Love, In Writing

by Elsa Winckler

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Love, In Writing | Elsa Winckler

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  ePILOGUE

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Love, In Writing

  Elsa Winckler

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Love, In Writing

  Copyright © 2021 Elsa Winckler

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: (ebook) 978-1-949931-96-9

  Inkspell Publishing

  207 Moonglow Circle #101

  Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

  Edited By Rie Langdon

  Cover Art By Najla Qamber

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  For Theo who makes it easy to write about love

  Chapter 1

  Margaret stepped into the elevator. Her shoes—with the ridiculously high heels that had looked so pretty in the store—felt like vices. She pulled the neckline of the tiny black dress to cover as much cleavage as possible, and groaned. It didn’t help; there simply wasn’t enough material.

  Praying no one else would want to use the elevator, she pushed the button on the panel. Enough people had seen her near-naked state as it was. Another punch at the button indicated Margaret’s tide of frustration boiling up inside. Why wouldn’t the doors close?

  Perhaps going home was the best idea after all. She didn’t have to stay in her brother Josh’s flat. Her own comfortable bed in Kommetjie wasn’t that much farther from Sea Point. Only round the mountain, really. Yesterday, when her brother suggested she spend the night in the guestroom, it sounded like a logical way to avoid driving the extra fifty kilometers. At the time it seemed like a good idea, but after this disastrous evening, she only wanted to get home.

  Why couldn’t she stand up to her family? A vicars-and-tarts party. She shuddered. Trust her cousin Louise, who was turning thirty, to pick such a theme for her birthday party. She should have refused to go. She had hoped a night out would stop her worrying about the financial state of her bookshop for a few hours, but Louise’s catty remarks about how she was wasting her inheritance only made her feel worse.

  And of course, she should have refused Josh’s offer to stay over at his place in Sea Point. But mostly, for once in her life, she should have had the guts to stand up to Louise the minute her cousin had begun to coax her into changing her demure vicar’s costume for this scrap of fabric.

  And then Louise had insisted she meet a good friend of hers. Margaret rested her head against the mirror in the elevator and closed her eyes. The good friend’s eyes had never even met hers. His gaze had been glued to her cleavage the whole time. She’d finally managed to escape the octopus-like arms of Tim or Tom or whatever the man’s name was. It took time and the last shreds of her patience to convince him no, she wasn’t playing hard to get, she really, truly wasn’t interested in a roll in the sack, as he’d so movingly put it.

  The doors finally closed. She opened her eyes, only to stare straight into a pair of gorgeous, pale blue ones. An incredibly attractive man lounged against the wall of the elevator, arms folded, his insolent stare raking her from head to toe. Where had he come from?

  Her first instinct was to try and cover up her cleavage, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She lifted her chin. Surely the elevator should have stopped by now?

  “You’ll be the second one tonight,” he said quietly, and smiled.

  Stupefied, she looked at him. “I beg your pardon? Second one?”

  Unhurriedly, he stepped closer to her. She was in the corner of the elevator and couldn’t move.

  “There was also one in the restaurant where I was trying to have my dinner. Who told you about my apartment? How did you know I’d be here? Who are you?”

  He stood awfully close to her making it hard to breathe properly. Tall, tanned, short, light brown hair. The bottom half of his face stubble-covered, making him look very sexy.

  His lips were moving, spewing out a barrage of questions but she couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. The doors closed and the elevator started to move.

  “Um...I’m sorry, what?”

  He was now standing so close to her she was forced to tip her head back. He reached out a hand and caressed her cheek, kindling embers smoldering just beneath her skin.

  “Look, you’re pretty enough and I really wouldn’t mind taking you up to my flat. Just tell me how you knew where I lived. You won’t be the first girl to stalk me and you probably won’t be the last, either. But tell me. How. Did. You. Know?”

  Margaret gaped. His mouth was moving but it took a few minutes for her befuddled brain to process what he was saying. She was fascinated by his face, the movement of his lips, the taut skin of his cheeks. Her eyes couldn’t move away from him. He was really beautiful. What was he saying? Gradually, his questions penetrated her brain.

  “What... Who are you? You must be mistaken. I was at a par—”

  He nodded and put his hands into his pockets. “Is this how you’re going to play it? You’re going to pretend you don’t know who I am?” He was smiling, but it wasn’t a nice smile.

  She had no idea what the man was talking about. All she knew was she had to get out of the elevator, and fast.

  Margaret swallowed and shook her head. Breathing had become so difficult and for a minute, she worried she might faint. He was standing right in front of the door and she started to squeeze past him so she could get out as soon as the elevator stopped. He turned with her, his eyes never leaving hers.

  “Like I said, I don’t mind taking you up to my flat...” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You really do have the most amazing eyes.”

  He walked closer, and she stepped back. And still he moved closer. She tried to step farther back, but was blocked by the side panel behind her. Their faces were so close together, she could see the tiny flecks in his eyes. His musky male scent seeped through her entire being. She swallowed. Althouhg he was scowling, she didn’t feel threatened. His gaze dropped and a hiss escaped through his teeth.

  Margaret looked down. The top of her lacy, red bra was clearly visible from this angle. Her eyes gaze flew back to his.

  Leisurely, his gaze connected with hers again. The sudden flash of desire in his eyes robbed her of the last of her breath. As if in a trance, he lifted his hand and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. With a look of fierce concentration, he trailed his fingers down her cheek.

  His eyes darkened; he cupped her face in his hand. Around them, the air sizzled with strange electricity. He had the palest of blue eyes. A sound penetrated her befuddled brain. Oh, my goodness, it had come from her throat. His eyes mirrored the confusion she was experiencing. Then, as if stung, he droppe
d his hand and stepped back.

  “But not tonight, okay? I’m too tired,” he said in a clipped voice. The elevator stopped, the doors opened, and he quickly disappeared.

  The doors closed again. Oxygen, she needed oxygen. Margaret gulped in some air and sagged against the wall. What on earth had happened here? Who was this man? What did he think she wanted? Too many questions to process at this time of night. She looked down at her hands. They were trembling. She had almost allowed him to kiss her. Even worse, she had nearly taken the initiative and kissed him. She had to get home quickly. Her heart was racing; her palms were sweaty. Why would she be in such a panic? Yes, the man was attractive, but she’d never reacted like this to other attractive men. He had completely mesmerized her.

  When the elevator stopped on the floor where Josh had his flat, she stared at the empty corridor for a minute then pressed the button to go down again. She’d finally made up her mind. After what had nearly happened, she was not staying in this building another second. She pressed her hand against her heart. It seemed to be settling down. Finally.

  On the way down, the elevator stopped on the second floor. The doors opened. The man she’d seen before stepped in and stopped in his tracks. Her heart began its crazy galloping again. The doors closed behind him and the elevator moved.

  “So you’re still around? Well, darling, if you really want to, I’m happy to oblige but I need to get something from my car.”

  Her eyes grew huge.

  He smiled at her. “You really are persistent, aren’t you?”

  What was he talking about? She tried to speak, but her mind was a complete blank. Meeting drop-dead gorgeous men in elevators was so not part of her boring life.

  It was crazy to react in this way. What was wrong with her? And then it struck her. Of course. This was “The Face” she’d been looking for. She’d been trying to find a face for the hero in her latest romance novel for over a month now. She’d browsed through magazines, searched the internet, tried to pick out that one striking face in a crowd, one who would be her hero’s, but it had never been the right one.

  And there he was. She’d found him. Tonight of all nights, when she hadn’t even been looking, she found him. She’d been so frantic to finish the story. For the first time in her writing career, she’d been forced to finish a manuscript as soon as humanly possible. It was all she could think of to bring in extra money. And it was as if her brain had simply shut down. She struggled to picture her hero and she always needed to be able to “see” his face before she could write about him. Now she knew exactly what he would look like.

  She relaxed. This explained her strange reaction to the man. It wasn’t as if she was interested in him. No, it was only because he had the face she’d been trying to conjure up but hadn’t been able to envision clearly in her mind’s eye.

  Studying his face, she made mental notes. Yes, he was gorgeous, exactly like her hero would be. Now if only his body would match his good looks. Without his shirt on, he would surely have a six-pack, would have...

  “You’re not really the shy type, are you?” he asked, and Margaret realized she’d been openly checking him out.

  Heat crawled up her neck. She turned away before he could see she was blushing. Why she still turned the color of beetroot whenever she was embarrassed was beyond her. For goodness’ sake, she was nearly thirty.

  If it was possible, she would have stepped through the door. She had to get home. There was a movement from him, but then the elevator stopped and the doors opened. They were on the ground floor. Josh staggered in and threw an arm around her shoulders.

  “Darling, where did you go? I was looking for you; you’re not leaving, are you? I’m looking forward to breakfast,” he whined, sounding like a naughty child.

  It was obvious he’d had one or two drinks too many. Margaret tried to shrug off his arm. “I’m going home. I’ll—”

  “You can’t go home! I need you,” said Josh, and pushed the button again.

  The man looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “Is this the kind of company you keep?” he asked over his shoulder. “No wonder you’re desperate.”

  Before Margaret could say anything, the doors closed and the elevator moved. Stunned, it finally registered: for some reason, this complete stranger seemed to think she’d been stalking him. As if she’d ever run after such a rude man. Yes, he was attractive, but not the kind of man she could be interested in.

  She glanced at Josh and merely shook her head. She loved her brother, but he seldom knew when to stop drinking.

  Josh leaned heavily on her. He pointed carefully toward the elevator doors. “I know that chap. He also lives in the building. He’s seldom here, but I know him.” He waved his hand drunkenly in the air. “He’s famous for something. Let me think...”

  The elevator doors opened on the floor where Josh had his flat. “Probably known for his paranoia,” she muttered under her breath. And really, she was not interested in whether the man was famous or not; she was only interested in his face. She wanted to get home as soon as possible so she could get in front of her computer. Her fingers itched. She had to try and describe him. Hopefully a detailed description of a drool-worthy hero would help the story along.

  Margaret steered Josh out of the elevator, toward his flat. The sooner she pushed him through his front door, the sooner she could leave. She would never again go to anything Louise planned. It was always a bad idea.

  She helped Josh onto the couch in his sitting room. When she closed the front door behind her, he was already snoring loudly. He could make his own breakfast tomorrow. She was going home.

  Relaxing for the first time in hours, Margaret smiled. She’d found her hero. Well, not her own hero. She grimaced. No, the strange man she’d met tonight was so not what she had in mind for herself, but he did have the perfect face for a romantic hero. And the perfect build. Surely he would have a torso to match his face and build? And butt? She hadn’t looked, she’d been so captivated by the rest of him, but she was certain that particular part of his body would also be firm and sexy. Heat crawled up her face again at the thought.

  A pity he was obviously a bit unstable. Not a detail she would use. Her heroes would never behave in the way he did. Yes, they were all alpha males, but they were gentler, more attuned to the needs of their heroine. And sane. She smiled. Fortunately, she could change him. You could make a hero do anything when you were the one describing him.

  The reminder on her cell phone rang as she climbed into her car. She looked at the note she’d made hours before, and groaned. She’d nearly forgotten about Monday. Her friend, Mandy, who taught English at the nearby university, had asked her to speak to their final-year students doing a module on creative writing, about her own process. She had to remember to prepare something, but now, getting home was the only thing on her mind.

  ***

  Graham stood in front of the huge window of his flat where he could hear and see the ocean. The flat was too small tonight. He was a serious science fiction author, not a pop star, damn it. But ever since his agent had cajoled him into being a judge in a reality television show a year earlier, the press had decided he was now a “celeb,” someone they had to write endless, utter nonsense about. As a result of all the unwanted publicity, female fans seemed to pour out of walls wherever he went. Okay, the publicity was good for sales, but hell, now he couldn’t even go to a restaurant and have a dinner in peace.

  He liked women, enjoyed them as much as the next guy, but lately he’d been wary of most of them. But these crazies all seemed to think he was sex-starved; every single one convinced she was the answer to his non-existent problem. He hadn’t known women could be so aggressive.

  He’d even found one in his hotel room once. At that point, he’d decided to buy his own flat in Sea Point for those times he had to be in Cape Town for an appearance and, if he were honest, when he wanted to go surfing. Surfing was in his blood. He’d loved it since the first time he’d tried it. And
lately, being out in the waves had been the only time he could literally get away from it all and clear his head. Out there, he could just be.

  He swore. That night, he’d been enjoying a peaceful dinner at his favorite restaurant when a fan spotted him. She had run toward him, loudly insisting on taking a selfie. He left as quickly as possible, his only thought to get back to his apartment where he could at least eat in peace.

  This place had been his secret and he had really believed nobody knew about this apartment. It had been his private space, like his wine farm outside Stellenbosch, where he did most of his writing. There, he had security but he’d never dreamed anyone would try and follow him here.

  And then, sure as hell, there was one in the elevator, all dressed up to seduce, pretending she didn’t know who he was. He nearly...

  He began to pace. What he’d nearly done really threw him. Not because he’d wanted to touch her, but because somewhere between his irritation and touching her face, something had changed. Bright, hot desire had exploded inside him, had threatened to overpower him and rob him of every sane thought he’d ever had. The peek he had had of a red bra, a lacy little thing, gently cupping a firm, round breast hadn’t helped. Hell. Maybe he did need more sex. Perhaps he really was missing out. He slammed his hand against the window sill and then leaned on it.

  She had the most amazing eyes, the softest, most kissable mouth he’d ever seen. He could spend pages describing her mouth. Damn it all to hell! He sounded like an eighteenth-century poet. This wasn’t him. He never even described the characters in his books in such detail. He firmly believed readers should be allowed to conjure up their own images of characters without too much input from the author.

  But this woman. He remembered everything about her in vivid detail. Long, dark blond hair. Soft curls. He’d touched them: he knew exactly how soft. Wide, green eyes, long upper lids. A tantalizing mouth, slightly opened with surprise. And she smelled like...what was the scent? He couldn’t quite decide. It was flowery...no, it was more spicy than flowery, or was it?