  Auden was brought up short by the question. Because that was exactly what she had been thinking. "Destiny is a brand-new imprint. I assume our goal is to establish a profitable division. To me, that means that every book needs to be a bestseller. Or at least, we need to believe that it can be."

  Hays said nothing, waiting, watching Auden's face,

  "I'm not sure that this book will ever fall into that category,"

  "You dislike the book?"

  "What?" Auden was momentarily confused by what seemed like a change in the direction of the conversation, "No, actually, it's very well written. Rune Dyre is an excellent author, obviously. That's clear from her previous work. But this is quite a departure from her other works."

  "Have you read them all?"

  "Yes," Auden said. "Secret Storm, for example, is a beautiful book. A glorious romance."

  Hays smiled and studied her coffee. "It has done well, according to Liz Nixon."

  "According to everything," Auden stated. "But this book, however well written, is not standard fare."

  "Finish reading Dark Passions " Hays suggested. "If you still feel the same after you've read it in its entirety, do whatever you think is best."

  "Of course." Auden appreciated that Hays was giving her veto power, and she had every intention of using that power well. "It's not fair to judge a book by...oh God...I was about to say something stupid like 'by its cover.'"

  "No, it probably isn't." Hays grinned, and they both laughed. "You're coming this evening?"

  "Yes, of course, I'm very much looking forward to it."

  Hays stood, placed her cup on the table, and walked to the window. "It's snowing quite heavily now. It's late in the season for this kind of weather, but a spring blizzard is not unheard of." She turned, leaning a shoulder against the window casing. "Are you driving tonight?"

  "No," Auden said. "I was going to take a cab."

  "I can have a car come around for you."

  Surprised, Auden shook head. "No, that's all right. I'm bringing a friend, and I'm not certain precisely when she will be available."

  A friend. Of course, she would have a date. Hays pushed away from the window, her expression remote. "I'll e-mail you a list of the attendees, in case there's something you want to review before this evening."

  "Thank you," Auden said, watching as Hays crossed the room, leaned down to grasp her empty cup, and swiftly left.

  Her departure left Auden once more feeling slightly bewildered and oddly bereft.

  Chapter Eight

  S ecret Passions ~ Scene Four

  Outside, the snow is falling, but here inside, there is warmth. Not just warmth, but light. It astounds me that I have not noticed before the terminal absence of heat, for I know now that I have grown cold. I realize, too, that shadows have served as the only illumination for so long that I have forgotten the brilliance of the sun.

  She has no idea, of course, that I draw close to her warmth like the homeless on a street corner gathered around a dying fire, their hands out-stretched to the guttering flames. Beseeching—hope long gone. The walking dead, unaware that life passes by on the other side of the street. Hours, days, may pass,, yet I am unaware of my living presence. My body moves through time, but my mind does not register that the moments of my life are ticking away, unnoticed.

  Then, with a word, she stops the clock, and I can almost see the hands turning backward, returning to me what I thought I had lost. I am embarrassed that she might guess how I wait for each smile, hunger for the light that dances in her eyes, thirst for the fire in her voice that makes my heart beat hard enough for me to feel it, reminding me that blood still flows, that life resides within me still.

  Unaware, she reminds me that it is not time that we need, but the belief, however false, that we have time. When love is a distant memory, we cling to the belief that it exists around the corner—untarnished and unspoiled—waiting there to save us.

  I wonder that she does not see beneath my charade and recognize that I clutch each word, grasping each spark with desperate fingers, happy for the flame that sears my flesh. I wonder if I were to touch her skin if it would burn, knowing I would not care, if only I were to feel

  Hays swiveled away from the monitor toward the sound at the door, sliding instantly into the blue-green seas of Auden's eyes. She might have made a sound as she tightened inside, pulled too quickly from the dimension of sensation and unfettered emotion, unguarded and undefended. She closed her ringers to hide their trembling, her fists resting on her desktop.

  Auden stood at the door, lips parted, poised to speak, staring into Hays's face. Hays looked dazed, but her expression was not one of pain or fatigue, the way it had been that afternoon when she had found her asleep on the sofa. Now, her dark eyes were filled with longing—and something else. Something that even from across the room looked to Auden like desire. Flushing, Auden said hastily, "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize—"

  "No," Hays said quickly, her throat sounding thick to her own ears. "It's all right. I was just...catching up on some correspondence." Auden hadn't moved, and neither had Hays. They continued to look at one another across the office, both barely breathing. The air was filled with questions.

  What do you see in my eyes?

  Do you know how you look right now? So beautiful

  Do you sense what I feel?

  Why can't I seem to hide from you?

  How canyon make me feel so much, without a word?

  "There's something I want to talk to you about with regard to our new authors," Auden said quietly, forcing out each word with deliberation. What she really wanted to do was run. Because the other thing that she wanted to do was walk across the room and place her palm against Hays's cheek. She'd never wanted to touch another human being as much as she wanted to touch Haydon Palmer in that moment.

  "What is it?" Hays asked hoarsely., What is it in your eyes? Pity? Can you possibly see what no one else can?

  "It seems that some of the authors are posting early drafts on the Internet of works that have been contracted to be published." Auden struggled to remember what had bothered her so much about that Hays's expression, so penetrating as it settled on her face, caused her thoughts to scatter.

  "Beta versions." Hays searched Auden's eyes for the welcome she was coming to count on. Still, neither of them moved.

  "Dyre's Dark Passions is on her website." She smiled softly, unable to hide her pleasure at being with Hays for any reason.

  "That's fairly common," Hays remarked casually, relaxing under the warmth of Auden's smile.

  "I understand that. I'm just not entirely certain that's something we should encourage or even permit, contractually."

  "Some of these authors were actually discovered from their Internet posts." Hays got to her feet, briefly aware of a surge of dizziness th
at quickly abated. "Many of their fans evidently follow the progress of a new work by reading the Web posts. It's a new kind of marketing."

  "That's just the point," Auden said, her voice stronger now. Her mind was clearing, as if she were breaking free from a dream, her senses slowly returning to normal and her brain beginning to work. She crossed the room to Hays's desk and rested the edge of a hip against the corner, a few feet away from where Hays stood with a hand resting lightly on the back of her chair. "It's not marketing at all. These works are being distributed without charge to anyone who might want to read them."

  Startled by Auden's sudden proximity, Hays could only nod as she looked quickly to her right and reached to hit a key on the keyboard. Her screen saver flashed on, obscuring her work. Then she lifted a shoulder insouciantly. "Some of the readers who have access to these Web versions are unable to acquire lesbian fiction any other way, either because of the prohibitive costs of the books or because of the unavailability of the works where they live. I'm sure that many of the authors feel that posting their stories online is a community service."

  "Fine. Then let them post the things that they don't intend to publish."

  "Most authors probably don't have time to create two bodies of work, one for commercial publication and one for the Internet only."

  "Then what do you suggest?" Auden ran her hand through her hair absently, then glanced out the window at the increasingly heavy snowfall, "It runs counter to everything we know about publishing and market sales."

  "Well, I think that today's marketplace is different than it was ten or fifteen years ago. These Web versions are akin to the chapters some publishers append to their books to promote forthcoming titles."

  "Chapters are one thing—entire stories are something else again." Auden was adamant, but her impatience was tempered by concern. Hays was swaying slightly, and she was very pale. "Hays?"

  Hays jerked, realizing that she had been watching Auden's lips but not listening, I wonder if I were to touch her skin if it would burn...

  "I'm sorry...what?" :

  "Are you all right?" Auden lifted her hand but stopped short of touching her.

  "Yes. Fine." Hays stepped out from behind the desk and moved closer to the windows. "You'll need to come to a decision about how you want to handle this, because we'll need a uniform policy."

  "All right, I'll give it some thought." Auden could see Hays's profile before the window, the snow just beyond seeming to envelop her in its swirling clouds. Hays appeared so isolated against the stark beauty, and so starkly beautiful herself. Auden felt an unfamiliar pang of pleasure so acute it was painful. What is it that you do to me?

  "Why don't you sit down with Liz next week and talk about it." Hays brought her eyes back to Auden, having finally regained her control. Her expression was calm and businesslike again. "She'll have had experience with these authors and their sales, and perhaps she can give you a better picture of how Web posting actually affects profit margins."

  "I think that's an excellent idea."

  "I'm not saying you're wrong, Auden," Hays said gently. "But I believe you will get resistance from some of these authors if you ask them to pull their works from their websites."

  Auden shrugged, a ghost of a grin curling at the corner of her mouth. "I guess I'll get a chance to see how good a negotiator I am, then, if it comes to that."

  "I have no doubt that you'll be superb."

  Smiling at the compliment, Auden still shook her head. "I hope that your confidence in me is not unfounded."

  "You know it isn't."

  "Thank you just the same," Auden replied softly. For inviting me into this world. For your faith in me.

  -----Original Message-----

  From: thaneCutlassSCutlassFic.com

  Sent: Saturday March 22, 11:52 AM

  To : Rune@HeartLand.com

  Subject: Private Pleasures

  Attachment: Slow Kisses.doc 56KB

  R:

  Here's the first of my Pleasures series. Thought you might like to ride along lt;ggt;.

  Are you going to make the Palmer soiree tonight so I can finally meet you ftf? Come on, you've been teasing me long enough.

  Besides, we can compare notes and watch women together. Oops, sorry, there I go being PI again. Be there, huh? Oh—and tell me if this gets you hot. Cause if not, I'll have to retire lt;ggt;

  T

  Reading the e-mail, Hays grinned to herself. Thane fancies herself such a player.

  Without much thought, as she had done dozens of times before, she opened the file and began to read.

  Private Pleasures — Slow Kisses

  I'm a morning person. I'll spare you all the rapturous details of why I love the mornings. Suffice it to say it's quiet, the hours seem longer, and there's a sense of owning everything around me that is at once comforting and inspiring. She's, not a morning person. Or, perhaps it would be fairer to say, she is not any kind of person until after two cups of coffee and a slow perusal of the newspaper.

  On this particular Saturday morning, I find her at her usual place, starting on her second cup of coffee, engrossed in the local news, and still looking a bit sleepy. I can tell that she has showered, but I know from the slightly bleary, soft smile she tosses my way that she is not yet truly awake.

  There's something about seeing her in her robe, when I am fully dressed, that turns me on. I love to be dressed when she is naked. I especially love to have sex with her when I'm clothed and she is not. I love the damp patches she leaves on the denim on my thighs, the faint reminder of my effect on her. I look at her this morning, and my stomach instantly clenches with want.

  She loves to kiss. Me, I enjoy it, but it is usually a warm-up for what I'm really after. The appetizer. For her, it's an entire if feast. I've never experienced kissing quite the way I have with her. I'm In sweatpants and a tight faded T-shirt, barefoot. I've been in my office writing for several hours. I pad across the room and gently lift her by her elbows. She looks at me, a question in her eyes. I smile, sit in her seat, and pull her down onto my lap. She is naked under the robe. I knew she would be.

  She settles into me, the way she does when she's falling asleep or not yet awake in the morning. I curve my arm around her shoulders and with my free hand lift her chin to kiss her lightly. She murmurs softly—a happy, contented sound. She brings one arm around my neck to grasp the hair at my collar, threading it through her fingers. Her eyes are almost closed. Then she very gently takes my lower lip between hers, sucks it in slowly, running the tip of her tongue along the sensitive surface.

  I feel that soft caress streak through my entire body, landing like a laser beam between my thighs. I groan softly, and she smiles against my mouth.

  Taking her time, she moves to my top lip and explores there, sucking, nibbling, licking. This makes me crazy. And she knows it. My mouth opens slightly, my tongue barely touching hers. I can feel myself grow hard, the wet heat seeping through my sweatpants. She shifts a little on my lap, pressing her weight into my crotch. I open my legs further, letting the pressure gently massage my aching flesh.

  Her kisses are firmer now, but still controlled. She strokes the Inside of my lips, the tip of my tongue, the undersurface of my teeth—slowly claiming every part of my mouth. Somehow, I've ended up with my head leaning back from the tug of her fingers in my hair. Somehow, she is in control, her other hand under my chin as she kisses me unhurriedly, deliberately, thoroughly.

  I'm way past hot now, swollen, needing her to touch me so badly. And she knows it.

  She knows if she touches me, strokes me just a little, I'll come all over her hand. Maybe even if she doesn't, the pressure of her hips, the thrust of her tongue, will be enough. She moves her mouth a breath away.

  "Don't you dare."

  I close my eyes tightly, concentrate qn her tongue probing me gently, and loosen the tie on her robe. I cup her breast; she is warm and soft in my hand. I run my thumb gently over the nipple, feeling it tense under my tou
ch.

  She gasps, drawing her tongue back for an instant. Her hips are moving rhythmically now, rocking in my lap as she works her way around every corner of my hungry mouth. I slide my hand to the other breast, finding the nipple already erect, and pinch it firmly. She moans, and I catch her sounds in my throat...

  Hays looked away, trembling. She'd read Thane's erotica many times. They'd critiqued each other's work, traded ideas and plot lines, and shared vignettes since they'd met online over two years before. They were friends, not competitors, although they shared the same fan base. Usually she found Thane's direct, unvarnished style enjoyable and on occasion stimulating, even though not much had actually stirred her physically in recent months. Now she was painfully aroused.

  She leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and waited for the urgency to pass. She hadn't anticipated this reaction. Any other time, ; she probably would have welcomed the feelings, the unmistakable testament to the fact that she was still living and breathing. Any other time, being this excited, she would have gladly surrendered to the rhythm and cadence of the words, allowing the images to stroke her to satisfaction accompanied by her own barely perceptible touch in the background of her consciousness.

  She was a writer, and words were as tangible to her as flesh. She might be in one instant an observer, in another a chronicler, in yet another, a participant. This time, she had been only herself, joyously experiencing a gifted moment with a woman she desired. And this time, the woman had a name and a face—and the whisper in her ear was a too-familiar voice. This was far too real to be confined to the margins of a page, the borders of a monitor. This was passion spilling over her in an agony of need.

  How can this be happening?

  Hays brought trembling fingers to the keyboard and closed the file without looking at it again. Then she typed rapidly, still breathing hard, searching for control. She found it in that part of herself that dwelt closest to her soul.